In Defense of Romance--YA or otherwise.

Eek, this is a rant; fair warning!


I remember going through one or two historical romance novels a week as a teen. I don’t know WHY that genre appealed to me so much at the time; maybe because there were always teenage heroines going on unbelievable adventures. Stowing away on Viking ships; escaping from medieval convents; stealing into the night in disguise, only to be captured by evil villains-- I mean, I gobbled those stories up. They were so different than my real life. The romance was heavenly, the action and adventure beyond my wildest dreams, and nothing in the YA section could even come close.

I LOVE romance novels, YA or otherwise. I’ve loved them since I was twelve. I can’t be alone. Sales-wise, romance is the most popular genre in fiction (there are statistics here from RWA and also here listed on Wikipedia, I’m sure AAP has something but I have a query to re-write and a synopsis that wants to kill me, so I don’t have time to dig up the exact numbers. It’s crazy though, like 46 percent of paperback sales, and twelve percent of ALL sales-- that’s more than one in ten books-- which means romance dwarfs all other genres in sales *gasp*).

So what’s up with romance being a dirty word? My friend-- a guy-- told me that when he sees someone reading a romance novel, it’s like they’re advertising that they’re lonely and sex-deprived. What the-- seriously dude? Nooooooo!

When I see him reading a horror novel, I don’t AT ALL imagine that he wishes he could be out murdering people!!! Since when do we read the things we want to happen to us in real life? Do readers of sad literary novels want the endings of their favorite books to actually happen? With tragic deaths and all that? No-no-no-no!

But that’s just one person, right? Or so I thought. My other friend, also a guy, told me he thinks it’s weird that I have romance novels in my bookcase, “like all your trashy books are classic literature or something.” Ummmm, guy, I love you, but I have books that I enjoy reading on my bookcase. Some are hard-core fantasy novels, some were written five hundred years ago, some are romance novels, some are young adult fiction, some are historical dramatizations-- the bookcase is about the books I love! Me. It’s MY bookcase GAH!!! 

So in his opinion, I’m allowed to have all the books I love on display... except romance novels because they’re somehow less??

Is it a guy thing? Is it??? (Sorry, that’s more rhetorical nonsense for anyone playing the rhetorical questions game). NO IT’S NOT A GUY THING! It’s a Diana’s-friends-thing, apparently. My awesome friend-who-I-adore rolled her eyes at a book I chose because it was from the romance section of the bookstore. Her words were, “Come on Di, really? A romance novel?” It was accompanied by her head dropping sideways, look of embarrassed pity. Hey friend-who-I-adore, I refuse to feel embarrassed about the books I choose to read. I hadn’t read a historical in a while and it looked good. Don’t try and shame me, please :(

There’s nothing wrong with reading any genre, in my opinion. But that brings me to the reason for this blog post. I googled up “YA romance” because I wanted to see if any new books came up. You all know by now, I’m a huge fan of romance novels, and much like my little sisters, YA romance especially gives me that intense, brand-new love feeling I like to read about. So almost at the end of my search page I come across a post by someone trashing YA romance. And I find a few more articles and posts like it. It makes me want to defend the genre. 

Just like horror-readers don’t read about murder because they’re on the brink of a killing spree, romance readers-- YA or otherwise-- don’t read about love because they’re about to go find a stalker boyfriend or give up everything for an unhealthy love. Not now, and not as a teen did I ever model my real-life relationships after books, tv shows, movies, or anything else. No more did I expect to find real-life dragons and ogres after reading a fantasy novel-- come on people, are YA romance-haters really suggesting that teens can only read realistic romance books? Does that mean they can only read about realistic everything-else? No science fiction, no horror, no fantasy, because they might start believing the world is really that way??? 

As a teen, I would NOT have been a reader if the only books out there portrayed normal, balanced, healthy relationships with normal, balanced, healthy characters. That’s what I wanted out of my REAL life, not in the stories I read.

The stories I read were there to thrill me, shock me, make me think, make me laugh. I wanted the girls in the story to do horrible things that I would never do in my safe little life. If books hadn't shown me, I'd have watched television shows that showed me. I'd have found a way to see exciting, marvelous things. Somehow

The Twilight Factor:

One article suggested that Twilight started girls on a crazed desire for unhealthy stories. I can’t agree. Unhealthy stories have always been popular with teen girls. It’s not like teens were reading wholesome, well-balanced books and all of a sudden Twilight came along and they went off the deep-end. Teens were finding their way to unwholesome stories-- be they in book form, TV shows, movies, music, whatever-- and Twilight merely directed an energy that was already there. If Twilight hadn’t come along, those teens might not have turned to BOOKS for their unhealthy stories (unless they were like me, and knew where to look), but they would have turned to something. They might have latched on to the latest 90210 or Buffy spin-off, or found some other outlet, but whatever the case, girls who enjoy that kind of story are going to find a way to hear it.

There is a kind of girl-- and I was one of them-- who liked to watch princess movies and pretend to be Ariel/Jasmine/Belle/whoever for a little while. Not every girl is this way, but a lot of girls are, or there wouldn’t be a market for them. Some of those girls grow up and want older versions of those tales of romantic adventure. It doesn’t mean they’ll defy their father and ask a sea-witch for legs, or disguise themselves and escape the palace, or agree to live with a beast with rage issues. It just means they like a story about romance and adventure. 

They. Just. Like. The. Story. So, let them like it. 

They’ll still grow up and be successful if that’s what they choose. If they’re smart enough to pick up a book, they’re already showing signs of intelligence, especially considering all the other ways they could be spending their time.

