tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-205803322024-03-16T09:26:00.114+03:30Maureen's BlogMaureenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06349710718701701101noreply@blogger.comBlogger285125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20580332.post-82417094811010236252010-01-08T09:09:00.004+03:302010-01-08T09:18:16.391+03:30ROBERT LANGDON: A LOVE STORYIf you haven't read <span style="font-style:italic;">The Lost Symbol</span> (or <a href="http://maureenjohnson.blogspot.com/search/label/Lost%20Symbol%20Readers%27%20Guide">my guide</a>), very little of the following will make sense. But this was my presentation from this evening's "Secrets of the Lost Symbol" panel at the Tribeca Y.<br /><br /><br />************<br /><br />I come to you this evening to tell you why Dan Brown is right and everyone else is wrong, and why Robert Langdon is the hero we need.<br /><br />I think Dan Brown was tired of Jason Bourne, James Bond, Jack Bauer, Indiana Jones, and John McClane and decided to make us what we really want . . . a nebbishy hero whose name does not contain a J. Someone who is not fearless, but deeply fearful. A reading of <span style="font-style:italic;">The Lost Symbol</span> alone reveals his fears of: planes, elevators, running in loafers, spontaneous speaking, basements, long hallways, rats, stairs, fast driving, catwalks, and tiny conveyor belts. This is a man who wears turtlenecks because he is afraid of ties. <br /><br />This is also a man who could not save his own ass with a two-handed ass-saving machine, so he is incapable of helping anyone else. Indeed, he never saves the damsel in distress—she is saved from death twice, once by herself, and once by the CIA. On the first occasion, not only does Robert Langdon not save her life, but she is forced to drive herself across down in her own Volvo, crash into the steps of the Library of Congress, and fling herself into his arms just to show her appreciation for just how much he has not done.<br /><br />He spends most of the book having absolutely no idea what is going on. Like a cat lost in an airport, he dodges and weaves his way around massive, frightening figures. He repeatedly denies the reality of everything that is happening. “What the hell?” he asks. “You cannot be serious.” “But that’s not real.” He is periodically lifted up and carried from place to place, and set down again in increasingly uncomfortable surroundings. He will go anywhere he is told to go, even if that place is completely crazy—like on to a plane at a moment’s notice at the invitation of a stranger, down the book chute of the Library of Congress, or to the house of a known madman. Ten hours after the ordeal, he allows Peter “The Stump” Solomon to blindfold him and push him around Washington DC—into black cars and ominous elevators. When Katherine tells him to go to the top of the dome of the Capitol building, he goes. If your parents ever used the “if your friends all jumped out the window would you do it too?” line on you, they were talking about people like Robert Langdon, who would not only jump out the window because his friends told him to—he would do it because <span style="font-style:italic;">anyone</span> told him to.<br /><br />He would like nothing more than to cave in to any and all demands placed upon him. In Mal’ahk’s house of horrors, he is subdued within seconds of walking in the door, and when forced to give up the secrets of the pyramid or die, he trips over himself in his effort to give up the secrets as quickly as possible. A beloafered jerk in a Mickey Mouse watch whose only known routine is his daily swim and subsequent hand-grinding of coffee beans . . . Robert Langdon would like nothing more than to be left alone to study weird puzzles and dead languages and teach the surprisingly dimwitted and slavishly devoted students he openly despises. But sadly, his phone always rings, and he must do whatever the voice on the other end tells him. <br /><br />At the end of the book, when he is busy not making out with Katherine, she gives him a suggestive hug and says, “How can I ever thank you?”<br /><br />Missing the hint entirely, he delivers the great truth of the novel. “You know I didn’t <span style="font-style:italic;">do</span> anything, right?” he says.<br /><br />Now, in saying all of that, you may think that I may be suggesting that the book or its characters are deficient. Far from it. Dan Brown just saw that the world was ready for a completely unironic, unsexy, inept, scaredycat, easy-bleeder, indoor-kid, nerd hero who succeeds not by trying, but by being forcibly pushed into danger, which he quite sensibly hates and wants to avoid. He is the opposite of a Boy Scout—he is never prepared. This unpreparedness is the key to his success—had he known what was going to happen, he most certainly would have hid.<br /><br />How does Robert Landgon roll? He rocks some Saturday <span style="font-style:italic;">New York Times</span> crossword puzzle in pen. He likes comfy chairs and smooth rides and looking at the decorations. He doesn’t know what Twitter is. He’s like your grandpa, but he’s not as cool as your grandpa. He’s that guy at the party who will just not shut up about the things he saw in Rome. <span style="font-style:italic;">You</span> could kick his ass, even if <span style="font-style:italic;">you</span> are twelve years old and armed only with a bag of goldfish. This is why, to use a word he despises, Robert Langdon is awesome. Adventure comes to the lazy, nerdy, and easily influenced. You too—armed with your comprehensive understanding of signage and your workmanlike knowledge of Klingon—you too might be called. You too can defeat the big bad, no matter how big, oiled, hairless, and tattooed he is—even if you do so almost completely by accident.<br /><br />And in what forms does danger come? It comes in SUDOKU. Because, just as you suspect, the forces of good and evil spend all of their free time making codes and building puzzle cities. Everyone in power is full-tilt-boogie crazy, secrets are the building blocks of the universe, and absolutely everything is interesting <span style="font-style:italic;">if you are just boring enough to see that fact</span>.<br /><br />This is the world I want to live in, and this is the world Dan Brown has shown to me.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZaXK5m8PAg6dUIruaoDaIBbb_1EYVQge5dYea7pq8zAgPnwcCl1FMP3_2HRm2uK_VNF9b6X4WSujASr0F05PacMnPPX9IdFCEB1GanWbKURpdf0jWwcXLJEy_XVFlI6ZVrd9dqA/s1600-h/zz6250d4bd-440x297.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 270px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZaXK5m8PAg6dUIruaoDaIBbb_1EYVQge5dYea7pq8zAgPnwcCl1FMP3_2HRm2uK_VNF9b6X4WSujASr0F05PacMnPPX9IdFCEB1GanWbKURpdf0jWwcXLJEy_XVFlI6ZVrd9dqA/s400/zz6250d4bd-440x297.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424241604310886578" /></a><br /><br /><center><span style="font-weight:bold;">The man, the myth, the loafers</span></center>Maureenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06349710718701701101noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20580332.post-18172896350276511242010-01-04T06:23:00.004+03:302010-01-04T08:19:56.300+03:30THE PROBABLEThere’s a golden rule in writing, one so taken for granted that people often don’t even talk about it. It’s simple: never, ever, ever, ever, ever respond to a negative review. Ever. I mean, you can if you really want to. No one is going to ARREST you if you do. But you are going to look like a huge jerk if you do, and the entire internet will laugh at you. Why? Because <span style="font-style:italic;">people are entitled not to like your work</span>. Yes, even stupid people, for stupid reasons. Yes, even people you respect for reasons that are actually pretty good. Even your mom. Anyone is entitled at any time not to like your work, and there is exactly nothing you can do about it.<br /><br />Certainly, it is a wonderful age in which we live, what with this whole “internet” thing where everyone can say whatever they want—and the problem of course, is that everyone can say whatever they want, which leads to <a href="http://xkcd.com/386/">things being wrong on the internet</a>. Sure, you get reviews that say things like, “tihis book was so boring it had no vampirs u don’t know how to rite!” and you have to take it on the chin. You don’t answer back. What on earth would you say, even if you did? “I can TOO rite (WITH A W!)” These don’t really present a problem.<br /><br />And I’m not talking about “official” reviews either (though you REALLY, REALLY shouldn’t respond to them). Not that official reviews are so far removed from reader comments on forums or Amazon, really. I think there is sometimes the notion that any review that has ever been printed is some kind of Official Word—not actually proclaimed by God, but possibly by someone in his office, and most likely on letterhead. Like in order to become a reviewer you have to pass a series of important tests and physical challenges . . . reciting <span style="font-style:italic;">The DaVinci Code</span> backwards, perhaps, entirely from memory. Or maybe you have to coax a chicken away from an alligator through song and dance. And only when you have passed these many tests will you be allowed to Review, and the mantle of Ultimate Rightness will be placed over your shoulders.<br /><br />This is most certainly not the case. I know this because I was a reviewer for a Big, Fancy Publication, and let me tell you something—I cranked those reviews out hard and fast, often at three in the morning, because they paid me fifty dollars each and ALL I did was write negative reviews. Why? Because you get to crack better jokes and sound smug and smart. This, as it turns out, it a very common behavior, so it’s not just me. There is nothing quite as fun as writing something an evil, snarky critique. <br /><br />Reviews are just opinions. Some reviewers and publications are better than others, and all have their good and bad days and their personal preferences. One of my favorite writers in the world was a reviewer by trade. I worship the man, and he wrote a DEVASTATING review of something I love. I have learned to reconcile this in my mind, but it took time. If you go back and read reviews of books that everyone accepts to be Good and Important Books that Everyone Has To Like, there will be a reviewer who hated it when it was published, or who hates it now. So that’s not anything to freak out over either.<br /><br />Does this mean all reviews are meaningless? God, no. It just means that there are a chorus of voices in the world, and you have to pick which ones you are going to listen to. This, as it turns out, is more or less the point of Writing School. In my writing program, you had to go through two years of writing and presenting your work to your class or thesis group. In a room of, say, ten reasonably smart and talented writers, you are going to get ten totally different opinions. And for those two years, you had to train your ear to listen for things that rang true—comments both good and bad—things you could build on.<br /><br />So, I listen still. I have to admit, I don’t sit and read every comment written about me, because I would go insane, but I scan through every once in a while to see what’s what. In general, the experience is pretty lovely (which is part of the reason I don’t do it that often because I will get a BIG, SOFT HEAD). In doing this, I’ve noticed something in a few reader comments that has me worried. I’ve seen versions of this comment time and time again, both for my books and for similar “realistic fiction” books.* The comment usually goes something like this . . .<br /><br /><blockquote>I read this book and it was okay but why would this happen? It is just totally not probable. I mean I liked the story and the writing but I just don’t think this would happen in life.</blockquote><br /><br />This makes me quiver. Not with outrage, but with fear and concern, because I am terribly worried that a lot of people are growing up with a slightly mixed-up idea of how stories work and what they are meant to do. <br /><br />Stories are not meant to be <span style="font-style:italic;">probable</span>.<br /><br />Probable means the thing that is most likely to happen. There would be little point in reading about the thing that is most likely to happen. So I am confused about the expectation here. Is the problem that the reader thinks the story isn’t about something common enough? Of course, amazing stories can be written about very common, everyday things, exposing deeper meanings and levels of communication. The first example that leaps to mind here among thousands of possible examples is A&P by John Updike, one of the first short stories I remember reading as a tiny mj. It’s literally about a guy working the cash register at an A&P when a girl comes in dressed only in a bathing suit and bare feet to buy some jarred herring snacks. The narrator (a teenaged boy) admires the girls (in many ways), but the manager wants to throw the girls out, so the narrator takes off his apron and quits. That’s it. That’s the plot.<br /><br />A&P is a probable story, I guess. It’s quite possible to walk into a grocery store in a bathing suit and buy some herring, if that’s how you roll. But in 1961, when it was written, it was a bit more of a shock to see a girl in a bathing suit walk into a store. It was unlikely. It was a statement. It meant something. <br /><br />So I guess A&P isn’t probable at all. It was about an exceptional moment—certainly one that falls within the boundaries of physical possibility, but still, a moment that stood out and provoked a strong change. And that was the most probable story I could think of.**<br /><br />Possibly, there is a confusion here with logical. Stories should be logical. You can write the most far-fetched story in the world but it must make sense within itself—it has to obey its own rules. As I sit here typing this, I have the Alfred Hitchcock movie The Birds on in the background. That’s another short story I remember reading as a kid, and another possible but not probable premise: one day, all the birds decide they don’t like people, and they attack. “This isn’t usual, is it?” one of the characters just said, after a flock of birds destroyed a picnic. No, it is not usual at all. But it is a story with nice, simple rules, which it follows carefully: birds are normal, birds get squirrelly, birds &*@# everybody up, birds get progressively better at breaking into houses and running people off roads, birds take over town. It’s bad bird behavior, but it follows a logical progression.<br /><br />But since I keep seeing this comment in so many places and for so many books, and since the phrasing is often so similar, I am very worried that these readers mean exactly what they say—that they are expecting something to roll out in a certain way, that they think there are ways that stories are supposed to go. You’re either fighting off the space leopards with your rainbow sword or you are buying a pair of jeans and making a call on your cell phone (brands included, natch!) . . . and there is NO MIDDLE GROUND. If the book is “realistic,” then the coordinates have been predetermined. Weirdness is not encouraged and will not be tolerated. This bothers me both as a writer and as a weird person. <br /><br />I write fiction. I make things up. To date, I have not included many space leopards or their ilk (though that is going to change soon), but I’ve never felt this is in any way a limiting factor. There are many strange and fantastic things that are quite real—and any number of styles or techniques can be employed when telling “realistic” stories. Many of the “realistic” writers I admire write complete lunacy, and this is a very good thing in my opinion. <br /><br />So the kneejerk “this isn’t probable” reaction seems to me quite similar to the “this place is weird” reaction to foreign travel, or “this tastes funny” when eating something new. It suggests that there are people who think they know what normal is. And if I can impart any wisdom at all*** I would like to impress this little nugget: there is no normal. You are not normal. No one is normal. And if you think there is a set way a story (or life) is supposed to go, you are mistaken—and happily so. Because there is a lot of fun to be had and things to be learned be had when you shake off those preconceptions. <br /><br />Now if you will excuse me, I have to go do some riting (WITH A W!). If YOU would like to add to this discussion, please do so in the COMMENTS! <br /><br /><br /><br />* My friends who write Sci Fi and Urban Fantasy and all of that good stuff don’t get this comment, but they get lots of others, usually along the lines of “Why did you kill so-and-so?” or “Why haven’t so-and-so made out yet?” even if so-and-so are related. <br /><br />** And I have absolutely no doubt that someone out there has written some critique that says, “I guess this story is okay but it is so boring and why would you quit your job just because a girl in a bathing suit came in to your store? That is just not probable.”<br /><br />*** Unlikely, but roll with me here. I have a cold. Cut me some slack.Maureenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06349710718701701101noreply@blogger.com52tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20580332.post-44479904127135031812009-12-24T08:53:00.003+03:302009-12-24T09:02:02.292+03:30THE CHRISTMAS EVE ASK MJ MARATHON<a href="http://maureenjohnson.blogspot.com/2008/12/christmas-eve-live-blog.html">Last</a> Christmas Eve, I tried to answer as many questions as I could in a massive BLOG MARATHON that lasted all night. This year, in the countdown to Christmas, I am going to try to do something LIKE that. Throughout the day, I will post ANSWERS to your questions on a rolling basis. But let’s get started!<br /><br /><blockquote><span style="font-weight:bold;">Jo07 asks: </span>what do you do when someone gets you a gift unexpectedly you've gotten them nothing?</blockquote><br /><br />When I was just a tiny mj, I was pretty good with my homework, generally. But I had a terrible memory for Kindergarten show and tell day. I would always find out about show and tell when we gathered in line to go into school and I would go into a SILENT INNER PANIC about the fact that I hadn’t brought anything. The first time I remember this happening, I yoinked a stick off one of the trees outside—a little bent one. When show and tell came around, I told everyone it was a snake stick. It was what baby snakes used to learn how to crawl. And another time, I found out when show and tell started so I just had to roll with it and show my ARM, like that was what I meant to bring all along. I showed it all around the room and told everyone what I did with it. Pretty slick, right?<br /><br />This presence of mind is pretty remarkable because, as I was just remembering today, I was a pretty clueless kid. Weird stuff was always happening to me and it’s ONLY NOW that I realize how strange it was. Take, for instance, the bus driver I had when I was in first grade who was this seventy-year old playboy who used to stop the bus and take us into McDonald’s every single morning because he was hitting on the manager, a saucy wench of seventy herself. We were late pretty much every day because of this. I had no idea this was weird!<br /><br />Or what about the creepy bus driver we had when I was in second grade (once they fired the other guy because he used to take us into McDonald’s every morning without permission and make us late for school), the one who used to have me come and stand BETWEEN THE SAFETY BAR AND HER SEAT to MASSAGE HER SHOULDERS as she drove. I did this! Why? Because some adult told me to. Did I like it? No. But she would always say, “Maureen, come rub my shoulders,” and I would sigh and put down my book and when we reached a red light I was squeeze my tiny body into that space and do her bidding. How did this unspeakably creepy behavior come to an end? That would be when THE BUS CRASHED. Yes, we LOST OUR BRAKES* as we were going down an incline and took out two other cars and there I was squeezed into what was more or less the most dangerous spot possible on the bus. I was still there when the police came on to the bus, and they were like, “What the hell are you doing there?” Let me tell you the one answer a police officer loves to hear from a child: “I was massaging the bus driver.”<br /><br />Or, when I was in high school, and we had this 23 year-old bus driver who I used to talk to as we were driving around. And then he started asking me out. Every. Single. Day. He was all, “You could tell your parents you’re going somewhere else and I’ll meet you down the street and we’ll go to dinner.” At first, I tried to laugh it off. Then I tried to explain that I was busy, forever. That my parents locked me in the basement. That was allergic to being outside. Anything. This guy would just not stop. So I was telling my friend Betty Vox about it one day in her homeroom and her teacher overheard and she reported the guy. He was so furious at me that he screamed at me for five minutes and then HE RIPPED OUT MY SEAT.<br /><br />Now, that may sound like a completely irrelevant bunch of anecdotes about my very bad luck with school bus drivers and not an answer to the question of all, but it is, in fact, my way of LEADING you to the answer. What I’m saying is . . . don’t massage the bus driver. Maybe just don’t massage, because 9 times out of 10, that is a creepy offer. Like, if your co-worker in accounting gives you a scented holiday candle, don’t just grab a post-it note and write “GOOD FOR ONE FREE MASSAGE BY ME!” on it and hand it over while making squishy-squishy motions with your hands. Likewise, if someone in your class gives you a gift certificate you weren’t expecting, don’t then ask them out every single day for the rest of the year and then if they complain physically tear their homeroom desk from its moorings and turn it on its side in the back of the room. Or if your friend’s grandmother gives you some homemade cookies, don’t forcibly take her to McDonald’s every single morning at seven thirty and then hit on the staff as she sits there, looking at her hashbrown in confusion. Some people will say these points are self-evident, but not all. Not all. And if I can reach just one person, this blog has done its job.<br /><br />The stick and arm tricks work pretty well, though. Try those.***<br /><br />OR! You can give them a FREE SUITE SCARLETT! Always have <a href="http://maureenjohnson.blogspot.com/2009/12/present-for-you.html">this link</a> ready.<br /><br /><br /><br />*vampires?<br />** This really happened. All of these really happened. In the case of the massaged bus driver . . . it just came up because my mom, who is a school nurse, was telling me about a bus crash at her school today. Luckily, it wasn’t serious and no one was hurt, but she had to deal with it. And I said, “Remember that time my bus crashed?” And she said yes, and how she was so mad because the school or district didn’t TELL her that the bus crashed—they said the bus stalled (which our buses did ALL OF THE TIME). So I got home and told her all about this crash, and she was furious that no one told her and she called the school and complained. And literally the only other time my mom called my grade school and complained was in eight grade when she found out that I knew absolutely nothing about the sea battle between <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_Hampton_Roads">the Monitor and the Merrimack</a>. She’s convinced this is pretty much the most important thing that has happened, ever. Well, I can tell you that I have graduated from college and grad school and I have fancy degrees and I still don’t know %^$# about the Monitor and the Merrimack. So I don’t know what that says about me, or naval history, but anyway, I said, “Yeah, and I was standing between the safety bar and the driver’s seat because she used to make her massage her shoulders . . .” And it was only AS I WAS SPEAKING that it occurred to me just how extraordinarily creepy it is.<br />*** On second thought, giving parts of your body as gifts might also be creepy. And “snake stick” doesn’t sound much better. Don’t do either of these things.Maureenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06349710718701701101noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20580332.post-80934011991901988102009-12-23T09:29:00.005+03:302009-12-23T10:36:20.168+03:30A PRESENT FOR YOUIt has always been my dream to give a present to EVERYONE who reads this blog (or Twitter, or my mind). So I went to my publisher to see what I could do. Now, normally, I am not permitted in the building because of a minor misunderstanding we simply refer to as the "big fire incident," but I managed to get in through the fire escape (which they had foolishly left open and functional, perhaps in the light of the "big fire incident") and I said, "Hey, guys, some people are running short of cash this season. Can't we do something to help out? Why don't we give everyone a free book? That would promote Cheer. Free book, I say! Free book!"<br /><br />Everyone in the men's room was in total agreement. So was security!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBwMRA6J-9ZtX4-vmTtfnPik1lQJ8HdsdswyZtosm819e4mMhVchIyuvuzVuIFTG614UcVachVYW6Jvq6mLrqUldxQXctAgrKu6jKXb-hIyaX7mms8ZHc2NKCwSKUx95O8vWeM4w/s1600-h/lionel-barrymore-its_l.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBwMRA6J-9ZtX4-vmTtfnPik1lQJ8HdsdswyZtosm819e4mMhVchIyuvuzVuIFTG614UcVachVYW6Jvq6mLrqUldxQXctAgrKu6jKXb-hIyaX7mms8ZHc2NKCwSKUx95O8vWeM4w/s400/lionel-barrymore-its_l.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418314250266819090" /></a><br /><br /><center><span style="font-weight:bold;">I went to The Man with my idea, and The Man liked what he heard.</span></center><br /><br />After I signed a little agreement to never sneak on to the premises again, they set to work on a program to give EVERYONE a FREE COPY OF SUITE SCARLETT!<br /><br />It begins today. It begins NOW. This holiday season, I am pleased to present COMPLETELY FREE COPIES OF SUITE SCARLETT to YOU!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">SOME QUESTIONS ANSWERED</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">What's the catch?</span><br /><br />There is no catch. You just get the electronic book for free. Happy Holidays!<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />Wait, what?</span><br /><br />You get the book for free. Right now. It's yours. Take it. *gives*<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">How?</span><br /><br />You click <a href="http://www.maureenjohnsonbooks.com/bulletins.html">here</a>, which takes you to the bulletin page of my site. Once there, you will see all kinds of buttons with little pictures. Hit the picture of the device you want to read it on, and BAM, book.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />Is it the whole book or some weird short version?</span><br /><br />It's the whole book AND a bit of the SEQUEL. It's, like, MORE than the book.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">What devices can I choose from?</span><br /><br />You can get versions of the book for iPhone, Kindle, Barnes and Noble Nook, or just an online copy you can read on any computer. (Note: Kindle downloads begin at 12 midnight Pacific time, so just over an hour from the time of this posting. DON'T hit preorder. It may take a few hours for the BN and Amazon systems to catch up, but they should be up and running by tomorrow morning. If it's telling you to buy it right now, wait a few hours.)<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">How many copies can I have? Like, if wanted to send my friends this link can THEY also have copies?</span><br /><br />They're electronic so there are an ENDLESS NUMBER OF COPIES. ANYONE can have a copy. It's available from now until January 15th.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Some of my friends are kind of slow on the uptake. Can I tell them I BOUGHT THEM THE BOOK FOR THE HOLIDAYS and give them the link? </span><br /><br />If you are so inclined. <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />I want to give this book to a lot of people! How can I do this?</span><br /><br />You can SHARE the love by hitting the SHARE button and posting the box to your Facebook profile so that everyone can have some FREE BOOK. Or you can just pass the link via Twitter or ANY OTHER FORM OF COMMUNICATION YOU USE. In fact, I would love it if you did so. The more, truly, the merrier. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">So you can write a short blog today because you are giving out a whole BOOK?</span><br /><br />That's right! Happy reading! Ho ho ho!Maureenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06349710718701701101noreply@blogger.com68tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20580332.post-46898706052407780372009-12-21T23:12:00.007+03:302009-12-22T01:56:22.697+03:30THE CHEER BLOG: HOW TO MAKE AN IMPRESSION<blockquote><span style="font-weight:bold;">mighty_mudha asks:</span> So, the boy and I are spending xmas with his family....first time meeting them....any advice? (I'm overly nervous...)</blockquote><br /><br />The holidays are a wonderful time to get to know the parents of a significant other—but the experience can go HORRIBLY WRONG if you are not careful. Thankfully, you asked me in time. Right now, go and get as many objects relating to your S.O. as you can get your hands on. Go! Get them!<br /><br />You see, the main thing parents of an S.O. want to know is that you REVERE their child in the same way they do. Well, not in the same EXACT way, but they want to see the depth of your appreciation. And the FIRST way you do this is by making some tribute tree ornaments, glorifying your S.O.<br /><br />I realize that some of you are craftier than others and that some of you may find the prospect of making these ornaments daunting. But don’t worry. These can be as simple as attaching a picture to a pre-made ornament. I’ve made one of my friend John Green to show you how easily this can be done.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6eLlhamwd7GysyL6bIczz8LzsCembCbFODtw1ogrjMpyGrZ77-W0dDNsA0E6FxQIXw9ia89ufutIk1PXUHGTmQ6qzfSqIHUj-n68KH_1vtqSIHWDGPs3L2AUoyTYF6VHLfSJD5w/s1600-h/ornament.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 331px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6eLlhamwd7GysyL6bIczz8LzsCembCbFODtw1ogrjMpyGrZ77-W0dDNsA0E6FxQIXw9ia89ufutIk1PXUHGTmQ6qzfSqIHUj-n68KH_1vtqSIHWDGPs3L2AUoyTYF6VHLfSJD5w/s400/ornament.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417777562301007666" /></a><br /><br /><center><span style="font-weight:bold;">This simple and elegant ornament requires only scissors and tape.</span></center><br /><br />You will undoubtedly have a collection of totems from your relationship which you have saved and can easily convert into ornaments simply by attaching a hook or a bit of ribbon, and perhaps a short note with a bit of a memory! Here is are two examples:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLwIxtvk3gyh-CTe7w-jLchkXJzyUddl2WVt1facC1fXWF205BCzfeZ6Nri0dLRbEuJkAWq0Lvnm6AdoIv0Dc_4sv8k_9lgBre1GTlyZRDGWB-THdOwX3Xa5FxDZxh_OMnCJLsVA/s1600-h/cup.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLwIxtvk3gyh-CTe7w-jLchkXJzyUddl2WVt1facC1fXWF205BCzfeZ6Nri0dLRbEuJkAWq0Lvnm6AdoIv0Dc_4sv8k_9lgBre1GTlyZRDGWB-THdOwX3Xa5FxDZxh_OMnCJLsVA/s400/cup.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417777397527195090" /></a><br /><br /><center><span style="font-weight:bold;">Your collection of totems can be easily converted in a matter of minutes.</span></center><br /><br />Now, the key part of this is PRESENTATION. You don’t want to just shove this box of ornaments at your hosts. You need to decorate their tree with them. The easiest way to do this is when everyone is sleeping. If you are not staying overnight, the best thing to do is excuse yourself and get outside, taking their car keys with you. Put their car into neutral and push it as far down the street as you can. Then come back in and scream, “SOMEONE HAS STOLEN YOUR CAR!” When everyone runs out, lock the door and get started! If the tree is already decorated, simply remove the decorations and start over. If they do not have a tree, either bring one or hang the decorations on the refrigerator or some other large object. If they have pets, you can also decorate them.<br /><br />When everyone wakes up or comes in through the window (depending on your situation), they will be ENCHANTED to see what you have done! Imagine the beautiful scene, this display of your love! Don’t worry if no one is talking about your decorating. Sometimes people have trouble expressing very deep emotion. They must just look down, or at each other, or at your S.O. But trust me, your relationship will now be the NUMBER ONE thing on their minds. You have them EXACTLY where you want them. You could easily stop there and you’d be golden, but I think it’s best to press on, burrowing your way further into their hearts like some kind of parasite of love.<br /><br />At this point, it may be time to eat. This is a major opportunity to impress the parents with your intricate knowledge of your S.O.’s eating habits. It’s important to demonstrate that you are fully prepared—no, fully DETERMINED—to make sure all of their nutritional needs are met. As I am sure you know, real love means exerting control over every single aspect of your S.O.’s existence. <br /><br />So when the Christmas beastie and the trimmings are being passed around, make sure to examine absolutely everything that goes on to your S.O.’s plate. It might be useful to have a small food scale with you. There are many tiny models that you can slide into a purse or a man-bag, but there is nothing wrong with hauling a larger, industrial model to the table. Be bold. People admire boldness. Whenever your S.O. tries to spoon something on to his or her plate, guide their hand over to the scale. Once you have an accurate measurement of the food, use your computer or a small book on nutrition to calculate the exact nutritional value of each and every serving and edit it as necessary. You might have to bring along some Tupperware containers full of whole grains or steamed vegetables and make up the rest of the plate. (Make sure to have a plastic bag ready for all the unwanted items you scrape off the plate.)<br /><br />Now that you’ve proven your serious dedication to your S.O.’s health, you need to take that one extra step to prove that you are ready to do anything for them. Nothing, truly nothing, impresses an S.O.’s parents like ACTUALLY SAVING YOUR S.O.’s life RIGHT IN FRONT OF THEM. To do this, you are probably going to have to nudge certain things along a little—namely, you have to make it appear that your S.O. is in harm’s way. This can usually be accomplished with little to no injury on the part of your S.O. Here are just some ways you can do this:<br /><br />Choking is a very effective trick, and you can do this right at the table. If you feel comfortable with your Heimlich skills, you can go ahead and stick a fishbone or small pebble into you S.O.’s meal. If you’re less sure, you can go ahead and perform the maneuver whenever your S.O. coughs. (If you S.O. is not prone to coughing, a quick handful of glitter to the face does the trick wonderfully.) Just get up behind them, pull them out of their seat, grab them around the middle and start squeezing, screaming, “BREATHE, damn you, BREATHE!”<br /><br />If you are lucky enough to have an S.O. with a very serious allergy, this is a piece of cake. Slip the allergen quietly into the scene and let nature do the rest. MAKE SURE you have the EpiPen or any other necessary medication on the ready, otherwise this is just attempted (or completed) murder, and that will not impress anyone. <br /><br />I know that for some people this last step might seem like too much, but trust me . . . once you have saved (or appeared to save) your S.O.’s life in front of their parents, they can NEVER REJECT YOU and you can do whatever you want, forever.<br /><br />I hope this has helped. Please, continue to send your questions, and I will continue to answer them.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">UPDATE:</span> Due to popular demand, I am auctioning off the beautiful John Green ornament seen above for CHARITY! The ornament is paper on glass, handcrafted and absolutely one of a kind, with artist's signature. Send your bids in to <a href="https://twitter.com/maureenjohnson">Twitter</a>. The auction starts NOW and ends at noon tomorrow (EST). The winner will make an online donation to <a href="http://www.citymeals.org/">Citymeals on Wheels</a>, and I will send the ornament with my SPECIAL THANKS.<br /><br />PLUS . . . you will ALSO get the ONE AND ONLY HARDBACK COPY OF SCARLETT FEVER, my PERSONAL copy with my handwritten notes in it. Truly, you cannot get it ANYWHERE else.Maureenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06349710718701701101noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20580332.post-65956899919169602702009-12-17T07:59:00.012+03:302009-12-17T08:31:24.860+03:30MJ’S LOW-PRICE GIFT GUIDEAs you know, I am an expert on all things Cheer-related, so I am kicking off my annual Cheer Blogs, in which I help YOU solve your holiday conundrums. Recently, many of you have been asking for help buying gifts—specifically, gifts that don’t cost too much. <br /><br />I know it's bad to encourage commercialism and of course the MAIN thing you should be buying is BOOKS, preferably from your local independent bookseller. But okay. I know some people don't want books, or you have to get something BESIDES books. So I have assembled this list of things you can buy for $5-30, most of which I own and can vouch for.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><a href="http://www.flipandtumble.com/shop.html">FLIP AND TUMBLE REUSABLE SHOPPING BAGS</a>, $7-9</span><br /><br />These bags are awesome. I first saw them at Scott Westerfeld and Justine Larbalestier’s house. They own a half dozen or so. Now, so do I, and I go nowhere without them. They are super durable and fold up into this awesome little ball you can chuck at people’s heads. You just keep one or two in your bag or suitcase and you won’t need any plastic bags at all! Good for the environment, good for you. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCCGw5WKVExDUhFc-sYvy1_aWt-idXneGOTpiBtIKwKopxartM-cWhqIS6clxZuHIZ6Pe1lhbQDsitL6wBC01e8AMBmAH-B3s4ynELX_QKEvsftxlv4lDxh91YvSa5t4zE1GMzZw/s1600-h/photo5.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 325px; height: 325px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCCGw5WKVExDUhFc-sYvy1_aWt-idXneGOTpiBtIKwKopxartM-cWhqIS6clxZuHIZ6Pe1lhbQDsitL6wBC01e8AMBmAH-B3s4ynELX_QKEvsftxlv4lDxh91YvSa5t4zE1GMzZw/s400/photo5.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5416058566620064722" /></a><br /><br /><center><span style="font-weight:bold;">A small family of Flip and Tumble bags, waiting for adoption.</span></center><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">HARMONICA, $5-25</span><br /><br />I was amazed to discover one day that I had a drawer full of harmonicas. And when I say “full of harmonicas,” I mean that there were two of them. But that is more harmonicas than I was expecting to find. And they are NICE harmonicas, too. They are “professional quality.” So I pulled out one of the harmonicas and IMMEDIATELY played “Happy Days Are Here Again” on it. Like, literally! I never knew I could play the harmonica! Harmonicas are awesome, and an excellent gift for those times when you first start dating someone and you aren’t sure what you “are” yet and you don’t want to freak them out by giving them a piece of jewelry or a vial of your own blood or something like that that just radiates COMMITMENT. Harmonicas are also great gifts for people who really hate their roommates, or for anyone who has a mustache. I think you will find they are RIGHT in many circumstances.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNhR4GrUVJDsV-S3zJH4WApa1syW4JabJQ-xv8K_ApzxvhhkIl9tgVLzkGQiFzBA52JHvudSDSxqpW8u0ixM635ysmUQpMI9rCHAJaWDATVV5FKLsqrA0pMCwAvPJILC3i_-E3uQ/s1600-h/BigJohnHarmonica.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 178px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNhR4GrUVJDsV-S3zJH4WApa1syW4JabJQ-xv8K_ApzxvhhkIl9tgVLzkGQiFzBA52JHvudSDSxqpW8u0ixM635ysmUQpMI9rCHAJaWDATVV5FKLsqrA0pMCwAvPJILC3i_-E3uQ/s400/BigJohnHarmonica.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5416064412475028738" /></a><br /><br /><center><span style="font-weight:bold;">The little black dress of gifts</span></center><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br /><a href="http://www.paperblanks.com/us/en/">MAGNETIC JOURNALS</a>, $10-30</span><br /><br />I buy a lot of journals. I don’t know why. I don’t usually write that much in them. But I buy them like a maniac and I’ve taken a real shine to this brand, which makes beautiful ones with great bindings and a handy magnetic clasp to keep them closed and tidy. The bonus part of this is that you can sit and flick the clasp closed over and over. It makes this awesome snick, snick, snick noise that will annoy others but somehow really helps you think. Or at least look like you are thinking. And that is what matters.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy8eoXKy5jPavXBbFFgaL6vXDO1m98nMtoRhQVIBVWN-CJN7s1gQx_EazFWuKD1bueushwSw7T2KQl2VTGHVGrI1liN732L_57f0-REFUCHGPmWMhjQjQBPt197UMMLWppA2z6-w/s1600-h/1864.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 167px; height: 280px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy8eoXKy5jPavXBbFFgaL6vXDO1m98nMtoRhQVIBVWN-CJN7s1gQx_EazFWuKD1bueushwSw7T2KQl2VTGHVGrI1liN732L_57f0-REFUCHGPmWMhjQjQBPt197UMMLWppA2z6-w/s400/1864.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5416060125902835730" /></a><br /><br /><center><span style="font-weight:bold;">I own this one. Snick. Snick. Snick.</span></center><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />FIRE EXTINGUISHER, $10-25</span><br /><br />Everyone should own a fire extinguisher. It’s a gift that says you care. It’s best given with a word of loving caution and a deep, unblinking stare. Say something like, “You never know when a fire could break out.” Or, “You’d be amazed at how many things burn.”<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmIhGQheneZUCMqnS-32L9EhVSthBSfG0bmgT-ZvHJPtNwSZ1eIngIe7oA4Jpn50MS2Zfb743QaQNb1x2DHTTP43StpjCznc1cvZk4vhQ7_dJrL9aCqSeYYL48SVk_Ho5TVNRIsA/s1600-h/pTRU1-5863553reg.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 220px; height: 220px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmIhGQheneZUCMqnS-32L9EhVSthBSfG0bmgT-ZvHJPtNwSZ1eIngIe7oA4Jpn50MS2Zfb743QaQNb1x2DHTTP43StpjCznc1cvZk4vhQ7_dJrL9aCqSeYYL48SVk_Ho5TVNRIsA/s400/pTRU1-5863553reg.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5416060456896979218" /></a><br /><br /><center><span style="font-weight:bold;">Things burn, you know.</span></center><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br /><a href="http://www.thymes.com/ProductDetail.aspx?nodeid=57576&parentnodeid=57131&productid=57550">TREE CANDLE</a>, $11-26</span><br /><br />Listen to me, and believe me . . . I am OBSESSED with good holiday candles. Every year I go around to ever shop like some kind of deranged bloodhound, sniffing. I sniff and sniff. And I am not easily satisfied. But let me tell you something . . . this candle smells like a frickin’ tree. I bought five of them, and I’m going to buy more. You probably know someone who wants a frickin’ candle. Get them this frickin’ candle. That is all.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg99iQNmN1y75AiuoH6DTfk3oUSNY9-a3AKkZ-R1kJONK-qWXfchx9934OJLsOB07tGIoA7sf7fVZ7agg0JA3x_IAgInrU-QOt2wVRzcs_b8ji6RoZzZ6zmGnU8Yd74_mmsSrmV-Q/s1600-h/Frasier-Fir-Candle-0521530107-250.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 250px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg99iQNmN1y75AiuoH6DTfk3oUSNY9-a3AKkZ-R1kJONK-qWXfchx9934OJLsOB07tGIoA7sf7fVZ7agg0JA3x_IAgInrU-QOt2wVRzcs_b8ji6RoZzZ6zmGnU8Yd74_mmsSrmV-Q/s400/Frasier-Fir-Candle-0521530107-250.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5416062282986694914" /></a><br /><br /><center><span style="font-weight:bold;">"It smells like a frickin' tree." - Maureen Johnson, author, so-called interesting person on Twitter</span></center><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><a href=" http://www.fishseddy.com/browse.cfm/2,190.html">PLATES OF WORRY</a>, $10-15</span><br /><br />There’s a store called Fishs Eddy here in New York that just makes awesome weird stuff. I shop there a lot. If you are in NYC, you should, because they have cool crap like mugs with the least-famous presidents on them, or drinking glasses with striptese dancers on them, or big piles of flatware for cheap, and they also have a large assortment of antique disembodied ceramic arms. I am really taken with these plates, which have all kinds of demotivational messages written around the edges, like, “It’s hard to be around you when you eat like this” and “For the love of god stop eating.” They are good, strudy plates too, so you can really fill them up! (This store also has totally awesome scissors too, if you are into scissors.)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_6v7ajSGJxxbldRCNNLvXoa5e3wzNGvHJhnPJoq4L9i5bdX6yO1OlbIZOAoUnGsc1IEtZyIyEylQLW1Zt49L2DB-PTw1GBM5DcNQ5EKO5FRf-P-xZZeYPIDMWFINFOrcjPcv65g/s1600-h/ANFB742P103.big.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_6v7ajSGJxxbldRCNNLvXoa5e3wzNGvHJhnPJoq4L9i5bdX6yO1OlbIZOAoUnGsc1IEtZyIyEylQLW1Zt49L2DB-PTw1GBM5DcNQ5EKO5FRf-P-xZZeYPIDMWFINFOrcjPcv65g/s400/ANFB742P103.big.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5416062553574781554" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br /><a href=" http://www.urbandecay.com/categories/EyeshadowPrimerPotion.cfm">URBAN DECAY EYESHADHOW PRIMER POTION</a>, $17</span><br /><br />So when I was out the other day at the makeup store (the same day I bought the vibrating makeup that keeps breaking and vibrating in my bathroom sink) the saleslady said to me, “You should buy this stuff.” And I said, “What is it?” And she said it is a POTION that keeps your eye makeup on. Now, if you have ever worn eye makeup, you will know that it can rub off and be annoying, and clearly I was in the mood that day to be convinced so I took it. I don’t know what is in this stuff—magic, or uranium, or glue or something—but it totally works. A good gift for people who wear makeup, and a lot better than a stupid vibrating sponge.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH29boGj1QUQ3tKNptSe_moaqB-P2RK8T5Z5FtqfB6IjF0fyyp2zLifTBGJLbnFV6PpuUD0UBWr8qt1ansdCSTl8aOdbtmTxIBObf2C8rryjOayFA3Ojn2-1Nh1WRYJx4G1-OGYQ/s1600-h/205.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 250px; height: 270px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH29boGj1QUQ3tKNptSe_moaqB-P2RK8T5Z5FtqfB6IjF0fyyp2zLifTBGJLbnFV6PpuUD0UBWr8qt1ansdCSTl8aOdbtmTxIBObf2C8rryjOayFA3Ojn2-1Nh1WRYJx4G1-OGYQ/s400/205.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5416062832887695746" /></a><br /><br /><center><span style="font-weight:bold;">Now with NEW WAND</span></center><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">GAP SLIPPER BOOTIES, $25</span><br /><br />I own a pair of these in white. They’re nice. I originally bought them because they looked warm and comfy and I thought they would be great to wear on writing days at home. I have discovered their other advantages. Like if you live above a crazy person who sends security after you if you close your windows, or attacks your cable guy while he is installing your Verison FIOS, or calls the apartment complex’s carpet police to say you don’t have enough carpeting even though you totally do and in fact went and bought thousands of dollars worth of deep-pile shag rugs to shut her up but nothing you do will satisfy her, nothing, so you essentially carpet your feet but still that isn’t enough! Anyway, these slipper booties are great for that! Also, you can wear them to walk home from the emergency room at 4am after you have a reaction to medication and you are so ashamed that an ambulance had to drive you ACROSS THE STREET that you go home on foot, which is fine because you are ACROSS THE STREET. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjugQm9X4Y1tydhMVV_CBx6i4Z2wcRQBUj-jqso6EytQexhftqxYCsBwJQc6ycbpROdSXQKIRalxIxuY_vcW6AX5RBekxY3K3W-n0UCCqGs_IWaqaKKk4HMiAgtBhLEzvRiKDXVZQ/s1600-h/gp695806-09qlv011.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 202px; height: 270px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjugQm9X4Y1tydhMVV_CBx6i4Z2wcRQBUj-jqso6EytQexhftqxYCsBwJQc6ycbpROdSXQKIRalxIxuY_vcW6AX5RBekxY3K3W-n0UCCqGs_IWaqaKKk4HMiAgtBhLEzvRiKDXVZQ/s400/gp695806-09qlv011.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5416063306792736802" /></a><br /><br /><center><span style="font-weight:bold;">Cozy!</span></center><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><a href="http://www.brookstone.com/sl/product/24881-u-control-silver-bullet-mini-rc-helicopters.html">MINI HELICOPTER</a>, $30</span><br /><br />I don’t own one of these yet, but you better believe I mean to. Because . . . mini helicopter. There is nothing a right-thinking person can’t do with one of these babies. Check out this sweet video:<br /><br /><object width="480" height="295"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/KViSKGMkBM4&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0xcc2550&color2=0xe87a9f"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/KViSKGMkBM4&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0xcc2550&color2=0xe87a9f" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="295"></embed></object><br /><br />See what I mean? Don’t you just want to cover that thing in post-it notes and fly them into unsuspecting people’s heads? I mean, that is what I am going to do with it, when I eventually get one.<br /><br />Have CHEER-related questions.? Hit me. I am here, ready to help.Maureenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06349710718701701101noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20580332.post-53221624707261640122009-12-02T00:46:00.012+03:302009-12-02T02:38:35.394+03:30THE 13 DAYS OF CHEER!So, it’s December. Those of you who have been around these parts for a while know that I AM FAN OF THE HOLIDAYS. I can barely contain myself through the year, so eager am I to put up my tree, hang the shiny things, and let loose the hamsters of joy. Christmas carols, holiday stories, cookies, stockings, general merriment . . . I am there, 100%!<br /><br />For the past three years, I have done a holiday card giveaway. For the first two, I made each card myself, until I reduced myself to such a broken condition that I had to get the cards printed. Then last year, I got double or triple the requests. I spent six weeks singing and addressing the cards—working right through Christmas Eve—until I was once again a broken (but CHEERFUL!) wreck.<br /><br />This year, I am faced with a big deadline, and I have finally admitted to myself that the card thing has gotten away from me. I do not have the time or the muscle power in my freakishly small hands to write out the hundreds of cards again.<br /><br />“Fie!” I said, when I realized this. “How will I spread CHEER?”<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj_5LV1NzgQ9V8jIK5f53CIvAJ4uqp08z42FiDTPLrirzTaKa6xGXnu1QIA-NKU010-b00NMzobAX3l8ylKVQM7QXcKjwzs_Luce9Xqts5JXfYE-K4EpVEwt_5UkCCa3tzAk4X_Q/s1600/tumblr_ktfyjijEAT1qa70eyo1_500.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 308px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj_5LV1NzgQ9V8jIK5f53CIvAJ4uqp08z42FiDTPLrirzTaKa6xGXnu1QIA-NKU010-b00NMzobAX3l8ylKVQM7QXcKjwzs_Luce9Xqts5JXfYE-K4EpVEwt_5UkCCa3tzAk4X_Q/s400/tumblr_ktfyjijEAT1qa70eyo1_500.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410379885199945986" /></a><br /><br /><center><span style="font-weight:bold;">How could I be CHEERFUL under these circumstances?</span></center><br /><br />And then, it hit me . . . I could <a href="https://twitter.com/maureenjohnson">TWITTER</a> my Cheer. <br /><br />Let's start December off right with the 13 Days of Cheer! <span style="font-weight:bold;">Here’s how this works:</span> every day, I will pick someone at random on Twitter who replies or otherwise writes to or mentions me and that person wins a book! (One of mine, of course. And by “mine,” I mean, written by me, not just a book I own.) There is a wide selection on offer, including two copies of the as-yet-unreleased Scarlett Fever! It could be any time of the day. You will never know when the CHEER ATTACK is coming.<br /><br />Now, of course, this isn’t the ONLY way I am going to spread Cheer. This is like a warm-up exercise for the first half of the month, before I get the BIG CHEER on. And, as is my custom, I will answer your Cheer-related questions. If there is something you need to know about the holidays, I am here to help.Maureenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06349710718701701101noreply@blogger.com38tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20580332.post-10461869328960756742009-11-26T04:39:00.002+03:302009-11-26T04:42:53.286+03:30NANOWRIMO DAY 25: THE BOOK IS YOUR @^&$*At the start of this month, I said I was going to try to blog every day about NaNoWriMo. I did, however, put in all kinds of conditions: I was moving, I was traveling, hamsters, etc. So I’ve only managed to do four or five blogs. Now it’s the 25th day, and I’m jumping back in the game!<br /><br />This relates directly to today’s question. When I put out my call for topics, I immediately got 20 or 30 people asking questions like, “I’ve only done 6,000 words! Do I even keep going?” Or, “I haven’t written for a week! Should I give up?”<br /><br />Clearly, a lot of people are finding that they haven’t hit their target wordcounts and the panic is starting to set in. So, today, let’s talk about what you do when you are REALLY, REALLY BEHIND, and address the “should I keep going?” question.<br /><br />Listen to a story . . .<br /><br />When I was a very small mj, I had a best friend named Hortence.* Hortence and I were best friends because we lived next to each other. That was all. It was a friendship of convenience, as all friendships are when you are four years old. Hortence was bigger than me, and her parents were hippies and had all kinds of awesomely relaxed standards. This meant that in Hortence’s house, we could play with ANYTHING at ANY TIME. (This included tools. Nothing says safety like a six year old with a hammer.)<br /><br />We also listened to music and made up complicated dance routines with props. There was a song we loved called “Centerfold.” Centerfold is a story about a guy who was in love with a girl in high school, who later finds out that she is the current centerfold in a magazine full of NAKED LADIES. And for some reason, this destroys his mind a little. <br /><br />Here is <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BqDjMZKf-wg">the video</a>, in case you don’t know it.<br /><br />There is a line in the song that goes, “Slipped me notes under the desk, while I was thinking about her dress.” Hortence always thought this line was “FLOWERS thinking about her dress.” Now, when I was a tiny mj, I did not understand what the song was about, really. I was pretty confused about why the man was so upset to see a girl he knew in a magazine. But I could speak basic English. So I knew that part Hortence had worked into her routine with the plastic flower was pointless. To be fair, it does sound like the singer is saying FLOWERS thinking about her dress, but (as I pointed out to Hortence), flowers do not think about dresses. Flowers do not think at all. <br /><br />We were debating this on the swings (we did a lot of talking on the swings). We had to be in each other’s dance routines, of course, and I was refusing to do anything with the plastic flower because the flower was just NOT IN THE SONG. Hortence, master debater that she was, said, “He does TOO say flowers because . . .”<br /><br />And then she pushed me backwards off the swings. This was how we resolved 90% of our debates.**<br /><br />I much preferred this approach to Hortence’s other method of punishing me and making me go along with her plans—namely, she would revoke my toy privileges. See, her grandmother worked at a toy factory*** so she had pretty much every cool toy there was. And if I crossed her authority, she would simply tell me I was no longer allowed to play with something. Usually her Suckerman. I LOVED Suckerman. Suckerman was this rubbery demon-sea monster thing covered in twenty-eight suction cups. You pulled on his arms and then you threw him against the wall. He would stick and kind of roll down and stick and roll down and stick and then fall off the wall. It was genius.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEUGhbUSlgS4P_zzK-s61plUIVXDowmTMJHcl6ONpcDYC9ABBQCA1XtbhwK0Akh5zS-Rhi-0hsq5cDSEmcUP4nfXkMSK3OHJGWoYVPITu8yLaVyvHTeTPN_8tCYYRa9NZq0EV23Q/s1600/suckg.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 268px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEUGhbUSlgS4P_zzK-s61plUIVXDowmTMJHcl6ONpcDYC9ABBQCA1XtbhwK0Akh5zS-Rhi-0hsq5cDSEmcUP4nfXkMSK3OHJGWoYVPITu8yLaVyvHTeTPN_8tCYYRa9NZq0EV23Q/s400/suckg.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5408213573867370434" /></a><br /><br /><center><span style="font-weight:bold;">Suckerman</span></center><br /><br />So if Hortence REALLY wanted to let me know who was in control, she would say, “You can’t touch Suckerman.” And then she would put him right in front of me. Those of you with siblings might have had the good sense to just reach forward and TAKE the Suckerman, but as far as I was concerned, there was a MAGICAL DOME over Suckerman that my hand could not penetrate. I would just sit there and stare at it sadly. <br /><br />Hortence’s mojo was so powerful she could occasionally put the magical no-touch dome over MY TOYS. “But that’s mine,” I would say. And she would just shrug and say, “You can’t touch it.” Finally, on one of those occasions, when she put the dome over my Rubik’s Cube, I broke with convention and took it back! And then she grabbed it back from me and threw it on top of our neighbor’s shed. I eventually got it back, but not before it rained. It was never quite the same. So I never crossed her again.<br /><br />I was, in short, her b%^&h.<br /><br />Why am I telling you this? I will explain. See, sometimes when you are working on a book, you feel like you are the book’s b%^#h. Like the book holds you under its sway. Like it owns YOU. Sometimes it puts the magical dome over itself and says, “You can’t work on me. I’m too hard.”<br /><br />The reality is that the book is YOUR b%^#h.**** There is no magical dome. It cannot throw itself on top of the neighbor’s shed. YOU are in charge at all times. YOU make the book. Sometimes it is hard but YOU are still in control. No muses or magical writing pandas.***** It’s very easy to get worked up about how tricky and finicky writing is, how it requires special conditions. NO IT DOESN’T. You need time and something to write with and a little gumption. And, if possible a snack. <br /><br />And the same is true with NaNoWriMo. Sure, yes, it’s great to meet the deadline at the end and hit that 50,000 word mark on the 30th. But NaNoWriMo is a great tool to get you writing and IT TOO is your b%^#h. Don’t use the fact that you are currently a little bit behind as an excuse to stop. This is your opportunity to finish a book. So finish a book! DO IT. Set new dates for your own personal NaNoWriMo and push on.<br /><br />No matter what, my answers to these questions will ALWAYS be that you should keep writing. <br /><br />I am also informed that I am required by law to tell you something. Today, Let it Snow—a book I wrote with John Green and Lauren Myracle—made it on to the New York Times bestseller list. The status of “New York Times Bestselling author” has long eluded me. It wasn’t the be-all, end-all goal of my life. I was perfectly happy not ever having that title. But today, I do have it, and I get to KEEP it forever. And it is actually kind of awesome. <br /><br />And I got here by just plugging away and writing. Okay, and maybe there was ONE magical writing panda. But whatever.<br /><br /><br /><br />* Not her actual name, of course. I have changed it on the grounds that she can still beat me up, because . . .<br />** Hortence is now, and I kid you not, a professional boxer. <br />*** Again . . . no, REALLY, she did.<br />**** I look forward to you quoting me to your English teachers on this point.<br />***** I am not sure how prevalent the belief in magical writing pandas actually is.Maureenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06349710718701701101noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20580332.post-13930501091517970432009-11-13T00:25:00.004+03:302009-11-13T00:38:08.583+03:30THE LOST SYMBOL READERS’ GUIDE: THE FINAL INSTALLMENTFriends, it’s been almost a month since I have delivered an installment of this saga. The delay was mostly due to my move. You can’t move and absorb the mysteries of The Lost Symbol, because the human psyche is only capable of so much. So if you need a refresher, here are parts <a href="http://maureenjohnson.blogspot.com/2009/09/lost-symbol-readers-guide-part-one.html">one</a>, <a href="http://maureenjohnson.blogspot.com/2009/09/lost-symbol-readers-guide-part-two.html">two</a>, <a href="http://maureenjohnson.blogspot.com/2009/09/lost-symbol-readers-guide-part-three.html">three</a>, <a href="http://maureenjohnson.blogspot.com/2009/10/lost-symbol-readers-guide-part-four.html">four</a>, and <a href="http://maureenjohnson.blogspot.com/2009/10/lost-symbol-readers-guide-part-five.html">five</a>.<br /><br />When we last left them . . . Mal’akh had gotten everything he wanted and had Katherine and HSRL in the basement of his evil lair. Katherine was hooked up to something you mind find at an evil bloodbank . . . a machine that slowly drained her dry. And HSRL WAS DEAD! We saw his body sink to the bottom of the tank, like one of those little pirate chests they put in fishtanks.<br /><br />Now, back to the action.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapters 109-110</span><br /><br />CIA director Inoue “Evil Yoda” Sato and her crack team have swooped down on Mal’akh’s Palace of Fun. Sato commands one of her minions to find the computer. Said minion goes to the desk and stares at it in bafflement. It LOOKS like a computer should be there, but there is none! Where could it be? What kind of evil mastermind has a computer that you can just PICK UP AND CARRY AWAY? What kind of monster are they DEALING with?<br /><br />Sato tells him it was a laptop, makes mental note to stop hiring people from the room with the rounded scissors. No wonder she is so cranky and wizened!<br /><br />In the rumpus room in the furnished basement, Katherine is still hooked up to the bleeding machine, and RL is apparently STILL NOT DEAD. As he clings to life, he runs through some Latin phrases. This is the kind of thing he usually does while trying to run from a hail of bullets while wearing loafers, or trying to escape a major national monument in loafers, or trying to get away from a swooping helicopter in loafers . . . but since there isn’t a lot to do at the bottom of a tank as your brain is about to explode, going through Latin phrases is as good a way to pass the time as any.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter 111</span><br /><br />We flashback to what seems like a scene from Stupid Harvard* (but it’s actually Stupid Phillips Exeter Academy, which is a feeder school for Stupid Harvard—and from what I can tell, from there it’s pretty much a straight line to Sato’s team—IT ALL MAKES SENSE NOW). Here again we see the overeager arm raising, the giddy excitement at slide shows, the shouting out of names of countries and other nouns.<br /><br />At the heart of the action is Peter Solomon, who’s there to tell these dim bulbs about the wonders of the Smithsonian. In the process, one of the students confronts Peter and wants to know if he is a Mason. She has Googled him! This one will go far! He admits that yes, he is a Mason. But aren’t the Masons some kind of creepy, weirdo organization of creepy weirdos? Not so, says Peter. <br /><br />DB proceeds to slice up and plate the juicy fact-meat that he so loves to serve. We learn that the Masons are awesome and not weird at all, and that everything you know is wrong. So there, suckers.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter 112</span><br /><br />Downstairs, the CIA is disconnecting Katherine from the bleeding machine, so if you were worried about that, don’t be.<br /><br />Meanwhile, wretched, crab-like Sato is descending into the hidden basement, where one of her agents is pointing out HSRL’s tweed coat and loafers, which are on the floor! His uniform! His loafers! Then she approaches the tank and looks through the plexiglass and sees a FLOATING, SUBMERGED HSRL!<br /><br />Now, I know what you are thinking . . . you are thinking, “HSRL has been in that tank for a while, totally submerged, so he MUST be dead. He MUST be.” But Sato knows different. She knows that he is alive. HOW he is alive—well, we’ll get to that in a minute. But think about this. You’ve found HSRL in a tank of liquid in a hidden basement. Now, I don’t know about you, but if I had stumbled upon this scene, I would have turned to my idiot agent and said, “We’re going to go back upstairs and cement over that door. Then I’m buying YOU a chocolate milk and you’re going to promise me never to tell anyone about this.” But DB knows best and doesn’t give in to baser instincts like these. So instead we are given a scene of a naked HSRL, born again, blinded by light, and mistaking the face of Sato for the face of God.<br /><br />And now . . . the science. DB is not precious with this next section. It moves with the grace of a ballgown trimmed in hammers, but we must get through it to understand the bit about the tank. That tank was filled with oxygenated perfluorocarbons, a new technology known as Total Liquid Ventilation (TLV). Yes, breathable liquid! The science goes on for about two more pages, which contain the only known quasi-academic reference to the 1989 movie “The Abyss.” <br /><br />Then we get a full HSRL rebirthing scene, and as soon as he is out—he’s talking Latin. I’m not going to lie—Chapter 112 is a bruiser. But no one said this would be easy.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapters 113-124</span><br /><br />Katherine, of course, believes that she has just seen HSRL die, so she is as surprised as any when he shows up all drippy and towely. “How?” she asks. Sato is about to do the whole “oxygenated perfluorocarbons, have you seen The Abyss?” thing again when Katherine pulls a “Just shut up and hold me!” (To HSRL, not Sato.) HSRL has, once again, not saved her. Our hero is beloafered and an easy bleeder, and he doesn’t rescue much, but he knows his Latin!<br /><br />While in the tank, he realized that Mal’akh is after the MAGIC WORD! That’s what this has all been about! He’s run off with the pyramid, but RL figures out that he is going to Heredom (which is Greek, actually). Heredom is a mythical mountain in Scotland! But it’s ALSO the nickname of a building in Washington DC!<br /><br />In the interests of time, I realize I must seriously condense what happens from here on in. <br /><br />While becoming an initiate in the Masons, bald, shaven Mal’akh was wearing a wig. And in that wig . . . WAS A CAMERA! Yes, the wig cam captured it all, and Mal’akh has edited it together into the most badass and viral Youtube video since <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SJ5w4MkFofc">Keyboard Cat</a>. This video shows half of Washington drinking what looks like blood out of what looks like a skull, committing what looks like murder, throwing what look like dead bodies into coffins. But, DB goes to great lengths to explain, this is all playacting and the Masons are pretty much the most awesome organization, ever. If this were the prom, you know how there’s always one couple in the middle of the floor that makes out the WHOLE DANCE, even during the fast songs? Well, if you could replace that couple with DB and the Masons, and the prom was The Lost Symbol . . . then HSRL would be the DJ. I think. All you need to know is that THE MASONS ARE AWSEOME EVEN THOUGH THEY SEEM REALLY WEIRD.<br /><br />So forget Peter Solomon. Who cares if he dies? This wig cam video must be stopped!<br /><br />Meanwhile, Mal’akh is wheeling Peter Solomon around DC in a wheelchair. Peter has been rebirthed about three times tonight. Having stolen the magical pyramid, soaked Peter in a tank and severed his hand, tattooed himself, fed Trish Dunne to the giant squid, killed a few guards, hooked Katherine up to the bleeding machine, and pickled HSRL . . . the extremely prolific Mal’akh is now about to conclude his evening by getting the magic word he has so longed for. Then all he has to do is tattoo it on his head, prepare the creepy sacrificial table in the skylight of the Heredom, and use the ACTUAL BIBLICAL KNIFE from the story of Abraham and Isaac that he has obtained from ebay. But WHO IS TO DIE? <br /><br />Meanwhile, HSRL is zooming around the streets of DC, shouting directions from the backseat, and Sato sits in a helicopter, gnawing at her horrible talons. People are running from every possible direction. It’s BEDLAM. Cats and dogs living together, etc.<br /><br />You aren’t going to believe this, but Mal’akh? Is PETER SOLOMON’S LOST SON ZAC. Except now he’s crazy and tattooed and he wants Peter to sacrifice him just like Abraham was asked to sacrifice his son in the Bible and Peter is all oh nooooooo. But it’s okay, because the helicopter crashes through the skylight and kills Mal’akh with a zillion shards of glass, but not before Mal’akh can hang on for a few scenes of WTF? Because, to be fair, he has gone to a LOT of effort.<br /><br />Oh, and the wig cam video goes out! Except, it doesn’t! Because Sato stops it with some helicopter-fu! HSRL runs in at the end and is all, “Hey, guys.”<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter 125</span><br /><br />Key lines between Katherine and HSRL:<br /><blockquote><br />Katherine walked up and embraced him warmly. “How can I ever thank you?”<br /><br />He laughed. “You know I didn’t do anything, right?”</blockquote><br /><br />And there you go.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapters 126-130</span><br /><br />It’s a symbolpalooza! I can’t really remember any of it, but you’re going to LOVE it!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter 131</span><br /><br />We learn that many great thinkers were convinced that the Bible contained the Ancient Mysteries, but not in the literal words—that the words on the pages were codes, and that the Bible is comprised of heavy-handed and useless story covering up something much more important and interesting. I get the feeling that DB is trying to tell me something, but I am not biting, reader. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapters 132-Epilogue</span><br /><br />HRSL gets the best tour of Washington DC, ever, because Peter Solomon can apparently get in anywhere. Like, if he wanted to see the President’s underwear drawer, he could see it. He exacts a kind of passive-aggressive revenge on HSRL by blindfolding him and taking him to enclosed spaces and up high stairs and on to scary balconies, all under the pretense of showing him a good time, which is pretty slick in my opinion. Also, he seems to have recovered from his son’s second death and his own hand-severing/rebirthing pretty well, but then again, it has been four hours or something.<br /><br />Anyway, we get to see that Washington DC has a lot of high, dark, creepy spaces, and apparently the founding fathers had WAY too much time on their hands . . . which is surprising, considering that they were busy creating a whole new country, and laws, and currency and everything. But they also took the time to make a whole PUZZLE CITY that no one knows about!<br /><br />Oh, and by the way, the lost word is actually a lost symbol, and that lost symbol is a circle with a dot inside of it. But there also is a word, and that word is buried in the cornerstone of the Washington Monument. That’s the answer. You’re welcome.<br /><br />THE END<br /><br /><br />* See Part Two to learn about Stupid Harvard, which is where HSRL teaches. I know this means it should have been SHSRL all along, but it is too late now.Maureenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06349710718701701101noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20580332.post-62974748510396436712009-11-09T08:50:00.003+03:302009-11-09T08:53:12.106+03:30NANOWRIMO DAY EIGHT: BY THE NUMBERS<span style="font-weight:bold;">shopoholic309 asks: I only have 1000 words written for NANO. Problem? Should I give up already?</span><br /><br />Give up? GIVE UP? On the 8th of November? When you have 22 days to go? <br /><br />Think about it this way: so, you have 49,000 words left to write. Originally, you had to write approximately 1,666.6 words a day. Now you have to write 2,227.2 words a day. Which is a difference of just 560.6 words a day. 560.6 words? That’s, like, a sentence! Okay, it’s like a paragraph. Maybe a page. Okay, it’s like a blog answer. I will MAKE this answer 560.6 words long to show you that it is not a big deal to do that many extra words a day. At the moment, I’m at 109 words. Well, 109 was actually the 110th word. And just telling you that has gotten me up to 128 words! Which is about one-quarter of the way! See how this just zips along?<br /><br />I mean, maybe you’re thinking of when you get an essay assignment and it’s like, “Write 3000 words on which kind of wood is best for eating.” And you’re like, “Oh my god, how am I am going to write 3,000 words?” Because the task already seems hard (the answer, by the way, is balsa—and also whatever my bed was made out of when I was little because I used to crawl out every night and chew on the footboard) . . . when you add a NUMBER to it, it just makes it seem scarier. But numbers, like guns, cannot hurt you. Numbers don’t kill people—math kills people.<br /><br />Speaking of Numbers . . . have you ever seen that show Numb3rs? Which they actually spell with a 3? In that show, numbers can solve crime. Like, any crime. You can just feel how that show was pitched: “Okay, so, it’s an FBI show . . . but, like, the one agent? Has this brother? Who’s like, a crazy MATH GENIUS? And the FBI guy pulls in his brother and then EVERY WEEK there’s, like, a MATH PROBLEM at the center of the show? And then all of these genius professors will, like, explain math? And we’ll run some mathy graphics in the background so it all seems legit. It’ll be like CSI, but for nerds. Nerds and shut ins.”<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1cp5bvi4UkTWH7zKZIHP-Zl_x4n3WqpieDksDo4qH6m4Co5Ba0hfClCOjAa2nMA4ejUGGdVCelWmx3yGWBdBUedEn85Q2ACHpPb2FdO4A5zTAuaCbabtG9toPX2QmvOn7CQxVgQ/s1600-h/numb3rs.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 318px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1cp5bvi4UkTWH7zKZIHP-Zl_x4n3WqpieDksDo4qH6m4Co5Ba0hfClCOjAa2nMA4ejUGGdVCelWmx3yGWBdBUedEn85Q2ACHpPb2FdO4A5zTAuaCbabtG9toPX2QmvOn7CQxVgQ/s400/numb3rs.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401969590618929570" /></a><br /><br /><center><span style="font-weight:bold;">The graphics are almost certainly meaningless, but no one cares.</span></center><br /><br />Numb3rs is not a very good show, but it is an example of how numbers can be our friends. And also how we can use numbers in our spelling. For example, I could start spelling my name “Maur33n Johns7.” I won’t, but I could. By the way, I am counting that caption in the word count, which is now 443—which INCLUDES the number 443, which is a real number and not my attempt to spell a word with numbers. (Or numb3rs.)<br /><br />My point, shopaholic309 (it’s like you KNEW I was going to start spelling names with numbers!) is that you definitely can’t give up before you even start, and you can’t let a little thing like 560.6 words get in the way of your DREAMS. If you want to write, don’t let yourself be scared off. There are a million excuses to make to keep from sitting down and writing. A big part of the battle is just ignoring those things and getting down to business. Don’t let a little thing like 560.6 words get in your wa . . .Maureenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06349710718701701101noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20580332.post-27754050706674072532009-11-03T19:19:00.000+03:302009-11-03T19:21:02.985+03:30NANOWRIMO DAY THREE: POINTS OF WHAT?NANOWRIMO DAY 3: POINTS OF VIEW<br /><br />Hello, friends! Today I come to you LITERALLY from the middle of the move (on a STOLEN SIGNAL). I am sitting on the floor, in the corner, with my computer on my lap as men come in and out and take my things away. At some point, they may just pick me up and take ME away, so if I cut off abruptly, that is what happened. So forgive if today is a little short. But there is a fine, fine question to be answered:<br /><br /><blockquote><span style="font-weight:bold;">April asks:</span> How do I decide what point of view to write from?</blockquote><br /><br />I’m assuming you all know what POV is, right? A quick explanation if you don’t:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">First person:</span> the narrator speaks to you directly. This is the “I” perspective. <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />Second person:</span> the main character is filtered through you. “You go to the store, but they have no hamster pellets in stock. You return home and do some dancing.” It’s not very common, and I have personally never used it.<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />Third person:</span> this is the “he/she/it” perspective. Third comes in various forms—you may only tell what the characters do and say, but never go into their minds (third person objective). You may follow the story from just one character’s viewpoint (third person limited), or from a handful of selected characters (third person multiple). Or you may be the all-knowing voice that can get into anyone’s head or any scene (third person omniscient).<br /><br />Okay, so, there’s that. Now, how do you CHOOSE? This is a question I have been asking myself recently, as I am starting an entirely new book series, and I was playing with both first and third person. And I’ve written five books in third and one (Devilish) in first.<br /><br />Usually, I ask myself two questions, and not necessarily in this order:<br /><br />1. How much do I want the main character and the reader to know?<br /><br />When you write in third, you can be the big, strong, smart narrator who knows it all, and you gain the ability to develop the narrative voice separately from the character’s voice. You can do your descriptions and evaluate the situation from higher perspective. You also gain the ability to move places and to gain information that the main character might not be privy to.<br /><br />2. How will my main character impact the telling of the story?<br /><br />When you write as the main character, you have the advantage of just talking like them . . . which means you get their speech patterns, their way of describing and looking at any situation they encounter. If your character has a very strong personality, a clear way of looking at the world, you can really use first with great impact. Also, first person narration can get away with more tangential stuff, as the character can start talking about whatever he/she/it feels like, when it wouldn’t be terribly relevant from a third person point of view. <br /><br />For example, say you have to describe the main character’s room. Now, the way you do that in first and in third is very different. In first, you have to kind of give the character a reason for describing something they probably know very well, then you have to think about how that room appears to them. What is their attitude toward it? What matters to them? Maybe when they go into their room it makes them think about some time that they went to the circus, or the time they accidentally started a fire, or a philosophical concept he/she/it is obsessed with. Whatever you want, you can do it. <br /><br />In third, you need less justification for descriptions, and you can filter the room in any way you like. You don’t have to assume familiarity. You can also use BIG WORDS that your character might not really use. Authorspeak is handy like that.<br /><br />So, I kind of weigh the checks and balances . . . do I need unlimited access and FANCY VOICE, or do I want to tell this story in the voice of the person living it. (Because in first, that voice and view is an essential part of the shape of the story. See Catcher in the Rye, The Great Gatsby, Paper Towns, Liar, or a million other awesome books to see the power of first.)<br /><br />I COULD say more on this topic and I am writing this very quickly but the room is now EMPTY. But . . . I totally made it! I did it! I blogged on moving day! And since there is much more to say on this topic, WHY NOT DO IT IN THE COMMENTS? Okay, I’ve got to . . . <br /><br />. . . oh, I’m being put in a box . . .<br /><br />*sound of stuffing, tape dispensing*Maureenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06349710718701701101noreply@blogger.com31tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20580332.post-31539290552915375262009-11-02T05:00:00.003+03:302009-11-02T18:47:57.956+03:30NANOWRIMO DAY TWO: WHERE THE SUCKMONSTER ROAMSListen you guys . . . I am about to lay something critical on you. I am probably not supposed to be telling you this. I am going to get myself in trouble with the League of Real Writers. But you know that I am always compelled to tell you the truth. I won’t tell everyone, but I will tell YOU, friends. Just you. So here goes.<br /><br />If you want to be a Real Writer, you must learn the fine art of the excuse. Observe:<br /><br />So, you know how I said yesterday, on the first day of NaNoWriMo, that I would try to give advice EVERY DAY? Well, you may have to cut me SOME slack this week because I am moving tomorrow. Everything I own is in boxes, and after I finish writing this, my desk is going to be taken away and I will have NOTHING. And the cable appointment got messed up so I won’t even have my own internet until sometime on Thursday, so until then I’ll be sneaking around my new building trying to bogart some signal through the walls. Hopefully no one will paint with that special paint that blocks signals, and everyone will have nice, non-password-protected wifi.<br /><br />Plus, I just found out that the new desk doesn’t come until Friday, so until then I will be a DESKLESS FREAK with NO SIGNAL in a WORLD OF BOXES. Plus my mailbox key doesn’t work. And I have to get this thing for my intercom. And I have to go out and all kinds of STUFF so that I can live like a normal person, like a shiny new trashcan. You guys—I NEED A TRASHCAN.<br /><br />So this week is a bit special. But will I TRY? Oh, I will try! But if service is a little on and off for a few days, that is why.*<br /><br />Now, you see, that is a pretty solid excuse. Moving your entire house and not having anywhere to sit and having to let movers in and shove boxes around and not having a buzzer or a key or any clothes or a trashcan . . . sometimes, life happens, and you have to deal with the life stuff completely. Many of you will face a few days this month that are simply so full or otherwise out of control that you won’t be able to write. And that’s fine. Those days often give you something to write ABOUT.<br /><br />And also? You make up for it. Because when it comes to meeting the mark, aim for NO EXCUSES. Now, I realize that this probably seems like it runs counter to my previous statements about excuses, but hear me out. You have to allow for bumps and problems and days that are just slow or rough going. You can and will make up for them. For all the days I have been moving, I have found and replaced the time in my writing schedule, because my book is still due when it is due. It will still get done at the same time. If you get sick and miss a few days, if you start late, if you have to go away for a weekend, if someone needs your help, if you house is swept away in a tornado and you land in a magical kingdom . . . don’t worry. You’ll get back on track JUST LIKE ME.<br /><br />Now, let’s get to today’s question.<br /><br /><blockquote><span style="font-weight:bold;">Rachel asks:</span> I've always loved writing and definitely consider becoming an author a goal of mine, this said, I think it would be a good idea for me to do NaNoWriMo. However, I don't think I have the time to do it (high school is way to stressful) and don't have a clear outline of a book ready at all. I have an idea for a book but I don't know if I like it or where it's going. Should I attempt it, knowing I'll probably fail, or not have the time necessary to complete it, or do it anyways? </blockquote><br /><br />I think you should definitely do it. Here is why:<br /><br />1. No one has the time. (See above story for clarification, and just pretend I never said that part about missing a few days.**) You make the time if you want to write. If you do not want to write, you do not make the time. So if your goal is to become an author, start giving the time now.<br /><br />2. No one knows what they are doing when they start out. Before you write a book, you do not know how to write a book. Catchy, and true.<br /><br />3. There is no way of putting this delicately, so I am just going to shove it out there . . . if you are in high school or are otherwise just starting out, MUCH OF WHAT YOU WRITE IS GOING TO SUCK. This is because you learn to write while writing. So for a while, you have to embrace the Suckmonster. Hug it close to you. Love your Suckmonster, because your Suckmonster is going to help you get where you want to go. He is your friend and traveling companion. He’s friendly and furry and Muppet-like. Picture him clearly in your head now. Take a moment.<br /><br />Do you see the Suckmonster? Isn’t he cute? Why not give your Suckmonster a name? That should kill a few minutes!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxUz6EtXTJFSljRa7zAJAJpN0Ju36asw_PVWr2jgT1yT9q0tuh5XHr-363ZzqZqJtWr9eT0dLEyK9Xvth61InBnCSF_Yioq5Ru6sMMfOvSTOqHjem6q1lCeeK5zGnXWnu40IGnOA/s1600-h/harvey-stewart.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 253px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxUz6EtXTJFSljRa7zAJAJpN0Ju36asw_PVWr2jgT1yT9q0tuh5XHr-363ZzqZqJtWr9eT0dLEyK9Xvth61InBnCSF_Yioq5Ru6sMMfOvSTOqHjem6q1lCeeK5zGnXWnu40IGnOA/s400/harvey-stewart.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399374258215258834" /></a><br /><br /><center><span style="font-weight:bold;">You have a friend. He's right there with you!</span></center><br /><br />See, where the Suckmonster roams, progress is often made. A good sentence here, a clear idea there, maybe a great paragraph, and then a great page. But first, you have to try, and you cannot fear or avoid the Suckmonster. Because his presence doesn’t indicate failure. Every good writer I know has a friendly Suckmonster on a leash.<br /><br />Really, the only way you can fail is not even trying in the first place. So don’t worry about how much you like it or where it’s going . . . just START.<br /><br />I hope that encourages you, and that if necessary, I can come and live in your house. Until . . . soon. And please, continue to send your QUESTIONS.<br /><br /><br /><br />* This means if I DO succeed, you should be extra impressed.<br />** Because, no, seriously . . . I AM MOVING. And I have totally done my 50,000 words many times over. If a marathon runner needed three days to get, like, a new FOOT BONE or something, would you give them @#$%? No. Of course you wouldn’t.Maureenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06349710718701701101noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20580332.post-35926667933339460962009-11-01T19:26:00.004+03:302009-11-01T19:32:58.515+03:30NANOWRIMO BEGINSCan you believe it! It’s November, which means it’s time for <a href="http://www.nanowrimo.org/">NaNoWriMo</a>—National Novel Writing Month, in which something like 100,000 people have signed up to sit in a chair (or stand, if you like, or recline, or maybe suspend yourself from the ceiling, as I would like to do) for an entire month and string together approximately 1,666 words per day. That’s 50,000 words by the end of the month.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJhJqNgu7Jh2PDKJ2a_IneBwgt_ZqE-pqaJ_zibKwpdYMKki75-VuaL6Zs4jwedC32u0Ps6F3PI_5TfXENQw5CYE_fSWJEse_CQ7KG34TUuYQqeO5laP_UmSU614OmLSrMhVBJoQ/s1600-h/Annex+-+Grant,+Cary+(Arsenic+and+Old+Lace)_08.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 319px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJhJqNgu7Jh2PDKJ2a_IneBwgt_ZqE-pqaJ_zibKwpdYMKki75-VuaL6Zs4jwedC32u0Ps6F3PI_5TfXENQw5CYE_fSWJEse_CQ7KG34TUuYQqeO5laP_UmSU614OmLSrMhVBJoQ/s400/Annex+-+Grant,+Cary+(Arsenic+and+Old+Lace)_08.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399165830250500130" /></a><br /><br /><center><span style="font-weight:bold;">It’s time to BUCKLE YOUR SEAT BELTS and GET IN THE CHAIR.</span></center><br /><br />Since writing is WHAT I DO, and since I love to provide SERVICES, I will be answering NaNoWriMo advice questions and attempting to dispense some advice EVERY DAY.*<br /><br />You may be asking yourself, “mj, are you actually DOING NaNoWriMo this year?”<br /><br />My friends, I am always doing NaNoWriMo. I will be writing many, many words in November, but I will not be listed on the official ranks because I will not be uploading what I write. This is because those 50,000 words belong to a book that is already under contract, a book that is already well underway. I’ll be writing a lot, and you’ll be able to see those words eventually, when the book is out. <br /><br />But trust me, I’m going to be coughing up a LOT of words. <br /><br />And now, the first NaNoWriMo question . . .<br /><br /><blockquote><span style="font-weight:bold;">Samuel asks:</span> Hey! I'd love to read your advice of having/developing a writing habit -- more to the point, I'm curious if you treat it like a job (i.e. always writing at the same time every day, no distractions). For people who work a full time job and struggle with kids/pets/pants, what advice do you have for making sure the writing gets done too?</blockquote><br /><br />I like the phrase “writing habit.” All writers start with a “writing habit,” which is admittedly pretty weird and antisocial, but is still better than an “arson habit” or a “loud whistling” habit. If you really want to write, you have to make it habitual—and NaNoWriMo can help you develop it.<br /> <br />It’s ALSO a job. Well, it’s my job. And I do treat it as such, and proudly. Personally, I don’t write at the same exact time every day. My job has flexible hours. But I generally work 6-7 days a week, and at weird times when other people aren’t working. Because writing is my habit as well as my job, it’s just part of the continuum of my life.<br /><br />But I think your main question is: how can you schedule in all that writing when you have ANOTHER job, and a family, and a life? How can you make it all work? HOW IS THIS GOING TO BE POSSIBLE? There are hamsters to feed and shiny things to collect and people who will want to talk to you and phone calls that need returning . . .<br />To answer this, let’s return to the idea of the job. When I first got serious about making myself a professional, about making writing my life, I decided to MAKE it my job, even though I had two full-time jobs at the moment. I begged, borrowed, and stole the time. I wrote whenever I could, under whatever conditions, making sure I clocked a minimum of two hours a day, if not four or six. I was a pretty terrible employee, but I was developing the correct attitude about writing!<br /><br />Writing doesn’t come to you. It doesn’t just hand itself over on a plate. And it’s not magic. I do not, for instance, <a href="http://maureenjohnson.blogspot.com/2008/07/death-to-muses.html">believe in muses</a>. I believe in work and practice. Writing has always been a craft, and there is nothing wrong with viewing it as a job, something you must do. Shakespeare was a workman playwright (notice the “wright”), after all. It means “maker” or “builder.” It means WORKER.<br /><br />I realize this idea of writing as a job conflicts with portrayals of writers on tv and in film, where the writers are usually these weird creative types that are always sawing on about something esoteric, hammering away about their inspirations in their special writing studio. Perhaps they are wearing a beret. <br /><br />Writers on TV and in films are shown this way because ACTUAL WRITING IS VERY BORING TO WATCH. Oh, it’s good to DO, but it is not something you want to see in action. Actual writing involves the aforementioned sitting/reclining/dangling and WRITING. Sure, some places are nicer to write in than others. For example, at this very moment, I happen to be sitting on a lovely porch overlooking some trees and woodland creatures, but this is only because I am at a wedding that is at an inn.<br /><br />Notice that part in which I am AT A WEDDING. The wedding is in 90 minutes, and I am jamming this session of writing in between a long car ride, some lunch, and the ceremony. I usually write at home, or with friends who are also writers, or on the subway, in a car, on a plane, in the airport . . . I have snuck my computer into my beachbag. I have written in hospitals and on buses and in traffic.<br /><br />Many of the most prolific writers I know write while raising children or working other jobs. This is because they have to LASER-FOCUS their writing into set times, and they make those times work. When I’m backed into a corner, I tend to get more done. It’s like that old saying about how if you want something done, give it to someone with too much to do. Or Robert Benchley’s quote that anyone can do any amount of work, provided that it’s not the work you are supposed to be doing at the time.<br /><br />So if you are doing NaNoWriMo while working another job or going to school . . . YOU ARE SET! You simply have to blow off about two hours of your other work every day and write! You will find this kind of finkery is a time-honored tradition amongst writers, who are by nature a sneaky, nocturnal group. You are joining the proud ranks of People Who Write When They Are Supposed To Be Doing Other Things (PWWWTASTBDOT).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcGq9uEymWoWELPg3ULB8kr9dKkgsSJlmexRBAqLXMotDE7-GGVEfPuM75yV1enuxVZio7yXjkXsF-HdPuRIuJxDOuS4zHskywwsRqxpHN2Ox33NZk8B6t_PgGF9wQtDtat_0DBA/s1600-h/ducksoup-1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcGq9uEymWoWELPg3ULB8kr9dKkgsSJlmexRBAqLXMotDE7-GGVEfPuM75yV1enuxVZio7yXjkXsF-HdPuRIuJxDOuS4zHskywwsRqxpHN2Ox33NZk8B6t_PgGF9wQtDtat_0DBA/s400/ducksoup-1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399165945226107570" /></a><br /><br /><center><span style="font-weight:bold;">We cannot entirely be trusted.</span></center><br /><br />Though 1,666 words SOUNDS like a lot, you will find that it comes easier with time. Because when writing becomes your habit, you’ll be able to press on, press faster, and press harder. You will not be frightened by word counts. You should find that’s true even within this month. NaNoWriMo is a great way of SNAPPING YOU LIKE A TINY TWIG, and I mean that in the best way possible. Use the train. Use the bus. Use lunch. Use 5th period Spanish** Use TV time. Use mindless internet surfing time. Make writing your job. Be proud. <br /><br />Have questions? Please leave them below! And to anyone who is wondering . . . YES, the final installment of The Lost Symbol Readers’ Guide is coming soon! Why isn’t it done yet? I WAS WRITING!<br /><br /><br />* Please note the word attempt.<br />** High school students: I’m kidding, obviously! Stay in school! Study hard! (wink!)Maureenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06349710718701701101noreply@blogger.com39tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20580332.post-78156437640465526822009-10-13T05:08:00.008+03:302009-10-13T05:38:55.634+03:30THE LOST SYMBOL READERS GUIDE, PART FIVE<span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter 81</span><br /><br />Reader, if you have followed along through parts <a href="http://maureenjohnson.blogspot.com/2009/09/lost-symbol-readers-guide-part-one.html">one</a>, <a href="http://maureenjohnson.blogspot.com/2009/09/lost-symbol-readers-guide-part-two.html">two</a>, <a href="http://maureenjohnson.blogspot.com/2009/09/lost-symbol-readers-guide-part-three.html">three</a>, and <a href="http://maureenjohnson.blogspot.com/2009/10/lost-symbol-readers-guide-part-four.html">four</a>, you will know that I have been a strong supporter of Mal’akh from the beginning. Mal’akh is the hardest working bad guy in literature, and he has an evil lair that rivals any James Bond villian’s. In Chapter 81, we get to see more of his crazy house. We learn that while his basement has all of the traditional storage capabilities, it’s also super weird. He’s got rooms and rooms down there full of strange, with blue lighting in the ceiling. Every one of these rooms has a specific, evil purpose.<br /><br />The room he goes into now has everything in twelves. <span style="font-style:italic;">Twelve are the signs of the zodiac</span>, he italics-thinks. <span style="font-style:italic;">Twelve are the hours of the day</span>.* <span style="font-style:italic;">Twelve are the gates of heaven</span>. This reminds me quite a lot of the Schoolhouse Rock song “Little Twelvetoes.” I was a huge fan of Schoolhouse Rock when I was a tiny mj, but “Little Twelvetoes” was a song I never really got. Watch this and judge for yourself. <br /><br /><object width="445" height="364"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/BblsNzx6yEk&hl=en&fs=1&rel=0&color1=0xcc2550&color2=0xe87a9f&border=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/BblsNzx6yEk&hl=en&fs=1&rel=0&color1=0xcc2550&color2=0xe87a9f&border=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="445" height="364"></embed></object><br /><br />Can you see how my little five year-old mind was slightly blown by the concept of “deck and el,” two entirely imaginary single digits between nine and twelve which take the place of ten and eleven? And then twelve is mysteriously renamed “doe.” Schoolhouse Rock got it right so often that I don’t want to belabor my criticism, but still, as a fully-grown mj, I sometimes think about this “deck, el, doe” problem and it stops me cold. I mean, that hillbilly kid seems to get it, so I don’t know why I can’t. And why does Little Twelvetoes’s head come off? I am asking too many questions. I have only analyzed two pages of The Lost Symbol so far. I cannot get off track like this.<br /><br />Anyway, the room is full of twelves. And also sevens, but I’m not even going to get into that. And Mal’akh is running around in the bluish-purple light, “wearing only a silken loincloth around his buttocks and neutered sex organ.” Mal’akh is a villain who is not afraid to show his butt. A lot. Running up stairs, in the shower, under the heady lights . . . there is so much Mal’akh butt in this book. He’s also got a magic knife from eBay, and all kinds of other evil things. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapters 82-88</span><br /><br />HSRL takes his bag o' pyramids to the Washington National Cathedral, where they meet the blind Reverend Colin Galloway who feels the pyramid and says, “I totally know what this says, but I’m not telling you.” He then proceeds to play “I know symbols too” games with HSRL for what appears to be about a half an hour, which annoys HSRL to no end. There is nothing worse than a symbol-off. Then he pushes a button, which makes the box open up.** Then there’s more translating of Latin phrases and realizing the previous interpretation was wrong, and more quotes, and more mysteries and numbers. I don’t want to imply that this is making me weary—I merely want to convey the DENSITY of the mysterious words/phrases/numbers/shapes/codes. You only need to weigh this book to know just how much ancient mystery you are getting. Anyone who says this isn’t the heaviest book of the year just doesn’t know his math.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter 89</span><br /><br />Continuing their tour of Washington landmarks, HSRL and Katherine go to the Cathedral College. Why? To use the kitchen, of course! They are going to boil the pyramid! Mmmmmm. Boiled pyramid.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter 90-93</span><br /><br />It turns out that all you really need to do to get to the bottom of some ancient mysteries is boil a pyramid. Well, not all, because there’s like, ANOTHER cryptic message revealed, bringing the count to about 16. Then the CIA catches them. It turns out Bellamy was working for Mal’akh! But he regrets it. Evil, gremlin-like Director Sato wants to know what they have been doing. They have been boiling a pyramid.<br /><br />Sensing that the story is lagging, Mal’akh calls and says that he says to get over to his house fast or he’ll kill Peter! Everyone runs for their cars, except for HSRL, because of the loafer thing.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter 94-99</span><br /><br />Cautious loafer-runner HSRL doesn’t like how fast the CIA agent is driving. They arrive at Chez Mal’akh only to find pretty much one of every kind of car parked in front of the house with the lights on. HSRL names all of the cars, while Katherine decides that her time might be better spent running into the house. Except you know what? She totally trips and starts flying. Then Mal’akh kills the CIA guy with a screwdriver to the neck, tases the crap out of HSRL, and trusses Katherine up. He’s very efficient. <br /><br />While recovering from the tasing, HSRL breaks down the origins of the word “sincere” in tedious detail. When he stirs, Mal’akh sits his naked self down on HSRL’s chest and bangs his head against the floor until he is knocked out again. Reader, can you blame him?<br /><br />When HSRL wakes up, he is totally naked. Where are his loafers? <br /><br />Also, he’s in a box!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapters 100-102</span><br /><br />Meanwhile, Katherine is tied up to a chair. Mal’akh takes a moment to explain his evil plan to her. What’s the plan? He’s going to fill the box HSRL is in with liquid. It’s . . . diabolical! <br /><br />Sure enough, the liquid starts flowing into the box. Mal’akh holds the pyramid up to a small window in the top (which I kind of picture being like the window on a magic eight ball) and tells him that he must solve what’s written there or DIE!<br /><br />What’s written there is every single wingding and zapf dingbat in existence. (If you are a font person, the only thing that would make you crazier is a book of cat poetry written in Comic Sans, so be careful when reading these chapters.)<br /><br />HSRL, panicking as the liquid rises, has no idea what all the wingdings mean until the very last moment! He tells Mal’akh what he wants to know, but Mal’akh just laughs and tells him to enjoy the afterlife.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter 103</span><br /><br />Did Robert Langdon just drown? It really seems like Robert Langdon just drowned. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter 104</span><br /><br />From outside the tank, Katherine Solomon watches HSRL sink to the bottom of the tank. Reader, why am I smiling?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter 105</span><br /><br />The CIA are still noodling around doing something with people.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter 106</span><br /><br />Having gotten his answer, Mal’akh does another excited naked run around the house, then goes off to his room to do the magic sudokus that will solve this puzzle once and for all!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter 107</span><br /><br />We get a flashback of Katherine in the pod. Guess what she was doing in there? She was weighing the human soul!<br /><br />That won’t help her now, though, because Mal’akh comes back down and hooks her up to yet another one of his evil devices, a timing mechanism that slowly drains her blood into some kind of evil hourglass. Mal’akh has put a lot of work into his evil basement, and it is totally paying off. He also has Peter Solomon in a wheelchair. He’s shaved Peter Solomon’s whole body and dressed him in what sounds like a snuggie. I never said he wasn't freaky.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter 108</span><br /><br />Remember how I said DB was writing poetry? Well, if you doubted me, I now present Chapter 108 in its entirety.<br /><br /><blockquote>Robert Langdon’s mind hovered in an endless abyss.<br />No light. No sound. No feeling.<br />Only an infinite and silent void.<br />Softness.<br />Weightlessness.<br />His body had released him. He was untethered. <br />The physical world had ceased to exist. Time had ceased to exist.<br />He was pure consciousness now . . . a fleshless sentience suspended in the emptiness of a vast universe.</blockquote><br /><br />Do you see what I see? I think you do. It’s an echo of Walt Whitman’s <span style="font-style:italic;">Song of Myself</span>. Take section 22, for example:<br /><br /><blockquote>You sea! I resign myself to you also - I guess what you mean, <br />I behold from the beach your crooked fingers, <br />I believe you refuse to go back without feeling of me, <br />We must have a turn together, I undress, hurry me out of sight of the land, <br />Cushion me soft, rock me in billowy drowse, <br /> Dash me with amorous wet, I can repay you.</blockquote><br /><br />That right there is a thesis topic if I ever saw one. You’re welcome!<br /><br />Coming next: the final part of the reader’s guide!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">END PART FIVE<br />PAGES COVERED: 301-399<br />PAGES LEFT TO GO: 109<br />CHAPTERS LEFT TO GO: 24</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />* Wait. That one is wrong! <br />** Okay, there’s a box too. There’s a pyramid, a tube, and a box, and possibly another pyramid. I can’t keep track. HSRL is carrying around a whole bag of shapes.Maureenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06349710718701701101noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20580332.post-30562912758480898192009-10-02T08:00:00.007+03:302009-10-02T08:20:56.374+03:30THE LOST SYMBOL READERS' GUIDE, PART FOURPart four of the series. Parts <a href="http://maureenjohnson.blogspot.com/2009/09/lost-symbol-readers-guide-part-one.html">one</a>, <a href="http://maureenjohnson.blogspot.com/2009/09/lost-symbol-readers-guide-part-two.html">two</a>, and <a href="http://maureenjohnson.blogspot.com/2009/09/lost-symbol-readers-guide-part-three.html">three</a> are here for your reading pleasure.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapters 51-52</span><br /><br />Chapter 51 begins by answering an important question, first posed in the movie Airplane!: “Hey, Joey, have you ever been in a Turkish prison?” <br /><br />Except it wasn’t Joey, but Zachary Solomon, Peter’s son. He went bonkers when he turned 18 and got his share of Solomon money and ended up in the Turkish prison because of the drugs.<br /><br />We find out about this in an astonishing double flashback. Speaking as a professional writer, I can tell you that a double flashback is tricky and dangerous. Like its cousin, the dream-sequence-with-a-dream-sequence, it’s a precision move. I wouldn’t try it. I’m not nearly experienced enough . . . <span style="font-style:italic;">and I have an MFA</span>.<br /><br />Katherine is thinking back to the night her mother died, and in that thinking back, thinks back to Zach in his Turkish prison . . . and then we come back to some guy breaking into the Solomon residence years later. He points a gun at them and says, “Hello, Solomons.” He was all, “Where’s the pyramid?” But he never found out, because Ma Solomon came after him with a shotgun, but ended up getting shot herself. It is hard work, being a Solomon.<br /><br />Anyway, that was long ago . . . but that dude that just broke into the pod? He was that guy!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapters 53</span><br /><br />One thing I love about The Lost Symbol is the room it leaves for wonder. What kind of mysteries is the book about? Ancient mysteries. What kind of discoveries is Katherine working on? Shocking ones! What kind of science? Modern science. What kind of bunny? A fluffy bunny!* DB has certainly unpacked his adjectives! <br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/mYzGLzFuwxI&hl=en&fs=1&color1=0xcc2550&color2=0xe87a9f"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/mYzGLzFuwxI&hl=en&fs=1&color1=0xcc2550&color2=0xe87a9f" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />And still, despite these descriptions, we are left with so much room to imagine. This is not a stuffy book—this is the wide open prairie, where ideas can’t be caged. We aren’t squeezed into <span style="font-style:italic;">overly specific notions</span> about what the hell is going on.<br /><br />This is why I am not going to tell you what Chapter 53 is about. The moment you try to define Chapter 53, you have lost Chapter 53.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter 54</span><br /><br />Mal’akh blows up the pod.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapters 55-56</span><br /><br />We are reminded again in Chapter 55 that HSRL leads a stressful life, with people constantly making weird demands on his time:<br /><br /><blockquote>Langdon looked at this Mickey Mouse watch. 9:42 P.M. “You do realize that Peter’s captor is waiting for me to decipher this pyramid tonight and tell him what it says.”</blockquote><br /><br />But does Capitol Architect Warren Bellamy care? No. Bellamy doesn’t care about anyone! <br /><br /><blockquote>“Forget Katherine!” Bellamy said, his voice commanding now. “Forget Peter! Forget everyone!”</blockquote><br /><br />You know there is no way HSRL is just going to let Katherine Solomon down! She’s in trouble out there! He has to save her! Luckily, she makes that task a lot easier by choosing that exact moment to drive her white Volvo right up on to the sidewalk of the library and run up the steps and directly into his arms. RL is all, “You’re safe, I have you now.” He’s probably feeling pretty stupid now that she has gone all self-rescuing princess on him. But still, it was probably a good thing, because the last thing he needs right now is to have to run again in those loafers.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter 57</span><br /><br />More flashback. We find out that Mal’akh was in that Turkish prison with Zach Solomon, and that Mal’akh killed Zach and stole all his money. Mal’akh then moved to Greece. At first, every part of his new life was great. Reading Homer made him want to lift weights. Lifting weights made him incredibly hot. Steroids apparently . . . made him taller. <br /><br />But you can only go so far sailing your boat, eating arni souvlakia, and cliff diving off Mykonos.** Soon, Mal’akh felt empty. While channel surfing one night, he saw a special on Freemasons. This made him remember something he heard in passing from Zachary about a pyramid. And THAT is what made him go to America, sneak into the Solomons’ house, point his gun and say, “Hello, Solomons.” Mal’akh is very suggestible. If he had seen an infomercial instead, this story would have been very different. Then we would have been reading <a href="https://www.getsnuggie.com/flare/next">The Lost Snuggie</a>.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter 58-59</span><br /><br />A special ops team is chasing Bellamy, HSRL, and Katherine through the Library of Congress and blowing things up with plastic explosives, though I would be lying if I said I knew why.<br /><br />I’m also not sure why the Architect of the Capitol has a key card that operates the conveyor system under the main circulation desk of the Library of Congress. Washingon D.C. is a confusing place. Bellamy tells HSRL to get on the conveyor, and HSRL pulls a John McEnroe-perfect, “You cannot be serious.” This, after the running in the loafers thing?!?<br /><br />But he is, and HSRL and Katherine just evade their pursuers by riding off on the book belt, in what has to be the nerdiest escape ever written.*** <span style="font-style:italic;">Pwned</span>, special ops team!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapters 60-64</span><br /><br />Flashback to Zach Solomon’s 18th birthday. Peter is all, “You’re a man now son, so I want you to take care of my tiny pyramid.” And Zach is all, “I don’t care about your tiny pyramid, old man! I want the drugs!” Bellamy watches this awkward family exchange, and waits. <br /><br />Meanwhile, HSRL and Katherine are riding along in the dark on the little conveyor belt. Katherine has figured out that this all has something to do with the tiny pyramid, and HSRL (again, a day late and a dollar short) reveals that he has Peter’s magical box in his bag!<br /><br />Katherine is all, “Why didn’t you say so?” She does the thing I’m surprised HSRL didn’t do long ago—namely, she opens the box, which contains a magic tube. (I’m a little confused because I thought the x-ray revealed that the box contained a tiny pyramid. It may have both.) If you liked that cyptex in The Da Vinci Code, it looks like you are going to be rewarded with yet another cylinder! But remember . . . as the song <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HK0l2tqFDvM ">Boogie Boogie Hedgehog</a> teaches us, you have to be careful when you get your head stuck on tubes.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter 65</span> <br /><br />Chapter 65 is one paragraph. Mal’akh is studying his own naked body in front of the mirror again. He is a beautiful picture, framed in white space.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapters 66-67</span><br /><br />The number 1514 is found on the box. Most people would think that meant a year, but HSRL knows it refers to a person. If I told you how he knows this, it would blow your mind.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter 68</span><br /><br />The first sentence of Chapter 68:<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Albrecht Dürer?</span><br /><br />The last:<br /><br />“That’s not just any square,” Langdon said, grinning. “That, Ms. Solomon, is a magic square!” <br /><br />Try to imagine what happened in between!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter 69</span><br /><br />Okay, just one more thing about Chapter 68 . . . you have to respect a huge chase sequence which pauses for a moment because, “Professor Langdon, the art connoisseur, was having an ethical dilemma about using the Internet an original was so nearby.” Or when the obstacle is, “There’s no icon for a browser.”<br /><br />Also, there’s a paragraph that just reads:<br /><br /><blockquote><span style="font-style:italic;">Science . . . </span></blockquote><br /><br />So great is Chapter 68 that I cannot even bring myself to read Chapter 69, but I can see it has something to do with evil, wizened CIA Director Sato questioning Bellamy. Ever see The Incredibles? She’s just like Edna.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter 70-71</span><br /><br />While HSRL and Katherine work on some magic squares, which are apparently “Sudoku puzzles for geniuses,” Mal’akh is at home taking a shower. A really long shower. With a lot of products. I got as far as, “Hanging beneath the archway, his massive sex organs bore the tattooed symbols of his destiny.”<br /><br />If that is where the lost symbol is, I want my money back.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter 72-75</span><br /><br />The CIA guys are very grouchy because they have lost HSRL, who rode off in triumph at speeds upwards of 8 mph. Outside, the city is going crazy trying to find them. There are helicopters and spotlights. Where could they be? They seem to have left heat signatures everywhere.<br /><br />I’ll tell you where they are! They’re out front! Katherine and HSRL get in a cab, but the driver (who is somehow patched into CIA headquarters) gives them up.<br /><br />Meanwhile, Bellamy has been hauled off to the Jungle! No, really! You see, the U.S. Botanic Garden is known as the Jungle! Can you believe that? It’s true! Why is he being interrogated at the U.S. Botanical Garden? That, I could not tell you, but if he breaks into the “I am the Lorax, and I speak for the trees” speech at any point, I am going to cry.<br /><br />Meanwhile meanwhile, Katherine Solomon realizes that like the pyramid, the U.S. one dollar bill is also a map and that they are going the wrong way! “To Freedom Plaza!” she says. The CIA totally overhears.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter 76</span><br /><br />Freedom Plaza is also a map.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter 77</span><br /><br />I’m not sure if I’ve really been clear on the general course of events in this section of the book, so let me sum it up. There are two pyramid things, which apparently lead to a spiral staircase. HSRL and Katherine have these two pyramids (I think) as well as some kind of magical tube. I know they have at lease one pyramid and one magical tube. And there’s writing on them that has to be decoded. For some reason, everyone is in a big rush to do this tonight. That is why Mal’akh captured Peter Solomon and cut off his hand and sent HSRL on this scavenger hunt. Mal’akh also wanted something in Katherine’s lab. I’m not sure what, but in the process, Trish Dunne ended up in the tank with the giant squid.<br /><br />Bellamy is especially urgent for HSRL to find the staircase, though I don’t know what his rush is. And fhe CIA is chasing them with plastic explosives, though I am not 100% clear on the details of that either, but I am sure there is a reason. Anyway, Bellamy gave himself up so that HSRL and Katherine could go on, and now he is being interrogated in a greenhouse by a woman who is no bigger than a pumpkin and is entirely made of anger.<br /><br />What I haven’t mentioned is that there is also a Redskins game going on on this particular night, and absolutely everyone else is watching this game. Security guards, computer hackers, everyone. <br /><br />I hope that clears everything up.<br /><br />Oh and Chapter 77 is a flashback about a time that Mal’akh fell into a lake, and then moved to New York, and then a bird flew into his apartment, and he got a bunch of tattoos.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapters 78-80</span><br /><br />The CIA just cannot catch the beloafered HSRL and Katherine! This makes them really mad. Evil CIA Chief Sato is going to make someone pay, and it looks like that person is going to be Bellamy. Sucks to be you, Bellamy!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">END PART FOUR<br />PAGES COVERED: 201-300<br />PAGES LEFT TO GO: 286<br />CHAPTERS LEFT TO GO: 50</span><br /><br /><br /><br />* My apologies. That last one is not from The Lost Symbol.<br /><br />** I have a mild suspicion that DB spent some time vacationing in Greece while working on this book.<br /><br />*** I am sure Ron Howard will make this look exciting in the movie.Maureenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06349710718701701101noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20580332.post-27281803207442182822009-09-28T06:08:00.004+03:302009-09-28T06:19:49.816+03:30THE LOST SYMBOL READERS' GUIDE, PART THREEAs promised, here is the third installment of the read-along series. Parts <a href="http://maureenjohnson.blogspot.com/2009/09/lost-symbol-readers-guide-part-one.html">one</a> and <a href="http://maureenjohnson.blogspot.com/2009/09/lost-symbol-readers-guide-part-two.html">two</a> can be found here. Because this book is 500 pages long, and I am now only 200 pages into my guide, I have started to condense some of the chapter summaries together into a more flowing narrative. I hope this will enhance your virtual Dan Brown experience!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapters 24-34</span><br /><br />At the start of Chapter 24, HSRL has just figured out why he has been dragged to Washington. He flashes back to a meeting, many years before, when handsome Peter Solomon snuck up on him while he was swimming in the Harvard pool* and gave him a magic box of secrets. Even though it is creepily sealed in wax and has been delivered to him in the strangest way possible at the crack of dawn at a pool, and Peter Solomon is all “you are the only person in the world I trust with my magic box,” RL locks it away thinking it must be nothing.<br /><br />Anyway, when HSRL got that weird phone call and fax this morning? He was asked to bring along the magic box! HSRL actually has it in his bag—the one in his hand! But he has somehow forgotten this for the first 100 pages, probably because of all the excitement.<br /><br />Flashback over, HSRL snaps back to the present, where CIA chief Sato is standing there all, “Can you stop having long flashbacks in the middle of my case?” They figure out the weird message on the palm of the handequin corresponds to a room in the basement called SSB 13. Getting to the basement takes from chapters 27-35, because the basement is totally deep. Every time you think you have a handle on how deep this basement is, it gets deeper.<br /><br />We also learn that this search will somehow involve the Masons’ magical pyramid of mysteries! HSRL keeps saying that the magic mason pyramid of mysteries is just a legend, but since it comes up about 39 times, you start to think it just might be true. We will wait and see.<br /><br />Meantime, genius Trish Dunne has successfully completed a Google search, genius Peter Solomon has successfully sent a text on his iPhone, and genius bad guy has tricked genius Kathleen Solomon into letting him into her pod.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter 35</span><br /><br />Much is made of DB’s writing style. In particular, people cite his use of italicized “thought bubbles,” his page and a half long chapters, and his single sentence paragraphs.<br /><br />The ones that divide up the action.<br /><br />Like this.<br /><br />To give you a feeling that something is happening.<br /><br />Some people suggest that he does this because he is not a good writer, or because he assumes that his readers haven’t really gotten past the single-line, compacted story form usually used in elementary reading books. These people are wrong. What DB is actually doing . . . is writing poetry.<br /><br />It took me a while to figure this out, but I see it clearly now. I feel that he is following in the tradition of William Carlos Williams, a critical American poet. Consider “The Red Wheelbarrow,” Williams’s most famous work.<br /><br /><blockquote>so much depends<br />upon <br /><br />a red wheel<br />barrow <br /><br />glazed with rain<br />water <br /><br />beside the white<br />chickens.</blockquote><br /><br />The language and the style are so simple. The lines are short, and so is the work as a whole. And yet, in those eight lines, sixteen words, you can find an entire world. Compare this to the end of Chapter 35—which you at first think is this noodley, pointless chapter about the arrangement of the Capitol Building’s basement—but then you are hit with the last four sentences:<br /><br /><blockquote>“My God,” Anderson shouted.<br />Everyone saw it and jumped back.<br />Langdon stared in disbelief at the deepest recess of the chamber.<br />To his horror, something was staring back.</blockquote><br /><br />Do you think that this has been chopped up by accident? Do you think this same effect could have been achieved in a single, flowing paragraph? Do you think it needs more detail?<br /><br />Of course not. <br /><br />These particular lines also strongly echo T. S. Elliot’s “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock”:<br /><br /><blockquote>I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter;<br />I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker.<br />And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,<br />And in short, I was afraid.</blockquote><br /><br />It’s uncanny how these two men could communicate such similar ideas in a similar form—and yet, DB manages to cleverly plant these moments in a considerably larger work. T. S. Elliot never wrote anything nearly as long as The Lost Symbol.<br /><br />Think about that, English majors, before you judge. Just think about it.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter 36</span><br /><br />SSB 13 has been reached and it is a totally weird room. It is full of skulls and crap.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter 37</span><br /><br />I guess the one complaint I have about The Lost Symbol, if I have any at all, is that it seems like Mal’akh is seriously overworked. If there was a Union of Bad Guys, there is no way they would let him work this long and not have a break. He does everything bad in the book. Everything. No one helps him.<br /><br />So far, he’s had to: call Kathleen Solomon and pretend to be Dr. Christopher Abaddon, hack off Peter Solomon’s hand, stash Peter Solomon, and lead HSRL on this treasure hunt . . . all at once. And he does this, mind you, while wearing full makeup and having to constantly change costumes and juggle cell phones and manage at least three different identities. Would have it been so much to ask to give him one henchman? Just one? <br /><br />This is why I am annoyed by the fact that in Chapter 37, he has to corner Trish Dunne, get her access code out of her, and drown her in the tank of ethanol with the giant squid all by himself. That right there could have been the work of one henchperson. It’s not like extra characters cost money. I’m just saying.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter 38</span><br /><br />For many chapters now, HSRL has been saying, “Look, there is no magic pyramid, okay? How many times do I have to tell you? No magic pyramid!” And then they move back a curtain in SSB 13 and there is a hole in the wall and in that hole is a pyramid. CIA director and professional HSRL hater Sato is all lolz.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter 39</span><br /><br />They are still looking at the pyramid.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter 40</span> <br /><br />Chapter 40 is ¾ of a page long. Kathleen Solomon calls the front desk to ask where Trish Dunne is, and the desk is all, “I thought she was with you.” Neither knows that Trish Dunne now sleeps with the squid. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter 41</span><br /><br />I decided not to read Chapter 41. I’m not sure why. I was just moved by the Reading Muse, which landed gently on my shoulder and whispered, “Skip to the end!” in my ear. I went right to the last sentence, which is:<br /><br />“Grab the pyramid!” the man commanded. “Follow me!”<br /><br />This is why Dan Brown is a great man.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapters 42-43</span><br /><br />Okay, I glanced at chapter 41 just now and saw that someone breaks into the room and starts swinging around a femur and knocks over Sato. Femur fight!<br /><br />This person is Warren Bellamy, the Architect of the Capitol. He has rescued HSRL from Sato, who is suddenly a very suspicious character. It is implied that she wants the pyramid for herself! Also, we learn that <span style="font-style:italic;">the pyramid is a map</span>!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter 44</span><br /><br />Chapter 44 is probably my favorite chapter of the book so far, because in this page and a half, DB drops the mask and lets us know a little about his life. The scene takes place in the Manhattan office of New York editor** Jonas Faukman. HSRL calls Faukman’s office, begging for Kathleen’s phone number, and Faukman is all, “Where’s that book you promised me? Why aren’t you writing? What the hell is wrong with you?”<br /><br />There is a ring of truth to this, reader, which I cannot deny. And I salute DB for including this last sentence, “Book publishing would be so much easier without the authors.”***<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter 45</span><br /><br />HSRL calls Kathleen and is all, “The calls are coming from inside of your pod! Get out of your pod!” But Mal’akh has used the key card and is now in the pod! Have I mentioned that the pod is pitch-black, and you can only find your way around by walking on a strip of carpet, and if you step off the carpet, you step into the void? You should probably know that. So you can imagine how alarmed Kathleen is when someone pounces on her in the dark. Very alarmed!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter 46</span><br /><br />While Kathleen Solomon is fighting for her life in the pod of doom, HSRL and Warren Bellamy have gone to the Library of Congress. In DB books, there is always time to be civilized, even in the middle of a huge chase scene. HSRL lists statues, and ornaments, and every possible kind of marble.We are told of the library’s beauty, and how many people think it contains one of the most beautiful rooms in the whole world. In fact, we first learn this in the opening sentence . . . and then we learn it again a page and a half later when both men stop and comment on the fact, one out loud, and one to himself.<br /><br /><blockquote>“Some say it’s the most striking room in Washington,” Bellamy said, ushering Langdon inside.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Maybe in the whole world</span>, Langdon thought, as he stepped across the threshold.</blockquote><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter 47</span><br /><br />Mal’akh is still chasing Kathleen Solomon around the pitch-black pod. Once again proving himself to be the most resourceful character in the book, Mal’akh thinks up a way to find her in the dark—he strips off his clothes and throws them at her. I know you are probably thinking that does not sound like a good plan, but it actually works. You might have to read Chapter 47 to see for yourself, but it does. Then there is a chase scene outside, and Kathleen gets to her white Volvo, and Mal’akh—who never gives up—jumps on it and puts his hand through the window. <span style="font-style:italic;">Through the window</span>. She still gets away, but points for effort!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter 48</span><br /><br />Don’t even worry about chapter 48.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter 49-50</span><br /><br />Back in the library, Bellamy is lecturing RL about pyramids, and ancient mysteries, and statues of Moses—and RL is actually getting annoyed by this. Oh ho ho! The worm has turned! Then there is a bunch of stuff with codes and ciphers and coded ciphers which I kind of skipped.<br /><br />Back at the CIA, Sato is recovering from where she has been hit by a femur in the femur fight, and we see that she has her own nerd working on the cipher, because it has been photographed. How was that possible? Well, when RL went into the Capitol, he was carrying the magic box, and in the magic box was a magic pyramid, and on the magic pyramid there was magic writing. Apparently, the magic x-ray machine could pick this up.<br /><br />And yes, this means there are two pyramids. One is nine inches tall and the other is made of gold. Oh, and in case any of you, like me, wondered when someone would finally bring up the magical Masonic pyramids found on the dollar bill? According to my notebook here, it happens on page 161. <br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">END PART THREE<br />PAGES COVERED: 101-200<br />PAGES LEFT TO GO: 309<br />CHAPTERS LEFT TO GO: 83</span><br /><br /><br /><br />* Much is made of this swimming in the Harvard pool and DB really wants you to know that RL does it EVERY DAY. It’s like he is a merman.<br /><br />** This is an honorary, city-wide title, like “Poet Laureate,” “Queen of Pop,” or “Mayor.”<br /><br />*** It’s a nice sentiment, for sure. But then I thought about it and realized that it would sort of not be easier, because then the editors would have to write ALL the books, which is not only hard but that would MAKE them authors. Did DB mean to blow our minds with this paradox? Probably.Maureenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06349710718701701101noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20580332.post-75422051722270519422009-09-22T18:10:00.004+03:302009-09-22T18:28:51.176+03:30THE LOST SYMBOL READERS' GUIDE, PART TWOIn today’s reading of The Lost Symbol, I’ve realized that I have to go a lot faster, or we are NEVER going to get through this. So here are the next 75 pages, taking us up to page 100, all read and commented on in real time. You can read part one of my guide <a href="http://maureenjohnson.blogspot.com/2009/09/lost-symbol-readers-guide-part-one.html">here</a>.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter six</span><br /><br />I have some issues with chapter six.<br /><br />It starts off well enough. At the top of chapter six, HSRL’s car pulls up to the curb. HSRL’s main concern at this point is that he must run 400 yards, in the rain, in loafers. Never before or since has an action hero ever been so distraught about his casual footwear! <span style="font-style:italic;">My loafers!</span> he despairs. <span style="font-style:italic;">My loafers!</span><br /><br />Still, our beloafered hero manages to run the whole 400 yards to the Capitol Vistor’s Center. We are reminded that HSRL does not like enclosed spaces because he was once trapped down in a well. We are also reminded that HSRL always wears a Mickey Mouse watch given to him by his parents, because, as he helpfully tells the guy at security, “I wear it to remind me to slow down and take life less seriously.”<br /><br />All to the good, right?<br /><br />But then . . . he has a flashback, one that lasts pretty much the entire chapter. And this is where I start to get agitated. As RL looks around, he remembers a generalized classroom experience he had at Harvard. It forces me to come to one of two conclusions:<br /><br />1. Harvard is not nearly as hard as people make it out to be. In which case, I totally could have gone there. Where did I go? The University of Delaware, home of the Fighting Blue Hens. I mean, it was fine, but it doesn’t have the same ring as Harvard.<br /><br />2. There are two Harvards. One is for the people you typically think go to Harvard, like Bill Gates and my friend Robin Wasserman, and the other is Stupid Harvard. Stupid Harvard PAYS for real Harvard. This, I suspect, is what puts the H in HSRL’s name. The students in RL’s classes, as he remembers them, are the kind of people who have to use the plastic scissors. They annoy him by drawing all over their maps. They don’t know the meaning of any useful words. Witness this scene, as RL meets his new class and shows them a slide:<br /><br /><blockquote>“How many of you recognize the building in this picture?”<br /><br />“U.S. Capitol!” dozens of voices called out in unison. “Washington, D.C.!”<br /><br />“Yes. There are nine million pounds of ironwork in that dome. An unparalleled feat of architectural ingenuity for the 1850s.”<br /><br />“Awesome!” someone shouted. <br /><br />Langdon rolled his eyes, wishing someone would ban that word.</blockquote><br /><br />He hates these idiots, even when they follow his lectures with a cult-like devotion:<br /><br /><blockquote>“If you’re curious, you should take my mysticism course. Frankly, I don’t think you guys are emotionally prepared to hear the answer.”<br /><br />“What?” the person shouted. “Try us!”<br /><br />Langdon made a show of considering it and then shook his head, toying with them. “Sorry, I can’t do that. Some of you are only freshmen. I’m afraid it might blow your minds.”<br /><br />“Tell us!” everyone shouted.</blockquote><br /><br />Oh, how he despises these awful, dimwitted creatures. How glad he is to be rid of them! Now he is in this fine, fine building full of fine things. He runs to the hall where he has to speak. Run, loafer man, run! And then he gets there . . . and . . . <br /><br />Wait. Something is wrong!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter seven</span><br /><br />If you have ever wanted an entire book of people going into buildings, look no further, because this is it. In chapter seven, Katheleen Solomon goes into one of the Smithsonian storage buildings. Is it as cool as going into the Capitol Visitors’ Center? You BET it is. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter eight</span><br /><br />The one thing HSRL has failed to notice as he has been remembering and running is that there is absolutely no one around. So when he winds up on a stage facing absolutely no one—just a dark, empty room—you start to think that maybe Stupid Harvard is where he belongs.<br /><br />Or so suggests the person who calls him on the phone at that moment and cackles that he has gotten HSRL to do his evil bidding! He has summonded HSRL, tricking him into calling 202-329-5746. *crack of lightening*<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter nine</span><br /><br />Chapter nine starts off . . . well, exactly where chapter eight left off. HSRL is still standing on the empty stage, holding the phone. I guess it is expected that a page and a half of that kind of excitement is all we can reasonably be expected to handle. <br /><br />Anyway, this lunatic on the phone is rambling about how he has brought Robert Langdon here to do his bidding, and if he wants to save Peter Solomon’s soul, he had better comply! At first, HSRL thinks this is yet another symbology groupie, but then, there is a scream! <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter ten</span><br /><br />Chapter ten gives us a wonderful word that I plan on using in conversation as much as possible: <span style="font-style:italic;">handequin</span>. It’s a mannequin . . . of a hand! How have I never heard this word before? And why is my first thought that instead of Harlequin romances, we should have Handequin romances, which would be torrid love stories that revolve around or otherwise involve fake human hands! <br /><br />Oh, and the reason this is mentioned is because there is an actual, severed human hand on the floor. It has been mounted on a stand and decorated in tattoos and it belongs to Peter Solomon.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Handequin!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter eleven</span><br /><br />In chapter eleven, Katherine Solomon tries to call her brother and he doesn’t pick up. Presumably, she doesn’t know that his awesome (sorry HSRL) severed hand is causing all kinds of excitement at the Capitol Building. <br /><br />Also, we learn that three years ago, as a gift, Peter Solomon gave her a football field-sized, sterile, Hydrogen fuel cell-powered pod in the Smithsonian. It’s called Pod 5.<br /><br />You just know that was the year she decided to just keep it simple at Christmas and just get him a tie and some books, and then he turned around gave her this thing that you can keep a fleet of planes in. I bet on one hand she was really appriciatative, and on the other, that she really just wanted to punch him in the jeans.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter twelve</span><br /><br />We meet Captiol police chief Trent Anderson, who is only slightly more functional than RL’s much-hated students back at Stupid Harvard. He manages to actually find and question the man who is responsible for the severed hand and is tricked by the “they went thataway” ploy. Meanwhile, the man escapes out the back door, takes off his wig and laughs. Can you blame him? Can you?<br /><br />And we see it’s our old friend Mal’akh! Good for you, Mal’akh! You know who he reminds me of? Emperor Ming. Does that mean that HSRL is Flash Gordon, and instead of saving us by zooming in on a flying treadmill, he will come on his magic loafers? Maybe! <br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/AMEc_MiLmgw&hl=en&fs=1&color1=0xcc2550&color2=0xe87a9f"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/AMEc_MiLmgw&hl=en&fs=1&color1=0xcc2550&color2=0xe87a9f" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter thirteen</span><br /><br />HSRL has figured out that the severed hand represents The Hand of the Mysteries, which is a super-secret invitation to something super-secret. Also, you’re just supposed to DRAW it, not actually give someone a severed hand. He tries to tell someone that it is Peter Solomon’s hand, but resident incompetent Trent Anderson and his band of morons are making everyone’s life difficult, so you know we aren’t going to get anywhere for a while.<br /><br />Here is a video I think will give you the basic idea of what Trent Anderson is like. For some reason, it’s in German, but I feel this actually adds to the experience. I just watched it three times.<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/NF6FewJKO0U&hl=en&fs=1&color1=0xcc2550&color2=0xe87a9f"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/NF6FewJKO0U&hl=en&fs=1&color1=0xcc2550&color2=0xe87a9f" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter fourteen</span><br /><br />Mal’akh drives off in his limo, thinking about his own superiority and how he will soon rule everyone! I think I was right about this Ming thing.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter fifteen</span><br /><br />Page 55. This is not good. I should be further than this. We press on. Quick summary: Katherine is in her Pod. We find out more about her kooky, “you are the spoon” science. So concerned is DB that we get this that he even includes research quotes, book titles, and websites in her thought bubble. <br /><br />We see a flashback of her talking to her brother Peter, which only serves to confirm my theories about her feelings toward him. She comes home from Yale, where she studies physics, and he makes her stand in the library and list everything she’s read, but whatever she says, it isn’t good enough. Everything she thinks is new has been done before. Entanglement theory? Well, just read the Tao Te Ching! Superstring theory? Well, that was covered in the 13th Century in Don’t Mess with the Zohan!*<br /><br />Oh you think you know things, he schools her, but you know nothing! Nothing! <br /><br />Ho, ho, say I. Where are you now, Mr. Peter Solomon? You’re a hand on a stand! <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter sixteen</span><br /><br />Speaking of hands, Captiol police chief Trent Anderson clearly couldn’t find his ass with both of his own. But that doesn’t matter, because CIA chief Inoue Sato is on the phone . . . and wants to speak to HSRL! The CIA knows he is in the building! THEY KNOW EVERYTHING!<br /><br />The phone is passed over, and Sato proceeds to grill RL relentlessly until RL has to pretend that they have a bad connection because he is so flustered. But it’s no good, because during the conversation, Sato has actually SNUCK UP BEHIND HIM! <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter seventeen</span><br /><br />And guess what? Sato is a woman! Bet you weren’t expecting THAT! Not just a woman, but a tiny, wizended, mustachoed woman. Aside from the mustache, she appears to be a dead ringer for Gollum.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6C893FRmrlaSzcTIl6DTsRobc-d_qF09hyeyczy9QRQmOyMbtEuoRd_wnMPA4LzMUl2vfAkQOd2yypbhAU9lCdBWjzrGTJ_PWFJjNM1LmlSe2jvz-n2KpV75gZREdqsWcaWZvmQ/s1600-h/gollum.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 282px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6C893FRmrlaSzcTIl6DTsRobc-d_qF09hyeyczy9QRQmOyMbtEuoRd_wnMPA4LzMUl2vfAkQOd2yypbhAU9lCdBWjzrGTJ_PWFJjNM1LmlSe2jvz-n2KpV75gZREdqsWcaWZvmQ/s400/gollum.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384302765528039890" /></a><br /><br /><center><span style="font-weight:bold;">CIA Chief Inoue Sato</span></center><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter eighteen</span><br /><br />Back in The Pod, we meet Trish Dunne, Katherine’s mad genius assistant. We find out that both Trish and Kathleen share the same debilitating condition—namely, they must explain everything they are thinking, out loud, to people who clearly know these things already.** They both have a terrible attack of this condition, with Kathleen explaining the entire nature of her work, and Trish explaining in excruciating detail the process by which she will create a search program called a delegator. It is a sad and lonely world in which they live.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter nineteen</span><br /><br />It is impossible for me to express just how much Sato hates HSRL. She oozes disgust. She cuts him off at every opportunity. She doesn’t even want to hear his lecture on Ancient Mysteries. She is small and full of rage.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter twenty</span><br /><br />Is again the same scene, with Sato hating RL even more because he will just not shut up about his Ancient Mysteries. He tries to lure her in by telling her that the Capitol is based on the Temple of Vesta in Rome, but she just doesn’t care. He finally gets her, however, when he tells her there is a painting of George Washington being depicted as a god . . . and, he points, it is RIGHT OVER HER HEAD!***<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter twenty-one</span><br /><br />Even mustache-faced Sato can’t resist the lure of HSRL’s pointy ways.<br /><br />We find out that the Founding Fathers were massively crazy and did all kinds of cool stuff that no one ever tells us about. Like, for instance, paint 4,664 square foot frescos of George Washington turning into a god on the ceiling of the Capitol. HSRL explains that whoever has done this dasterly deed believes that this painting somehow leads to a magical portal.<br /><br />In his one moment of usefulness, Capitol police chief Trent Anderson says that there is <span style="font-style:italic;">an actual, secret door </span>up there that pretty much no one knows about . . . but everyone just ignores him because HSRL has revealed that there used to be a statue of a half-naked George Washington standing RIGHT HERE, pointing at the ceiling in the SAME EXACT WAY, but they took it away because it was too freaky. He is so smug about this knowledge that he actually makes her Google it on her blackberry. Here it is:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifdgh2VQXcjWow5ftTc_pDMSySOqmXFQwiFuN0zHR0qmo8Kl-rncuVF9thlR81KmHt_Bw0_rSc_GWurSeH3irfhMaLatadbtA7a4nqoHzvTRWHfvX7ti_2I59nR_suP8-gZHPt7w/s1600-h/horror2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 360px; height: 349px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifdgh2VQXcjWow5ftTc_pDMSySOqmXFQwiFuN0zHR0qmo8Kl-rncuVF9thlR81KmHt_Bw0_rSc_GWurSeH3irfhMaLatadbtA7a4nqoHzvTRWHfvX7ti_2I59nR_suP8-gZHPt7w/s400/horror2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384304313162723474" /></a><br /><br />He’s winning her over. You can feel it.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter twenty-two</span><br /><br />Katherine gets a call from Peter’s doctor. You find out that Peter was seeing a psychiatrist. The doctor invites Katherine over. It’s Mal’akh! In makeup! Oh, Mal’akh, whatever are you up to!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter twenty three</span><br /><br />HSRL is sure that Peter’s handequin has been tattooed on the palm. Sure enough, it has been! RL thinks the tattoo is a bunch of runes. You find out that his expertise “only extended to the most elementary runic alphabet—Futhark—a third-century Teutonic system.” No wonder they make him teach at Stupid Harvard. Somehow, in all of this, RL knows why he was chosen and what he must do. I do not, but I would venture a guess that we are going to be following a lot of pointy hands!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">END PART TWO<br />PAGES COVERED: 23-100<br />PAGES LEFT TO GO: 409<br />CHAPTERS LEFT TO GO: 107</span><br /><br /><br /><br />* My apologies. The text is actually <span style="font-style:italic;">The Complete Zohar</span>.<br /><br />** You may think HSRL suffers the same condition, but he does not. He suffers something similar, in which he delivers entire, unasked for lectures on the fairly obvious. But, instead of being put into a pod, this has gotten him his job at Harvard and thousands of rabid fans.<br /><br />*** I feel obligated to link to <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sbRom1Rz8OA">this video</a>, which claims the same thing. I warn you, it is VERY PROFANE so if you are under 35, I forbid you to click this link. But as far as I can tell at this point, this video pretty much sums up where this book is going.Maureenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06349710718701701101noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20580332.post-11243028331386970752009-09-20T21:18:00.003+04:302009-09-20T21:37:20.988+04:30THE LOST SYMBOL READERS’ GUIDE, PART ONEA few days ago, I suggested on Twitter that I was going to read The Lost Symbol by Dan Brown and produce a complete readers’ guide. Now, I wasn’t SERIOUS. But I was overheard, and a copy of the book was placed in front of me today with the admonition that I had to put up or shut up, so now I am going to read The Lost Symbol and give you a chapter-by-chapter breakdown, even if it kills me. <br /><br />You can read this guide any way you like. You can read it AFTER reading the book, or WHILE reading the book, or BEFORE reading the book, or INSTEAD OF reading the book . . . whatever you want. I am just warning you that I am reading this and recording my guide in REAL TIME, and there will be spoilers. <br /><br />So now, without further ado . . . the first part of my LOST SYMBOL READERS’ GUIDE.<br /><br />******************<br /><br />The book begins with a FACT, which states that in 1991, the CIA locked up a document about something secret and it contains the sentence “It’s buried out there somewhere.” That is genuine truth. So get ready, because this is about to get real.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Prologue<span style="font-weight:bold;"></span></span><br /><br />We are at a Renaissance Faire. A 34 year old man in a floppy shirt and a noose around his neck is drinking wine from a skull cup.<br /><br />No, wait. We are NOT at a Renaissance Faire. We at just BLOCKS AWAY FROM THE WHITE HOUSE! And we are at an initiation ceremony and it is super, super secret and super, super weird. We don’t know who is being initiated, but he is clearly up to no good. He is thinking devious things in italics the whole time. But he is also thinking, "<span style="font-style:italic;">The secret is to know how to die</span>.”<br /><br />Just think of something really creepy and secret society-like and multiply that by eleven and you will get a sense of just how creepy and secret-society like this is. There is a man in charge. We know he is in charge because he is called The Supreme Worshipful Master, which is about as clear an indication as you are ever going to get. That is clearly a job that comes with some kind of a hat.<br /><br />The initiate is thinking that his devious, italicized thoughts are going to be found out! But then they aren’t. In books, no one can hear you italicize.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter one</span><br /><br />A small boy and his dad are on the Otis elevator (Otis is, in fact, the largest manufacturer of elevators—a fact you probably knew already, but this can only be a sign of quality) . . . well, of COURSE it’s an Otis! We’re in the Eiffel Tower! The boy is having a panic attack and thinks he can’t breathe, and his dad is doing the “shut up and don’t be such a coward thing” that parents sometimes have to do in public. But then the cables snap and bottom drops out of the car! Omg!<br /><br />Fooled you! Dream sequence!<br /><br />Harvard Symbologist Robert Langdon wakes up from his dream. He’s on a private jet (a Falcon 2000EX, to be specific, which is the BEST kind of Falcon 2000 because that EX probably stands for EXCELLENT) flying to see his rich friend Peter Solomon—his other father, as it were. Robert Langdon doesn’t want to disappoint this man with the “soft grey eyes” by being a huge, huge coward, so he bravely sits on the plane like a fully-grown symbologist. He calms himself by obsessing over the 555-foot obelisk* in the middle of Washington DC.<br /><br />A professional waver named Pam (one suspects that she is not so much an employee, merely someone who likes to wave at planes and the airport has just accepted the fact that she is not leaving) greets Robert Langdon on touchdown. She immediately wants to know if he is THE Robert Langdon who writes the books on symbols and religion. It’s Pam’s lucky day because he IS that Robert Langdon! Pam has recognized him because of his “uniform”: a turtleneck, a tweed jacket, khakis, and loafers. It’s possible that Pam has asked every single person she has ever seen wearing this outfit if they are Robert Langdon and has been disappointed for YEARS. It just goes to show . . . you have to hold on to your dreams and keep trying!<br /><br />We also learn that Robert Landon is afraid of ties! He calls them “little nooses”! (That’s TWO nooses in six pages! This is going to be important. I demand a prize if he ends up hanging later in this book. MARK MY WORDS.)<br /><br />Anyway, Pam is still greeting HSRL** relentlessly and telling him how to dress and going ON AND ON about his books and saying that he probably gets this all the time so maybe she should shut up. But she does NOT shut up, because you know how you get when you meet your favorite symbologist. You just start freaking out. <br /><br />HSRL has places to be, and he wants her to leave, so he gives Pam the customary tip you give to people who wave at you (usually $20, or a small cake, if you have one on you) and meets Charles from Beltway Limousine. HSRL doesn’t take no cab! Inside, Charles has provided him with bottled water and tiny, hot muffins. (I don’t want to seem cynical, but I am starting to suspect that DB*** wrote some of this on a book tour and is literally just describing his own media escorts and crazy readers and drivers and hot, tiny muffins, but that is neither here nor there, and we must get right back to the fact that HSRL is now IN A CAR.)<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter two</span><br /><br />I must try to make this chapter summaries a bit shorter because we are never going to get anywhere at this rate. Brevity. That’s what I’m going to aim for. Which is a good thing, too, because this chapter is two and a half pages long.<br /><br />A tall, shaved, naked man named Mal’akh is tattooing himself and quietly saying under his breath: <span style="font-style:italic;">I AM A MASTERPIECE</span>. Mal’akh is single, by the way. The book doesn’t say that—but I know it to be true.<br /><br />We get a brief history of tattooing, and then the clock chimes six thirty and Mal’akh stops tattooing himself, so I am guessing that perhaps tattooing himself is his job, and like Fred Flintstone, he stops immediately when the bell rings and slides down the dinosaur to go home.<br /><br />Except Mal’akh is already home, so he puts on a fabulous silk robe and runs around his house, blasting Verdi’s Requiem. He bounds up the stairs and goes to his bedroom and confronts himself in the mirror. He is so overwhelmed that he drops the robe and again considers his naked self and ital-thinks: <span style="font-style:italic;">I am a masterpiece</span>.<br /><br />I fully admit that as a kid and a teenager, I dressed up and ran around the house blasting music when no one was home . . . For me, there was a lot of dark makeup and The Smiths and The Cure, so I am not judging, per se, but I kind of feel that Mal’akh has taken this to a whole new level and is scaling the Kilimanjaro of weird to its creepy peaks and probably he needs a friend or a dog. <br /><br />Mal’akh is now a 33rd level warlock in World of Warcraft**** and he is going to do something really, really important. He leaves the house (I’m guessing he’s gotten dressed, maybe in the HSRL uniform) and is going to do something to the Capitol building which is guaranteed to be exciting. Good for Mal’akh! I will be rooting for him.<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />Chapter three</span><br /><br />Back in the car, Robert Langdon looks up because he can tell from the sound of the tires that they are already on Memorial Bridge. Normally, this would be a kind of pointless detail that you might leave out of a book, but it tells us that Robert Langdon can navigate by sound. He is just that observant. Shaken back to awareness, he once again starts staring at the huge obelisk which he can now see out the window. He really loves that obelisk.<br /><br />We find out that HSRL didn’t think he was going to be here at all! He thought he was just going to have a quiet Sunday at home! The last time he thought that, the sky exploded over Rome and the quasi-pope parachuted out of a helicopter! Time to stop answering the phone on your day off, Robert!<br /><br />It turns out that Peter Solomon’s assistant called him that morning and left a message to call back at the number 202-329-5749. And then he got a FAX asking him to call 202-329-5749! And then we hear all about how Peter Solomon is totally like the richest and most important guy ever! He turned HSRL into the HS he is today! And he’s totally been calling all morning trying to get Robert to dial 202-329-5749! And in case you think it is boring to read someone’s messages when all they say is “please call 202-329-5749”, well, you might be right, but guess what? Peter Solomon totally needs HSRL to be the main speaker at a private gala at the Smithsonian. And guess when it is? It’s tonight!<br /><br />HSRL decides he needs coffee! I’ll bet you do, Robert!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter four</span><br /><br />Mal’akh goes through security at the Capitol Building. That’s the whole chapter.<br /><br />I could tell you more about how he’s wearing a sling, and a ring (hey, that rhymes!) but I really have to go faster. All you need to know is that he goes through security and he makes it even though you know he is carrying something that is probably totally not allowed. I’m just glad to see Mal’akh out of the house.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter five</span><br /><br />In chapter five, we meet Katherine Solomon, who is Peter Solomon’s sister. And if you liked hearing about how Mal’akh went through security, you will love hearing about how Katherine Solomon drove her white Volvo through the gate of 4210 Silver Hill Road, just outside of Washington DC.<br /><br />Katherine practices something called Noetic Science, which sounds totally made up! But I just <a href=" http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Institute_of_Noetic_Sciences">looked it up on Wikipedia</a>. It’s real! DB is always doing that! Making me look things up on Wikipedia! Noetic Science, from what I just read, is basically fancy New Age healing, mind-potential stuff. So whenever Katherine comes on, I am totally going to <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f7UVoUW-xw8">hear Enya in my head</a>. Katherine has just gotten some shocking news about Peter. We don’t know what it is, but it doesn’t sound good. I fear that we are going to have a death sequence in our future.<br /><br />Then we jump over to Mal’akh who calls her on the phone to tell her that whatever it is that Peter thinks is hidden in DC . . . it’s real! And it can be found! Katherine is all omg.<br /><br />As are we all, Katherine. As are we all.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />END PART ONE<br />PAGES COVERED: 1-23<br />PAGES LEFT TO GO: 486<br />CHAPTERS LEFT TO GO: 130</span><br /><br /><br /><br />* It is entirely improper to giggle at the fact that he has such a thing for huge obelisks and I am, frankly, a little ashamed of you. Who doesn’t like to stare at and constantly think about HUGE OBELISKS? <br /><br />** Henceforth, this will be short for Harvard Symbologist Robert Langdon<br /><br />*** Henceforth, this will be short for Dan Brown<br /><br />**** That may be wrong, but he is definitely a 33rd level something. I think that’s only in WOW, right? Or is that D&D as well?Maureenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06349710718701701101noreply@blogger.com36tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20580332.post-48187827165009070952009-09-07T09:36:00.004+04:302009-09-07T10:03:53.236+04:30THE 4AM ADVICE BLOGHello, everyone! I write to you from England, where it is 4 in the morning. Why am I blogging at 4 in the morning? Because my body decided that it would be fun to wake up at 3:00. I hung around in bed until 3:30, and then just gave in to the challenge.<br /><br />“Fine,” I said. “Have it your way, body. You won’t think it’s so funny around 6am.”<br /><br />My body ignored this and demanded a bowl of cereal and a cup of tea. So here I sit, poised in front of my computer, with several hours to go before sunrise! Exciting!<br /><br />Now, you may have noticed that I have been A LITTLE BEHIND on the blogging this summer. This isn’t because I’ve been napping on the job. QUITE THE OPPOSITE. My silence was caused by the fact that I was working overtime on an exciting new project WHILE working on 13 Little Blue Envelopes 2. Plus, I was DOING STUFF. <br /><br />But it’s all to the good, I assure you. And I will be able to tell you about the EXCITING NEW THING this week. And I’m not waiting just to be annoying. There’s going to be a general announcement made, and I have to stay in step with that. But I am BURSTING to tell you. Maybe that’s why I’m awake at 4am. <br /><br />Anyway, since I’m up, I felt like it was time to do a blog! So I went on Twitter to ask if anyone had any questions they needed answered. I’m not sure you should take my advice on any occasion, but I can say without hesitation that you should not take the advice I dispense at 4am. Will that stop me from giving it? Of course not!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6hK86aEUnMXRTgXjuJY6BUOryOGGW61oSS7jNgTe23jnl3S1oAt6qmPCbOptjLp14ri7QnxzWoBsb8bbadlPtOCe65smb2K4fN3GHTL_BGxhg2gKBq2a437DtQml_TPiYR7b0ew/s1600-h/metropolis3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6hK86aEUnMXRTgXjuJY6BUOryOGGW61oSS7jNgTe23jnl3S1oAt6qmPCbOptjLp14ri7QnxzWoBsb8bbadlPtOCe65smb2K4fN3GHTL_BGxhg2gKBq2a437DtQml_TPiYR7b0ew/s400/metropolis3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378592527683536114" /></a><br /><br /><center><span style="font-weight:bold;">It's always time for ADVICE!</span></center><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />rawrlol asks: What does one DO at 4AM?</span><br /><br />One writes a blog and gives out advice.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Elenisilelf asks: why are there no cute boys in any of my classes?</span><br /><br />Possibly you go to MY former high school? Look around you. Is it all girls, in all directions? Are they all dressed head to toe in fireproof navy blue polyester?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Diamondelight92 asks: should i buy a snuggie or a slanket?</span><br /><br />Wow. This was a hard one. I had to do some research before I could make a call.<br /><br /><a href="https://www.getsnuggie.com/flare/next">The Snuggie</a> is pure informercial magic. It unabashedly goes for the “are you too stupid to live?” audience, which I appreciate. It takes some serious chutzpah to get out there on national television and say, “You know what are hard to figure out? Blankets.” You can’t make a statement like that without VISION. That they offered a free booklight with every purchase was simply another sign of their genius. Because what does “blanket too hard” imply if not “serious reader”? I can smell that copy of Chicken Soup for the Snuggie Soul from miles away! This is why we, as a nation, immediately saluted them. We know our kind of greatness when we see it.<br /><br />The Slanket people come at it from a totally different angle. They know that we all, even if we won’t admit it out loud, want a Snuggie or a Slanket. We want one very much. We all KNOW it’s just a backwards robe and that it makes you look like an insane, lazy cult member, but it’s still AWESOME! We want to drape ourselves in sleeved fleece and recline, slack-jawed, on the sofa. If offered one for free, we will greedily accept it. I wish I had one right now, to write this 4am blog! If only I could get over the shame of ordering one!<br /><br />The Slanket people have tried to figure out a way to make this okay. They have done this by filling their website with <a href="http://www.theslanket.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=1&products_id=5">weird, quasi-hip descriptions</a> and by giving small donations to eco-friendly causes. They are the thinking person’s Snuggie. And while I like the concept to giving money to charity, and I prefer the colors, I feel this makes the Slanket too self-aware.<br /><br />I feel I’m going to have to come down on the side of the Snuggie, though you really can’t lose either way. And now matter what you choose, one thing will always be true . . . if you buy a wearable towel, the Snuggie and Slanket’s bastard cousin, you are clearly some kind of an a$%&*#e.<br /><br /><object width="560" height="340"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/WjdyjL0dbG8&hl=en&fs=1&color1=0xcc2550&color2=0xe87a9f"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/WjdyjL0dbG8&hl=en&fs=1&color1=0xcc2550&color2=0xe87a9f" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="560" height="340"></embed></object><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">lalibrarylady86 asks: What are Bacon Bits really made of?</span><br /><br />Many bacon bits are, weirdly, vegetarian. (Bac-o definitely are. You have to check the labels brand by brand. An easy rule of thumb: if they are crunchy, like fish gravel or Pop Rocks, they are vegetarian! If they are kind of quasi-moist and chewy, they are real!) The fake ones are made of soy or textured vegetable protein, often flavored with soy sauce and colored with red dye. In all cases, they make delicious cupcake toppings and are wonderful to toss at weddings in lieu of confetti. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">VoraciousReader asks: Pls do not think I took your 'follow me' button overseriously but am also visiting UK atm and also up at 4 am. Advice?</span><br /><br />Would you like to come over? Perhaps I can start a 4am club!<br /><br />Failing that, if you are in London, I would go and stand in line for the FIRST LONDON EYE RIDE OF THE DAY! I mean, why not? <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">EJ_Hope asks: What is more appropriate in a literary work - tongue in cheek, sarcasm or in you face comedy?</span><br /><br />There’s no answer to this. There are no rights or wrongs or appropriates. What’s important is a strong, clear, distinctive voice that tells its own truth in its own way. Also, vampires. Have you tried vampires? They are like Bac-os, but for books!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">springtosprung asks: I have lots of fears that keep me from doing things i wish i could. social interaction is top of the fear list. any advice?</span><br /><br />While I would normally encourage the development of a <a href="http://maureenjohnson.blogspot.com/2007/06/what-to-be-afraid-of-in.html">Fear List</a> (I have written several of them myself!), I can see the problem here. While most things (jellyfish, the sun, birds, butterflies, shelving, water slides, etc.) are out to get you, other people generally aren’t. the one thought I always find reassuring—whatever you are going through, whatever weird feeling or problem you have, you are not the only person who has experienced it. <br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">KWMomo77 asks: My whole family thinks I am going to be a literary great but, SMeyers crushed my dreams. HELP.</span><br /><br />How has Stephenie Meyer crushed your dreams? And why is it that your family thinks you are going to be a literary great? The one thing I notice left out of both these statements is YOU. Nine times out of ten, the only person who can raise you up or keep you down is YOU. So while it is great that your family thinks you will do AWESOME, you are the only one who can make that happen. Likewise, it’s actually really hard for other people to keep you down—especially people you don’t know who have nothing directly to do with your life. <br /><br />Unless, of course, Stephanie Meyer comes into your house at night and deletes your files. This is the problem I have with J.K. Rowling, who has been <a href="http://maureenjohnson.blogspot.com/2007/07/harry-potter-secrets-revealed.html">my nemesis</a> for some time. I have told many stories of how she sneaks up on me, <a href="http://maureenjohnson.blogspot.com/2007/12/jam-jar.html">eats my snacks</a>, follows me, and crashes through my windows. Of course, I don’t have it NEARLY as bad as Alan Rickman, <a href="http://maureenjohnson.blogspot.com/2007/07/actual-harry-potter-spoilers-revealed.html">who is trapped in her basement</a>, forced to survive on jam and swim with her dolphin, Fatso. Even so, I thrive DESPITE Rowling’s attempts to bring me down. ARE YOU READING THIS, ROWLING? YOU’LL NEVER WIN! (And kudos to the brave people who fight to <a href="http://maureenjohnson.ning.com/group/freealan">FREE ALAN RICKMAN</a>.)<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">sushiitrain asks: how do I deal with my crippling tendency to procrastinate when I have so many things to do?</span><br /><br />The best thing to do is to spend a few hours on the internet researching personal organization software, downloading free trials, and learning how to set them up. I find that the only thing better than an actual, physical list of things to do are about thirteen different computerized versions of the same thing, except with long, complicated menus and functions and lots of choices of colors and themes. This is what I do and it has LITERALLY NEVER FAILED ME!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">koriannespeaks asks: How do you get a hamster in your brain?</span><br /><br />Hamsters cannot live inside your brain. This would kill both you and the hamster. Hamsters control your brain remotely. They can do this from up to 500 miles away. So don’t worry if you can’t SEE the hamster who controls you! Trust in the fact that that hamster is there, bending you to its will, even if that will is that you wake up at 3:30am and write an advice blog. TRUST THE HAMSTER.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">ASmilingVillian offers: I think <a href="http://bit.ly/3A7OpB">they're talking about you</a>, but it's hard to tell</span><br /><br />Certainly not me! I never respond to critics! I only respond to YOU, the hamsters, and the moonlight. But I do like how CRANKY this guy is! I also like how he’s extrapolating based on one incident involving one person which was generally acknowledged by everyone, everywhere to be COMPLETELY NUTS! One person doing one thing somewhere does not a TREND make! But why let that stop you, article writer? If there’s one thing we can always use, it’s another article complaining about the internet . . . on the internet.<br /><br />But wait . . . am I responding to a critic using Twitter? I mean, he said nothing about me, and I’m responding in a blog. But I did get this link FROM Twitter. And I am responding. OH NO! I am going DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE!<br /><br />Whatever the case, I think that in the future, we will solve all internet disputes with dueling cat videos. This way, EVERYONE WINS!<br /><br />Ah! It is sunrise over England! I see it creeping over the horizon with its rosy fingers. So I bring my advice to an end. I must now run into the streets, heralding the morning and waking the inhabitants with my morning song. Look for more from me SOON. Maybe even TOMORROW.Maureenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06349710718701701101noreply@blogger.com29tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20580332.post-41960922787204143722009-08-19T22:28:00.003+04:302009-08-20T00:44:09.776+04:3016 LIES ABOUT JOHN GREENRemember when you told <a href=" http://maureenjohnson.blogspot.com/2009/07/liar-idol.html">all those lies about me on Twitter</a>? Well, THIS is like THAT, but with John Green. You have TWO HOURS to vote! That’s until 4pm NYC time! To the winner, a SCARLETT FEVER!<br /><br />1. mighty_mouse720 @realjohngreen believes it's not butter.<br /><br />2. erinv@realjohngreen will knock three times on the ceiling if he wants you, twice on the pipes if the answer is no.<br /><br />3. Loisunpublished @realjohngreen has never really looked for Alaska<br /><br />4. mighty_mouse720 @realjohngreen dropped an infant into a well, trying to teach it how to swim.<br /><br />5. Helena2011 @realjohngreen gets a pedicure every tuesday. His toenails say 'i <3 Maureen!'<br /><br />6. Loisunpublished @realjohngreen invented the Slap-Chop.<br /><br />7. erinv @realjohngreen is currently writing a book on the fine art of 'manscaping'"<br /><br />8. K_elli @realjohngreen's main form of transportation is a bike with a flowered banana seat and sparkly pink tassels<br /><br />9. mighty_mouse720 By day John Green is an author/vlogger, but by night he is the Emerald Arachnid, saving populations in a giant spider suit.<br /><br />10. lonesome_pine There is no @realjohngreen. Only Zuul.<br /><br />11. chipmunk2011 @realjohngreen is selling maureen johnson collectibles on ebay. they have her real hair<br /><br />12. Sergium @realjohngreen is actually just Maureen Johnson before she puts her makeup on.<br /><br />13. lcrosbie @realjohngreen once tested new medical product called Viagrogaine...now puff levels can never go down.<br /><br />14. ImaginaryGel http://twitpic.com/eddxy - @maureenjohnson John Green and @coollike got into a fight over who would play Keith. John lost.<br /><br />15. deanocarroll John Green installed Death Panels on his roof and now all his electricity comes from old people and puppies dying<br /><br />16. nickmcrae @realjohngreen John Green wears Drakkar Noir.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">UPDATE: It was quite a battle, but the winner was NUMBER 15.</span>Maureenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06349710718701701101noreply@blogger.com149tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20580332.post-73086769780418950762009-07-30T23:05:00.004+04:302009-07-30T23:11:41.402+04:30ASK MJ: HOW TO GET A JOB<span style="font-weight:bold;">James asks: What is good job interview technique, and what should I do to make the right impression on a prospective employer?</span><br /><br />I am glad you have come to me with this one, James. Perhaps you may think of me as a dashing author-about-town,* but I was not always gainfully employed as a writer. Like many scribblers, I have had many, many jobs, and I am pretty much an expert on how to get them. I have been, in rough chronological order: a Burger King employee, a snack bar attendant, a telemarketer, a nanny, a sandwich-maker, a writing center consultant, a barista, a school secretary, a ball-pen and climbing net supervisor, a caterer, an administrative assistant, a literary manager of a theater company, a bartender, a waitress, a waitress in a haunted house themed restaurant (which is different from just being a waitress, trust me), a fake employee, a rehearsal room and costume attendant, a PowerPoint presentation expert, a speaker’s aide, an in-house dramaturg, a research assistant, a freelance writer, a freelance editor, a layout editor, a writing instructor, an editorial assistant, an “education specialist,” and an editor.<br /><br />I think I’m missing a few, but that’s about the size of it. I have had a lot of jobs, some good, some bad. Hey, I worked <a href=" http://www.nytimes.com/2009/06/21/nyregion/21about.html">here</a>. And remember the time I told you about <a href="http://maureenjohnson.blogspot.com/2009/04/tiger-diaries-part-four.html">this</a>?<br /><br />Clearly, I know how to get a job. And now, I will pass some of my wisdom on to you. This is a tough economic climate, and I want to make sure that YOU are gainfully employed. Because if YOU are not gainfully employed, YOU cannot buy my books, and I have to go back to one of those other places. And trust me, I am not going back <a href="http://www.jekyllandhydeclub.com/">here</a>, even though I still have my nametag.<br /><br />Now, everything I am about to say only applies if you are trying to get a job where you have to wear a nametag (or a nametag equivalent, such as a themed t-shirt or hat). If you are applying to become, say, the head of cardiothoracic surgery at Boston General, the rules may be different. <br /><br />I am going to tell you something very, very important—something most people will not tell you. This lesson will save you a lot of time and will help you score the job you are after.<br /><br />There are only two kinds of bosses. <br /><br />Type one (kind of rare, but not so rare that you won’t encounter them): people so into the job that they are just hiring because upper management has told them that hiring people is part of their job so they will do it with GUSTO!<br /><br />Type two (most bosses): people who want someone who will do their job for them. (When <a href="http://maureenjohnson.blogspot.com/2007/04/how-to-be-good-boss.html">I was a boss</a>, this was my type.)<br /><br />You may think that there are other kinds of bosses, but you would be wrong. There are only two. There are certainly a lot of subcategories like:<br /><br />- clinically insane boss<br />- chemically dependent boss<br />- accidentally promoted boss<br />- son/daughter of the boss boss<br />- distracted by personal drama boss<br />- terrified that people are about to discover his/her incompetence boss<br />- applying for another job as we speak boss<br />- involved in an illicit relationship with someone at the company boss<br />- on the wrong medication boss<br />- unaware of his/her own ineptitude boss <br />- thinks you two will be great friends and so keeps telling you things you don’t want to know boss<br />- suspicious of everyone boss<br />- sarcastic for no reason boss<br />- does over of everything you do boss<br />- actual spawn of Satan boss<br /><br />Oh, and sure, the occasional good boss.<br /><br />These are all very popular kinds of bosses, but trust me . . . they are either type one or type two, and everything else is just FLAVOR. You need to figure this out early in the interview. Everything depends on it. I have complied the following list of conversational clues that will help you determine which you are dealing with.<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />SIGNS OF A TYPE ONE BOSS:</span><br /><br />In the interview, this kind of boss will tell you a lot about him or herself and his or her management style and background. You will not have asked, and it will not be relevant. In fact, it will be incredibly awkward. <br /><br />Let’s say you are applying for a job at a coffee place. A conversation with a type one boss might go something like this.<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />TYPE 1 BOSS:</span> So, you want to work at my branch of Snarlbluck’s? Well, let me tell you a little bit about what kind of store I run. I’m a really hands on manager. I’m really good friends with all of my employees. <br /><br />*pause*<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">YOU:</span> Oh . . . uh . . . great! I like . . . friends.<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />TYPE 1:</span> (not listening) And I know how to run every single piece of equipment behind that counter. I can do every job. I’ve been with the company since . . . oh, let’s see, since 2006 . . . and I can make every variation of every drink.<br /><br />*pause*<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">YOU:</span> Oh, uh . . .<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">TYPE 1:</span> I’m the kind of manager who expects people to tell me how things are going, and . . . <br /><br />S<span style="font-weight:bold;">IGNS OF A TYPE TWO BOSS</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">TYPE 2:</span> So you want to work at Snarlbluck’s. Why?<br /><br />See the difference? The Type 1 boss is off to the races with the personal resume, and the Type 2 boss wants to know, correctly, why in God’s name you would apply to work in this place. And all they want is . . . someone who will do their job for them.<br /><br />You have about one minute, maybe two, to figure this out. <br /><br />If the boss in question is a Type 1, getting the job is actually really easy. All you have to do is pretend to listen VERY, VERY INTENTLY to what they are saying. This interview is not about you—its about them. Don’t treat the interview like a job interview—treat the meeting as though you were meeting a foreign dignitary at an embassy . . . someone charming and wonderful. This isn’t about anything so crass as getting a job. No. This is about meeting someone worth meeting. Your application? Let’s not even waste time discussing it. Let’s get back to what’s important. YOUR NEW BOSS. <br /><br />If you must speak, make sure to pepper your conversation with references to them. Say things like, “You seem like a great person to work for.” “Do you REALLY know how to make every kind of Coffeecino?” Even better . . . quote them once or twice. Ask for clarification on something that they said. “So what did you do when you ran out of large mugs?” you ask. And make your expression mirror theirs. Smile and nod when they talk about their huge success getting corporate to send three extra boxes of promotional hats. Look grave when they tell you the story about the time the credit card swipe on the cash register broke during Christmas season. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiioHMbzbOI7fWkCRY5dUXZG-MzP1x1hJJ6HldmMxAeRQgkYNrGpPSiiXDHVIa3JPN-9AQUxU-_V6od26SRtNDBycb_c9PRCRI8t_rPIDlQ6t7LhtNEKjq6ksOxli0tHye-2nj8GQ/s1600-h/Annex+-+Grant,+Cary+(Bachelor+and+the+Bobby-Soxer,+The)_05.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 306px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiioHMbzbOI7fWkCRY5dUXZG-MzP1x1hJJ6HldmMxAeRQgkYNrGpPSiiXDHVIa3JPN-9AQUxU-_V6od26SRtNDBycb_c9PRCRI8t_rPIDlQ6t7LhtNEKjq6ksOxli0tHye-2nj8GQ/s400/Annex+-+Grant,+Cary+(Bachelor+and+the+Bobby-Soxer,+The)_05.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364324403850732818" /></a><br /><br /><center><span style="font-weight:bold;">If you play your cards right, this will not be the last time you hear these stories!</span></center><br /><br />But if your boss is Type 2, you are going to have to prove yourself. And what you need to prove is that you are both ready, willing, and able to do their job for them. Because anyone with a grain of sense would rather spend the day talking to friends, reading, or watching cat videos online. They have done their time in the trenches.<br /><br />It’s a fickle business, this part. Let’s get right to what your new boss is after.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">ARE YOU AN IDIOT?</span><br /><br />This is question #1. Your application probably doesn’t have much information on it aside from your name, your address, and your school. They are looking at it just to see if you have filled in the right words in the right places, and not, say, drawn pictures of unicorns or pineapples or pineacorns or uniapples. You should get through this part just fine.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">DO YOU HAVE EXPERIENCE?</span><br /><br />With very few exceptions, experience is completely irrelevant in most nametag jobs. This is awesome news for you! Don’t work yourself into a teeth-grinding frenzy worrying whether or not those three months you spent working in the copy center will be enough for the high-flyers at Snarlbluck’s. It all goes back to the all-important “Are you an idiot?” question. If anything, they will ask just to make sure you weren’t fired for being an idiot. If you did get fired because you made some goofy mistake which you now regret, you sweep in with a “I had to quit because of schoolwork” or somesuch. This will show that while you have been an idiot in the past, you have fixed it now, and you know to make smooth cover statements.<br /><br />Now, I am not saying YOU should do this, but I got at least six of those jobs on my list above by . . . well, lying is such a harsh word, and as I have told you many times, I do not know how to lie. I do, however, know how to spin a compelling narrative. <br /><br />I mean . . . here’s a for instance. When I moved here, I was told that it was VERY HARD to become a waitress in New York City and that to get hired you had to have New York City waiting experience. “But how,” I asked myself, “do you get New York City waiting experience unless someone hires you?” It was like that time my mom told me I couldn’t get my learner’s driving permit until I had more practice. The system was against me!<br /><br />Obviously, I realized, what they were looking for were people who could creatively think themselves around this problem—this minimum wage Schrödinger's cat scenario. Obviously, what they wanted me to do was construct a resume of experience that was LOOSELY BASED on reality, full of references in another country that I knew they would be too cheap and/or lazy to check. Had I worked as a waitress before? Not in New York, but in London (true!). How long? Oh . . . a while. You know, like how long Edward has been seventeen. Where? I had prepared a well-organized paper full of places and addresses and phone numbers. Preparation! I was not an idiot. Did I actually work at those places? Were they even real? Come now. Let’s not get ourselves all wound up over nothing.<br /><br />And was a good waitress? Yes! Did I return a large roll of cash I found on the floor, completely as I found it? Yes! Did I steal them blind like everyone else was doing? No! Did I scrupulously check every check to make sure it was accurate? Yes! Did ever rip off a customer, even for a single dollar? A single penny? No! <br /><br />I was one of the only honest people in the building. All I had to do was convince them to hire me. These are the kinds of paradoxes you have to wrap your head around in order to achieve JOB SUCCESS! <br /><br />And in several other jobs, when asked if I could do the things I was being asked to do . . . well, in some of those cases, I didn’t even know what those things were and had to Google them as soon as I left. But my answer was always, “OF COURSE I CAN.” And I said it like I meant it. Does this mean that I once almost blew up an entire magazine because the only working copy was kept on the server and could be changed by anyone, at any time (who would do this?) and I did a “change all” and basically blew up the typeface and made the layout explode? Perhaps. Perhaps I did. But I provided ADDED VALUE in many other ways, I assure you.<br /><br />So, what I am saying? I am saying you must be confident when you are asked what you are capable of!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK9xd18N_51j3_C2hNEIVs3wCMiyY4WAQCSA1Rj3pp_ItaDv0Qr5MkfM2s1SQ0zZPqU1uWX2NQGsMEe-IYrOkeIPObEZiU5BfnzlvBrU8D2EhDMzo3wmHJ2Zvhz0EiDEJPRRaipA/s1600-h/Annex+-+Grant,+Cary+(His+Girl+Friday)_02.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 309px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK9xd18N_51j3_C2hNEIVs3wCMiyY4WAQCSA1Rj3pp_ItaDv0Qr5MkfM2s1SQ0zZPqU1uWX2NQGsMEe-IYrOkeIPObEZiU5BfnzlvBrU8D2EhDMzo3wmHJ2Zvhz0EiDEJPRRaipA/s400/Annex+-+Grant,+Cary+(His+Girl+Friday)_02.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364324714082254098" /></a><br /><br /><center><span style="font-weight:bold;">Confidence!</span></center><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />ARE YOU A WEIRDO?</span><br /><br />There’s usually some question in an interview that goes something like, “Why do you want to work at ________.” Unless you are crazy, or deep undercover, or are stalking another employee, the only reason you would want to work at _________ is because you would like to earn some money to buy books and feed your hamsters. And while you’ve considered selling your own organs, a job seemed like the best way of getting that money.<br /><br />This is why I suggest that you shouldn’t seem CREEPILY EAGER for the job. You should seem practically eager. You should radiate: “I am a normal, non-idiot who wants this job for all the reasons you might expect. I will do it well. But I am not a freak.”<br /><br />You don’t want to convey, for instance, the impression that you are just someone who really likes to fold sweaters and is just thrilled that there is a place where you can actually get paid to do it, because you have been going to all your friends’ houses and folding their sweaters for years even though they have asked you to stop! And maybe you can just fix that collar? Because your collar is just sticking up a little on the left and it is kind of freaking you out—ha ha!—and you won’t be able to concentrate until the collar is fixed so can we just stop and fix the collar before this goes any further?<br /><br />This kind of thing puts the interviewer on edge.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLkg4Y854d4UzLOcSn6byRWRpqaJhX3EfIOKfLMM31P5kSRjuB_hRdH9WVfQiBHLNx6yZsWV9U0pgbx5qjTG_2AoV2A6mKAPzP-nR-yYL4EecaWrlLwzhYq0b4O-5O6tTHbWTuKA/s1600-h/Annex+-+Grant,+Cary+(His+Girl+Friday)_04.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 301px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLkg4Y854d4UzLOcSn6byRWRpqaJhX3EfIOKfLMM31P5kSRjuB_hRdH9WVfQiBHLNx6yZsWV9U0pgbx5qjTG_2AoV2A6mKAPzP-nR-yYL4EecaWrlLwzhYq0b4O-5O6tTHbWTuKA/s400/Annex+-+Grant,+Cary+(His+Girl+Friday)_04.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364325041520788018" /></a><br /><br /><center><span style="font-weight:bold;">Yes . . .but are you normal?</span></center><br /><br />I hope this has been helpful! Now get out there and GET A JOB! Feel free to use me as a reference. I am a wonderful reference. Employers love to talk to me! <br /><br />And remember to buy my books, because a lot of people are counting on you to keep me from coming back to their places of employment. Don’t let them down.<br /><br /><br /><br />* Though other descriptions might spring to mind.Maureenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06349710718701701101noreply@blogger.com31tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20580332.post-64658278777627440382009-07-21T20:58:00.004+04:302009-07-22T01:42:01.544+04:30LIAR IDOLI am incapable of lying, but I admire the ability in others.<br /><br />Yesterday, on <a href="http://twitter.com/maureenjohnson">Twitter</a>, I challenged people to tell some lies about me. I’m not sure what made me do this. Perhaps I was thinking of my friend Justine Larbalestier’s new book, <a href="http://justinelarbalestier.com/books/liar/">Liar</a>.* Perhaps I was just thinking about how ACCURATE everything is on the internet. In any case, I threw down the challenge. To the winner, I promised a shiny new ARC of SCARLETT FEVER, months before the release of the book.<br /><br />I have always known that you are exceptionally clever, but I got a powerful reminder of that when I read the entries. It took me quite a while to read them all and to select just 25 of them. In fact, I BROKE MY TWITTER trying to access replies, there were so many of them.<br /><br />Now, for your consideration are 25 LIES ABOUT ME. Like its predecessor, <a href="http://maureenjohnson.blogspot.com/2008/02/zombie-idol-final.html">Zombie Idol</a>, LIAR IDOL will be judged by YOU.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Here are the rules:</span><br /><br />Vote in the comments. You may only vote once. This is an honor system. (And if you sign in anonymously, please put your name on your comment.)<br /><br />Throughout the day, I will count the votes. The winner will be called at 5 PM, New York time.<br /><br />GOOD LUCK, Liars.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />THE LIES</span><br /><br />1. @NinjaFanpire If @maureenjohnson says your going to die at a certain time and place, you'd better get there and you'd better already be dead.<br /><br />2. @susie130 Guns don't kill people; @maureenjohnson kills people.<br /><br />3. @JayOrDan23In the event of a water landing, @maureenjohnson can also be used a flotation device.<br /><br />4. @itokro The Pope reads @maureenjohnson, and broke his wrist trying to re-create a Spencer stunt.<br /><br />5. @livin4hymn Amy Winehouse isn't addicted to drugs, she just experienced too much of @maureenjohnson at once and hasn't been the same since<br /><br />6. OSUBrit They say @maureenjohnson never blinks, and that she roams around the woods at night foraging for wolves...<br /><br />7. @creativemachine Kids check under their beds for the boogieman. The boogieman checks under his bed for Chuck Norris. Chuck Norris checks for @maureenjohnson<br /><br />8. @sophienotemily If you need to find the nearest @maureenjohnson... there's an app for that.<br /><br />9. @lalibrarylady86Top Editor at Us Weekly Departing http://bit.ly/vvgdH because of @maureenjohnson Editor's final quote: "That woman will put me in my grave"<br /><br />10. @granbookpub @maureenjohnson shocked to find the opening sentence of SCARLETT FEVER won the Bulwer-Lytton fiction contest. @realjohngreen submitted it.<br /><br />11. @pumpkin0core@maureenjohnson walks into a bar. Now laugh.<br /><br />12. @omgitsoml14 Always be sure to use protection when having @maureenjohnson<br /><br />13. @pumpkin0core In the latest Mortal Kombat, @maureenjohnson is an unlockable character. Not even the programmers know how to unlock her.<br /><br />14. @lunar321 @maureenjohnson has a whole poe statue, @realjohngreen only has a bust. and since poe was a guy, his bust is miniscule.<br /><br />15. @calliebeth The Bible as a collection of written works was entirely authored by @maureenjohnson. This explains the immense popularity<br /><br />16. @granbookpub Every fall @maureenjohnson stops writing & tweeting for 2 days straight to try for tickets to Oprah's Favorite Things! She's not giving up!<br /><br />17. @digitalcable @maureenjohnson was once on "Cops" 3 times in the same episode; cocaine is a hell of a drug.<br /><br />18. @firecracker704 @maureenjohnson is the hooker that beat up Vince.<br /><br />19. @MasonWinsauer @maureenjohnson has been determined to be the cure of 99.6% of the worlds ailments. However, she is too highly volatile to mine safely.<br /><br />20. @NinjaFanpire On her birthday, @maureenjohnson randomly selects one lucky child to be thrown into the sun.<br /><br />21. @SpinachPuffs Prior to becoming an author, @maureenjohnson auditioned for a part in the Lord of the Rings movies. She was in the top 3 choices for Gimli!<br /><br />22. @WordsLikeRoses @maureenjohnson has taken all her followers souls and sewed them into curtains. Tough luck for us.<br /><br />23. @worldgirl84 In the original line-up of the Spice Girls @maureenjohnson was going to be Creepy Spice<br /><br />24. @rhondastapleton @maureenjohnson invented the Internet, tight-fitting chinos, the color yellow, and the concept of leap year.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">25. @jrg1990: @maureenjohnson steals plot from @realjohngreen! <a href="http://tinyurl.com/fakeTheSun">Read all about it</a>!</span><br /><br />THE WINNER . . .<br /><br />YOU have spoken, and while the competition was FIERCE, <span style="font-weight:bold;">#25</span> emerges as THE LIAR IDOL. All hail!<br /><br /><br />* I am interested in lies out of artistic curiosity. Justine is interested in lies because she has no morals.Maureenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06349710718701701101noreply@blogger.com162tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20580332.post-9125960453867865262009-07-16T23:32:00.003+04:302009-07-16T23:47:07.539+04:30LIFE BY THE NUMBERSI have conveyed my <a href="http://maureenjohnson.blogspot.com/2009/05/how-to-give-graduation-speech.html">hatred of graduation speeches</a> before, but there was one graduation speech I heard that actually meant something to me. When I was at the School of the Arts at Columbia, the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tAZwC6LLThs">great philosopher</a> Bill Murray came and spoke to us. <br /><br />The gist of his speech was: “Look, people thought I was going to be a huge failure, but then I got kind of lucky and made it. And I had and have lots of amazing friends, and we’ve seen each other’s careers go up and down. Take my advice: don’t go comparing yourself to other people. You will go insane. It’s pointless. Your fortunes may rise and fall, depending on all kinds of things you have no control over. Keep your friends. Never compare all the outward markers of success. Do what you love, because that’s all you really get and that’s all that matters and that’s all that will ever really work. And don’t be an as$h&^e.”<br /><br />It was the only useful graduation speech I’ve ever heard. And it was much longer, funnier, and more nuanced than that—and it was specifically geared to us, because we were the School of the Arts. So this was advice to people about to go out and try to become actors, directors, musicians, visual artists, filmmakers, and writers . . . which is a little like addressing a group of swimmers about to do the 500 meter shark tank event.<br /><br />Getting into the writing game can be kind of hard, and it’s an arena where you’re often judged by things that either you can’t control or things that have very little to do with your book itself. How your book will sell, what people will think of it, what cover it will get, what money will be spent to place it in prominent places in the bookstore . . . it's generally out of your hands. You will get unexpected bursts of luck from unlikely corners, and at the same time, people will slam you sideways in scathing reviews. All par for the course.<br /><br />Nothing you can do about any of this. <br /><br />If you are following the advice of Mr. Murray, the thing that matters is quality. It’s the only thing you can control. And quality is a slippery, slippery eel. For example, some people think that if something is popular and sells well, it must be kind of bad. There are other people who think that if something is popular and sells well, it must be kind of good. Neither of those things is universally true. Good things sometimes become popular, sometimes they don’t. Bad things can become raging successes, and sometimes, they slip back into the ooze. You must write the thing you love, and then you hope. You can play your cards smartly, but there’s no way to determine the outcome.<br /><br />But we do live in an age of RANKING! Of POPULARITY! Editors sometimes buy books out of sheer love, and other times, just because they think they might sell. This has caused some people to worry (rightly) that we’ve entered a blockbuster mentality—where the trick is just to throw everything you have at a book if you think it might generate some sales. <br /><br />And the truth is, when a publisher decides to put its chips on a book (and they usually do for one or two a season), that book is probably going to do well, and probably make the bestseller list. If they buy ads, if they spend loads on shiny promotions, and if they throw down some serious bank to buy premium space in stores . . . then people are going to see the book, see the shiny, and perhaps buy it.<br /><br />This is the reality I personally live in, and I respect it. It’s the game I chose to play, because this is the game that allows me to write. And I’m not immune from it. Good sales mean I can do more writing! And I have causes to fund, like my Institute for Disco Studies and my Home for Wayward Hamsters** What defines good? Well, for me, anything that allows me to continue with these grand plans of mine. <br /><br />But in general, I stay away from the numbers. Most of the writers I do the same, and these include some people who are pretty massive bestsellers. They avoid it because they know the numbers make you crazy in the coconut, and they distract you from the important things, like writing things you love, reading awesome books, eating snacks, and spending time with friends. Sometimes I hear of people who have a book about to come out who get a little nuts about looking at numbers. I can understand how this might happen. But, if you ask me (and I am fully aware that no one did): don’t do this. Because then your life will become about the numbers, not the books. And they are two very different things. And trust me, there are enough people looking at those numbers for you that there’s no reason to drive yourself up a wall about it. <br /><br />Now, perhaps you are thinking, “But mj, I am not an author. I see what you are saying about the books, but what about ME? What about MY LIFE?”<br /><br />Fair enough. Once again, you’ve dazzled me with the way you bring me back to the point.<br /><br />I get a lot of e-mail (which you know I love, even though I sometimes have trouble replying). Some of you write to tell me about the books, but some of you write just to tell me about your lives, or your desire to become authors, or things that are happening to you in school. And the one thing I have definitely noticed is that you are not immune from these kinds of pressures.<br /><br />There are a lot of numbers out there. Your SAT or standardized test scores. Your GPA. Your number of Facebook or Myspace friends or Twitter followers and whatever comes next. For some people, like the characters in Wintergirls, it’s all about the number of the scale or in that snack you want to eat. I know sports people have all kinds of numbers of their own, but I know nothing about sports, so you have to fill all that info in here.<br /><br />The numbers all have a kind of meaning within their own realm, but when spread out over the world, they lose a lot of significance. The number on the scale tells you how much you weigh, not what you are like or what you are worth. Your SAT score tells you how good you do on that particular type of standardized test, and sheds a certain degree of light on your current skill level in math and English, right now, given all of your current life conditions. If you’ve been raised in an affluent household where academics are considered important, you’ll probably do better than someone who didn’t grow up under those conditions. Maybe you worked hard. Maybe you’re just good at standardized tests. Maybe you got lucky. Maybe you were sick, or upset. Your number of Facebook friends probably reflects the amount of time you spend on Facebook.**<br /><br />You have to do things because you want to do them and because you love them (or at least LIKE them). The numbers themselves are innocent, merely offering a measure of whatever it is you wanted to know. When you stay obsessively focused on them, you tend to miss the bigger picture. You may end up like this:<br /><br /><object width="560" height="340"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/l-9IOM2O9_c&hl=en&fs=1&color1=0xcc2550&color2=0xe87a9f"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/l-9IOM2O9_c&hl=en&fs=1&color1=0xcc2550&color2=0xe87a9f" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="560" height="340"></embed></object><br /><br />“Okay,” you say, “I do that a little, but not NEARLY as much as other people I know. In fact, they are obsessed with EVERYONE ELSE’S numbers. What do I do about them?”<br /><br />I know who you mean. You mean the person who comes up to you in the hall after some test you know they’ve aced and they ask you, all sweetness, “So, how did you do?” And you say, “I got an 83.” And they say, “Oh, that’s too bad. I got a hundred. Oh god. You must feel so awful.”<br /><br />Obviously these people have problems, and a quick punch in the throat would probably be very educational for them . . . and while it is always tempting to perform a public service like that, forget about it. Life has a way of sorting these people out. Yes, it’s true. Some of them get to be rich and successful. But if they keep that up, no one likes them. Period. They do not live on the fun side of the street. They have their own kooky ranking system for the world, and they cling to it, and if the slightest thing goes wrong, they go insane. I HAVE SEEN IT HAPPEN! Have faith, friends.<br /><br />It’s like Bill Murray said, the one thing you can’t do is start obsessing about how other people do—as if the successes of others somehow diminish you.*** Of course, there are all kinds of things that annoy me. There are people I have wanted to see go DOWN. But I’ve noticed that every time I dwell on this, I go radically off the path and down the bumpy, sure-death side of the mountain. And for what? This stuff never matters for long, if it matters at all, which it usually doesn’t. When others do well, celebrate! When they are down, help them up. If you follow the opposite of that, then you are probably an as$h^&e. Which means you should go back to the beginning of this entry and re-read Bill Murray’s final point, “Don’t be an as$h&@e.”<br /><br />And love what you do.<br /><br /><object width="560" height="340"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Rz3R1RMlvto&hl=en&fs=1&color1=0xcc2550&color2=0xe87a9f"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Rz3R1RMlvto&hl=en&fs=1&color1=0xcc2550&color2=0xe87a9f" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="560" height="340"></embed></object><br /><br /><br /><br />* So why not buy a few copies of Suite Scarlett today! Do it for the hamsters.<br /><br />** Twitter numbers, however, reflect your worth as a person so please follow me on Twitter immediately.<br /><br />*** Unless that person is someone like Hitler, in which case you must absolutely worry about their successes and thwart them wherever possible. I’m just saying that you have to make a pretty clear distinction between “Actual Evil People Who Keep Freeze-Dried Orphans In The Basement” and “Other People Just Living Their Lives In Close Proximity To Yours.”Maureenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06349710718701701101noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20580332.post-29859907606107177752009-07-13T03:16:00.006+04:302009-07-13T03:32:11.614+04:30ASK MJ: WRITING IS LIKE COOTIEHas it really been THREE WEEKS since I blogged last? <br /><br />But soft . . . I should explain where I have been. Or rather, where I AM, for I am still there, in the place where I am. I am in England. I’ve been here since the 24th of June. I come here a lot, as you may know if you have read this blog over time. <br /><br />What have I been doing on this particular trip? Well, seeing a lot of people. There was the London Gathering. I’ve also been working on the SEQUEL TO 13 LITTLE BLUE ENVELOPES, and another project for AFTER that. I’ve been spending a lot of time doing research around London. And I will be going to Ireland later this week, if I ever get around to making the arrangements. I’ve also been watching Torchwood and have eaten some cookies and had some tea and got a tan in the hot English sun.<br /><br />But I wasn’t always busy, friends. Which brings me to today’s question.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Kira902k asks: How do I survive this entire summer doing NOTHING?</span><br /><br />Kira, I know your pain. When I was in high school, I had a few summers of such excruciating boredom that when I even think about them, my teeth begin to strike together and my shoes get too tight. It was horrible.<br /><br />The reason for this was a complicated matrix of badness. Thusly:<br /><br />- I went to school in the city, and thus, lived kind of far from my friends. (And I went to a girls’ school in a convent for the rest of the year.)<br /><br />- I didn’t drive in high school. This was partially because I was kind of young, and because car insurance was expensive, and I generally wasn’t allowed to get it even though I wanted it more than I wanted anything. This was a great divide at Chez Johnson, one we don’t even talk about TO THIS DAY, and I am totally grown up and everything. Bottom line: I was never allowed to do ANYTHING. <br /><br />- So I was totally stuck in my podunk suburb. This, remember, was BACK BEFORE THE INTERNET . . . or, at least, it was back before there was anything good to do on the internet. I am sure it was AROUND. So all I had was the phone and friends with cars who would rescue me as often as they could. Which wasn’t often enough. <br /><br />- Compounding the problem was the fact that for my junior and senior years (from when I was 15 until I was 17), my father’s job transferred him around the country, first to Louisville, Kentucky (where we knew no one) to Houston, Texas (where we knew no one).<br /><br />I will never forget my 15th summer, simply because it was so excruciatingly boring that it seemed to warp time and space. I sometimes wonder if that summer isn’t the reason I tend to write books about summers. Suite Scarlett, for instance, is about Scarlett’s 15th summer. Perhaps I am on permanent redo on that one.<br /><br />That was the summer my dad was in Kentucky, and it was about 105 degrees every single day, with a heat index (that was the summer I learned what a “heat index” was—it means “how much you will actually suffer”) of about 115. We had to go visit my dad for six weeks, so I couldn’t plan to do anything else that summer, like get a job, or give myself up for medical research, or sell myself as a child bride. We flew to Kentucky, and we spent SIX WEEKS sitting around in my dad’s apartment. SIX WEEKS.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-1LsGUTvurfSumY-mm0VHIy8_SdCq97FLANeteFSWH5H9AYSObSXr0cNGA33pYpJCbNQVWEJYEOHQxHES9MfuvjVfKARyA5lW5BBwO23OlVzsiADqTDsuWTnnGjlElrrE93UQAg/s1600-h/sjff_03_img1113.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 303px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-1LsGUTvurfSumY-mm0VHIy8_SdCq97FLANeteFSWH5H9AYSObSXr0cNGA33pYpJCbNQVWEJYEOHQxHES9MfuvjVfKARyA5lW5BBwO23OlVzsiADqTDsuWTnnGjlElrrE93UQAg/s400/sjff_03_img1113.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357709267479738194" /></a><br /><br /><center><span style="font-weight:bold;">I could have been doing so many other, more useful things.</span> </center><br /><br />It was too hot to spend any time outside. Seriously. Your lungs would just explode. Not that we knew where to go, or had anyone to see. We were Philadelphia people, and this was a new, strange place. We had my dad’s car during the day, so my mom and I just went to bookstores, often used, where we would buy up huge piles of books, crank through them, and then resell them at the end of the week. I know I read a lot that summer . . . but for some reason the only books I clearly remember reading are the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fletch_(novel)">entire Fletch series</a> up to Fletch and the Man Who. Somewhere in there, I also remember reading The Great Gatsby for the first of what would be about 200 times. So that was a summer romance that LASTED. And I think that’s probably when I read Roughing It by Mark Twain, to try to give my westward journey some exciting context. There were a lot of books, but a strange proportion of them seemed to be Fletch-related.<br /><br />And I wrote. There was that.<br /><br />When not reading, we baked cakes. One week, we baked a cake every day. We didn’t even want the cakes. We just baked them because it was something to do. I remember my mom saying, “I have never been so bored.” And my mom has 105 <a href="https://www.catsmeow.com/webapp/wcs/stores/servlet/TopCategoriesDisplay?langId=-1&storeId=10151&catalogId=10251">Cat’s Meow decorative houses</a>, if this gives you any idea of what she can withstand. <br /><br />Throughout it all, I missed my friends. To quell the pain, I would bake YET ANOTHER cake and put it with the others, which we lined up on the kitchen bar, using the same display method used in olden times, when countries used to line their architecture with the severed heads of their enemies to send a message. Our message was: we are bored.<br /><br />What I’m saying, Kira, is that you have come to the right person. I understand. But you know what? It’s almost impossible to do NOTHING. I feel I came pretty much as close as I am (hopefully) ever going to come to doing nothing during that summer, and in retrospect, I was doing things. They just weren’t the things I necessarily wanted to be doing at the time. But all of that reading and writing . . . it paid off! There is something to be said for dealing with this nothing. Creative acts come out of the quiet—when you simply must make something. <br /><br />What I am saying is, if you spend the summer doing nothing, you will end up EXACTLY LIKE ME! Think about that!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Badhandwroter asks: I have a lot of ideas for stories that I'm currently working on but I can't seem to buckle down and work on just one and fully develop it. What are some ways to keep my focus on just one idea?</span><br /><br />We writers have a saying, Badhandwroter. Well, not a saying. More of a commonly accepted idea that has yet to be assembled into an easy-to-carry quote. I will attempt to correct this now: “There is nothing so appealing as the next thing you want to write.”<br /><br />When you first start writing something, it is all sweetness and joy, because you are skimming those awesome ideas of the top of your brain—that delicious sweet cream. Sometimes it’s an idea for a first scene. Sometimes just one character. Sometimes you get a cluster of ideas: a location, a bit of dialogue. Some people ride high on just a title and a mental image of a cover.<br /><br />Oh, it is a fine drug, this “first idea” stuff. The unwritten story or book is always SO GOOD. Sure, when you flip the pages in your mind, you can’t actually SEE ANY WORDS, but you know when you fill them in, they will be like NECTAR.<br /><br />Thing is . . . once you actually start writing, you have to live up to that Shangri-La in your brain. So you sit down and start working, trying to produce that wonderful, shimmering stuff. And while it may go well for a while, you are probably going to reach a point where it DOES NOT, and you have NO IDEA what is supposed to come next, and you take a DIM VIEW of what you’ve done so far, and it’s all HOPELESS and you are TERRIBLE.<br /><br />This is usually when the new shiny thing comes into your mind . . .<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNH3t-9X6d5qZ8yxE9-gFfnL3hpyqx2YGo561CP9o0qMmJesOC75xdc6k_Zq4Fm9rs9ftkh8ccwAB0QgSl_ZZZlDFdTYwwtrf0iCTzNh5jKjDWIactNnPm0oeNqnrDzSy_Z6up-A/s1600-h/funny-pictures-cat-pays-attention-to-shiny-thing.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNH3t-9X6d5qZ8yxE9-gFfnL3hpyqx2YGo561CP9o0qMmJesOC75xdc6k_Zq4Fm9rs9ftkh8ccwAB0QgSl_ZZZlDFdTYwwtrf0iCTzNh5jKjDWIactNnPm0oeNqnrDzSy_Z6up-A/s400/funny-pictures-cat-pays-attention-to-shiny-thing.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357709566715493250" /></a><br /><br /><center><span style="font-weight:bold;">Your innner LOLcat comes out.</span></center><br /><br />This is also where the writing BEGINS. This is precisely the point where you press on. You can jot down the note about the other shiny thing, but if you want to write, you keep going. <br /><br />Now, you may ask, “But mj, don’t some ideas just die because they have no legs?”<br /><br />Some ideas are maybe a little shaky. That’s true. But stories are like Cootie. Ever play Cootie? That game where you get the plastic body of a Cootie bug, and you have to keep playing until the thing has eyes and a mouth and antennae and legs to stand on? The more you work on a story—the more you press on—the more you’ll find that you get new parts. New ideas will grow.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsNdxpy7dG81Gt7ofOke2xus17_OMy34UURup-Fp6cKk476FFLduArsvrFzzPcZVDrYB0hz1NRXaVFGjAzt10HKdukxjqigdg7zsVL6udwiBJ84d-ubfz4ntNzaTlqdI6EpuB85Q/s1600-h/Cootie_Milton_Bradley.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsNdxpy7dG81Gt7ofOke2xus17_OMy34UURup-Fp6cKk476FFLduArsvrFzzPcZVDrYB0hz1NRXaVFGjAzt10HKdukxjqigdg7zsVL6udwiBJ84d-ubfz4ntNzaTlqdI6EpuB85Q/s400/Cootie_Milton_Bradley.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357709715609704562" /></a><br /><br /><center><span style="font-weight:bold;">Cootie.</span></center><br /><br />But your question is: HOW? HOW do you keep focus and press forward?<br /><br />My friend, I feel your pain. It’s hard. But the only way is JUST TO DO IT. The most useful technique, aside from flat-out discipline, is to be accountable to someone. Joining a writing group, for instance, where you have to produce a chapter by a certain date for the others to read. More hardcore people might chain themselves to their desk using a time lock or deny themselves showers or food until they have met their daily writing quota. These are also very effective methods.<br /><br />And then, when you are done your story or book, you get to TAKE IT APART and MAKE IT COOLER. Because now that you’ve made it once, you can get a good look at the thing and see where improvements and changes are necessary. Then you enter into another time-honored writerly period, the opposite of your first problem: namely, the endless revision . . . which is sort of the literary equivalent of projectile barfing.<br /><br />Trouble ahead and trouble behind, Badhandwroter! Happy writing!Maureenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06349710718701701101noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20580332.post-14626751445840846182009-06-21T07:20:00.003+04:302009-06-21T07:25:05.165+04:30ASK MJ: YOU HAVE GOOD REASON TO WORRY<span style="font-weight:bold;">Katie asks: Maureen, Any ideas on how to convince my mother that I, at 18 years old, can go camping in the world's most controlled environment (Disney World) without dying or injuring myself?</span> <br /><br />Camping? Are you out of your MIND??? Have you learned NOTHING from me?<br /><br />Listen to a story.<br /><br />Last night, I was out with Justine Larbalestier and Scott Westerfeld. I am often out with Justine and Scott, because we, for lack of a better term for it, work together. Last night, we went to see an excellent New York Liberty game, and then we all went for dinner at a fancy restaurant, because that is the way we roll. (Or, that is the way they roll, and I just like following people whenever I think there might be food in it for me, because otherwise, I might end up as I did today—slicing my finger open while cutting the head of Swiss chard I had for lunch, and then just forgetting to make dinner and eating crackers and a smoothie. I am still enjoying the smoothie as I type this with one finger wrapped up in a big band aid, so I keep hitting all the wrong keys.)<br /><br />Anyway, we rocked up to the restaurant, all smiles and city manners, and took our seats next to some large, open French doors that lead to the outside patio, letting in the lovely night breeze. We ordered a five course tasting menu and proceeded to enjoy five (sadly tiny) courses. (Everyone got a different thing, and I swear to god, I kept getting the smallest ones, which was sad because I was so hungry I could have eaten my napkin.) Scott was telling us all about the conversation he had had with the producers of the still-hypothetical but nonetheless awesome in concept <a href="http://scottwesterfeld.com/blog/?p=1058">Uglies movie</a> just that afternoon.<br /><br />Anyway, I hope I am conveying the ambiance of class and style—writers sitting around, drinking wine and having very tiny plates of fancy food, talking about movie deals—when all of a sudden my brain started feeding me information. I was sitting directly across from Scott, and I noticed there was a huge black stripe on his white shirt that I was sure had not been there before, and that the stripe was moving, and then finally my brain concluded that it was not a stripe at all but a THREE INCH COCKROACH climbing down from his shoulder and down the front of his shirt.<br /><br />Now, as it happens, I have quite a high voice. Maybe not my speaking voice, which is a medium girly-high. But my singing/screaming voice is quite high in pitch. I have a bit of a natural <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Whistle_register">whistle register</a>. This is why I can do such a good impression of a seagull and such a very bad version of <a href=" http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5lUCG3TQ7f8">this song</a>. And when I scream when I, say, see a three inch cockroach climbing down someone’s shoulder, it is both VERY HIGH and VERY LOUD—enough to cause everyone at the table to leap out of their chairs and ALSO start screaming and to bring all activity in the restaurant to a temporary halt.<br /><br />Scott, of course, has a deep man-scream and was mostly just screaming because we were all screaming at him and staring in HORROR, and mostly everyone was screaming because I was screaming, and he was looking around for whatever it was that was about to DEVOUR him (as he later explained, “I thought it had to be some kind of a rat, a dog, a rat-dog, something about to, you know, eat me in one bite”). Justine flicked bravely at the roach and it went away, and Scott was still looking for the source of the screaming when I saw it had merely flown around and on to HIS BACK, which made me scream AGAIN.<br /><br />So, Katie, what I am saying is if this kind of thing can take place AT THE VERY HEIGHT OF CIVILIZATION, just IMAGINE what horrors await you at a campsite. Even at Disney World, which IS the world’s most controlled environment, camping is guaranteed death. The Disney corporation wants you to think they can control the environment through their ridiculously clean and manicured parks where music comes out of rocks and nothing ever rusts or even loses its shine, but they are lying to themselves and to you.<br /><br />I mean, when the snake armies come and the ground goes soft and swallows your tent, do you think MICKEY MOUSE is going to come running out of the bushes to save you? Do you even WANT that to happen if that’s an option? Because I wouldn’t. Can you imagine it, Katie? There you are, insects swarming, rain pouring down on you, beating your pathetic excuse for a shelter into a new and sinister form . . . because that tent of yours will be about as useful as a paper boat when the Rains come, and come they will, Katie, because Florida is hurricane country . . . and then, as you sink into the fecund earth, crashing out of some freaky bushes manicured in the shape of giant mice comes a REAL, MASSIVE, HUMANOID MOUSE with ears the size of dinner plates, screaming in a keening voice that is neither male nor female but distinctly toonish, “I’ll save you!” And then, it will be reaching for you with those big, white, mitted hands, which are the last thing many children see before they descend into the Caves of Madness. Because nothing can hold back the forces of chaos, Katie. Nothing at all. Except, perhaps, the walls of a hotel.<br /><br />Have a good trip!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbjJsot-2lXNWEAc4VPUaumpEWWUaaUZlup0xMJhHIX34o1ai2TdyTdjpIwtWuT02IDbq5kSsy7DjZcdX5rGYKgwjzl0hcHsEIUfx8kTSJZRjyBIPVNXX0MrQvK6sxBqy3r7hB_Q/s1600-h/044+Mickey+%26+Minnie+Bushes+at+Disney+World,+Florida.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbjJsot-2lXNWEAc4VPUaumpEWWUaaUZlup0xMJhHIX34o1ai2TdyTdjpIwtWuT02IDbq5kSsy7DjZcdX5rGYKgwjzl0hcHsEIUfx8kTSJZRjyBIPVNXX0MrQvK6sxBqy3r7hB_Q/s400/044+Mickey+%26+Minnie+Bushes+at+Disney+World,+Florida.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349608118925171170" /></a><br /><br /><center><span style="font-weight:bold;">The last thing many children ever see.</span></center><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Starlysh asks: I'm a paranoid person. I think people talk about me. How do I become less crazy?</span><br /><br />It’s difficult for me to say for sure, Starlysh, because I don’t know for a fact that people AREN’T talking about you. But there are ways to find out. Have you witnessed any of the following behaviors?<br /><br />When you enter a room, do people stop talking?<br /><br />Do they start talking?<br /><br />Do they continue talking as if your entrance didn’t change the way they talked at all?<br /><br />Do people look at you?<br /><br />Do they sometimes not look at you?<br /><br />Do people sometimes take phone calls around you and then go outside or a few feet away to talk?<br /><br />Do you sometimes hear your name mentioned?<br /><br />Do you sometimes notice that your name has NOT been mentioned?<br /><br />If you have seen any or all of the above, then I think it is pretty safe to say that all your worries are valid. I don’t know what they’re planning, but whatever it is, you need to get out of there before they hatch that plan. They will probably strike when you are least expecting it, using some innocent ruse. For example, they may all gather together by a phone and call you, trying to lure you out. One person will be assigned the task of making the call, and they’ll say something like, “Hey, Katie, want to go on an awesome camping trip to Disneyworld?”<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUDv8xoghVcbuznzhtLkWd9AUFfDT7DFoy8700BaXR8Zxq4NROMWAiWtLjHPQ410twXdKLT9jZ2q_F6pa8vHkODuAOJTmAArvFhVOWNuMKz31O7Yhb9W-Bo1GpGp45xK8Dduz9BA/s1600-h/2m8BXUfriotw4m1kSnntwy33o1_500.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 348px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUDv8xoghVcbuznzhtLkWd9AUFfDT7DFoy8700BaXR8Zxq4NROMWAiWtLjHPQ410twXdKLT9jZ2q_F6pa8vHkODuAOJTmAArvFhVOWNuMKz31O7Yhb9W-Bo1GpGp45xK8Dduz9BA/s400/2m8BXUfriotw4m1kSnntwy33o1_500.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349608625845118018" /></a><br /><br /><center><span style="font-weight:bold;">They may be gathering now.</span></center><br /><br />Now, if you’re smart and you’ve read the above, you’ll know to turn that down. You’ll use some clever excuse, like, “Sorry. I’m taking place in a highly experimental treatment for my compulsive homicide disorder. I just can’t seem to fight the urge to chop everyone into TINY, TINY PIECES with a GIANT AX and I am running out of places to put the bodies. But thank you for asking!”<br /><br />In some cases, they won’t be this obvious. They will never call and make their demands known. They’ll just lurk . . . talking, not talking, looking, not looking, saying your name, not saying your name. They are doing this to test you, to try to weaken you. Don’t give in. You have to throw them off guard.<br /><br />For instance, you could make up 200 fake Facebook profiles, using stock photographs of people. Make all these people friend you AND each other. Create a group called “The Army of Sekrits.” Spend several days having your new, fake friends write on your wall, leaving messages like, “Last night was best one EVER. I can’t WAIT until the BIG EVENT!” Or, “Yeah, it got out and bit three people but that won’t be a problem for long, lol!” Or, “The injection stings but you know, it is SO MUCH BETTER than YOU KNOW WHAT! CHOMP, CHOMP, CHOMP! <3 YOU!”<br /><br />When your “real” friends ask you who all these people are and why they keep leaving these creepy messages on your wall, just smile enigmatically. At this point, your phone will ring, because it goes without saying that you’ve gotten a second phone that you have programmed with your number, which you keep in your pocket at all times so you can just hit a button and dial yourself whenever anyone comes near you, and then go off and have mysterious conversations with yourself during which you laugh a lot and look over at your “friends” sadly, like you know about some terrible fate that is about to befall them and there is simply nothing you can do about it.<br /><br />Or it could be nothing.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Cortney asks: As a very soon to be college graduate, what do you suggest I do to get myself ready to live in the big, scary, real world?</span><br /><br />There is no way of avoiding the real world, Cortney. Sure, the collapse of the world economy might make it a hair tricky to do things like eat food that is not from a trash can and live in an apartment, instead of an old refrigerator box or in a van down by the river, but where is your spirit of adventure, anyway? We Americans are a plucky people. We made our country based on nothing! Nothing! Why, when the American Revolution started, we were a simple tree-dwelling people with nothing but a dream. Our forefathers hired someone to make a piece of paper, and on that single piece of paper, they wrote the Declaration of Independence. Then we fought off the evil British (sorry, British people) by throwing anything we had at them! Sticks, bricks, tea, cats, pineapples . . . we gave all we had. And look at us now!<br /><br />So think of that and be INSPIRED! And then lie on your resume! Tell them you went to Harvard AND Yale AT THE SAME TIME where you majored in EVERYTHING! Tell them you’ll do anything! Wait for your competition to turn their back and then shove him/her into the nearest closet/stairwell/tar pit and GET THAT JOB! It’s what George Washington would do.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1l1lT1gl1uxusP_u_TPNxzLzybzXxGPRhVRVOjtn3AgZX-nSQR6rdHEo3wRtQojuYPjSlTJ-XHJ1WA337aoQ6OIUonvTwotltzW2CRDVuKGCS5Ta-w3MUBi0nDZ1fQ2ap2yifNQ/s1600-h/arsenic-old-lace1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 384px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1l1lT1gl1uxusP_u_TPNxzLzybzXxGPRhVRVOjtn3AgZX-nSQR6rdHEo3wRtQojuYPjSlTJ-XHJ1WA337aoQ6OIUonvTwotltzW2CRDVuKGCS5Ta-w3MUBi0nDZ1fQ2ap2yifNQ/s400/arsenic-old-lace1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349608793331163522" /></a><br /><center><span style="font-weight:bold;">The competition needs to get out of your way!</span></center><br /><br />I hope this has been helpful. I look forward to answering more of your questions.Maureenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06349710718701701101noreply@blogger.com47