Speak.

Please read Laurie Halse Anderson's blog post concerning her book, Speak, and how an influential person in Missouri is calling the book soft pornography, filthy, and immoral, because of how it depicts rape.


I don't believe in banning books. Not for a curse word. Not for a sex scene. Not for portraying truth.


As you may have figured out by now, I normally leave politics, sex and religion out of my blog. Unless you are a personal friend of mine, you don't know those things about me.


But like Myra McEntire , like Tina Lynn , like Frankie Diane (who's hosting a Speak Giveaway) and so many others, I can't stay quiet.



I haven't read Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson , but I can't condone banning a book. Especially when its banning is being called for because of a rape scene.

What this pro-banning person (who I won't name in my blog because I don't want his voice to have more power), what he seems to want, is to keep rape from being described-- to keep it hidden-- and that sends the wrong message to both the survivor and the rapist. Survivors have a right to speak, and everyone, even teens, should have access to those voices.


I am going to the bookstore tomorrow and buying Speak. It's hard for me to read books that deal with issues like rape. I have a survivor family member. I choose to read for escapism and maybe I'll never have the courage to read Speak. But that's the point. It's my choice. And I choose to buy this book.


Others have discussed this so much more thoroughly. I encourage you to not only blog and tweet about Speak, but TALK about it! Let people know, outside of your internet circle, that a rape victim's story should never be silenced. Speak!

A Quick and Dirty Shout Out

I'm posting for no reason except to say hi, and for those of you stalking since the Wednesday Rant, my husband and I caught the kids' horrible stomach virus. The kids are all peachy, and we have been... holding it together. Here were my thoughts Sunday night:

"I'm breathing. I must be alive on some primal level."

Here were my thoughts Monday:

"There have been worse things in my life. None come to mind. I will pray for sleep, or a debilitating blow to the head until this is over."

Here were my thoughts Monday night:

"Will this ever be over? When will this be over? AHHHHHHH!!!!!!"

Here are my thoughts today:

"I'm hungry. I'm a little too paralyzed by the terror of the past two days, so I won't eat... but I'm hungry. This is... better."

Here's hoping for a brighter tomorrow. And may it all end here... I can't think of an enemy deserving of this kind of torture. At least, none I'd name publicly or anything.

Another Actual Rant

You guys may have noticed, I don't rant all that much on the Coaster, despite my tantalizing promise on the Blogday Schedule. Check out my "rant" label... six rants, including today? Compared with twenty-one "random" posts? Pathetic. I should rant about myself! Complete with exaggerated abuse of exclamation points!!!!

It's just... I can't usually muster the energy to feel furious over anything. Still, I adore reading other people's rants, and I am devoted to the concept of a Wednesday rant. Now... today... that devotion will finally pay off.

Vomit. No, that wasn't a command. It's the topic of my rant. I have sick kids with some kind of horrifying stomach virus and I'm tired from late night puke-in-bed atrocities. It's too much, too much I say! Too many hours! Too many relatives giving useless suggestions!! Ohhh and there's another reason to rant! 

I hereby rant against "helpful" relatives and their old-timey and/or new-agey cure alls! (Notice the poignant use of quotations to highlight how NOT helpful they are!). Why is Vick's vapor rub the answer when he has no sinus issues? Why must we consult with relatives in other countries over the issue of a completely run-of-the-mill horrific stomach virus? How will rubbing the skin of a plantain over my two-year-old's belly keep him well? Don't answer that, blog friends; you are all writers and I know you'll come up with dozens of creative possibilities. Hmm, that might be fun... on second thought, answer away!

But back to the rant. Basically, I'm a horrible mother for not following everyone's advice, and that is why my kids are still sick. Rage, fury, long aggravated sighs of pent up hostility! More exclamation point abuse!!!!

And now, the final piece to the rant (I enjoy things that come in threes). Laundry. There's so much laundry. I hate normal laundry, so this kind of laundry is like my seventh circle of hell. The smells are vivid and clashing. Puke + fabric softener = putrid.

So much puke. So many reasons to feel ranty. But I'm tired. Not just tired in body, but in spirit. I can't go on. I've been beaten into submission. I accept my fate, World. I accept more puke than should be physically possible coming out of a two-year-old. I accept passive-aggressive, possibly insane relatives who delight in crushing my spirit. I accept overwhelming laundry that could turn the stomach of a war veteran. I accept personal issues that aren't appropriate for posting on a public blog. I understand, World! No rest for the weary, right? If anyone needs me I'll be off in that corner, my eyes half-closed, clutching the disinfectant spray and ready to come to life at a moment's yacking.

An Actual Rant! The Rainy Library Day

Today I'm ranting about people who make other people feel like moronic idiots, especially when the moronic idiot people already acknowledged their own brainless stupidity. What good comes of this?? Making people feel bad when they already feel stupid is a thumbs down in Diana's Book of Treating People Kindly. Read the book, people!

Imagine a frazzled mom. Let's say, for illustrative purposes, the mom is me. Here are a few of the things that may have led to her frazzled state on this particular day, a Tuesday. A Nathan Contest Tuesday:

• birthday party planning for three kids. Three birthdays in one month is frazzling
• fundraiser money due for Scouts, along with reminder emails sent out to parents about this because they are also frazzled
• the deadline for pictures to be returned to son's school was that morning, and frazzled mom forgot it so she must make a trip to return them because the cost of keeping those pictures would require a lien on the house
  
• also forgotten in the morning, the weekly envelope that needs to be signed and returned to daughter's school or daughter will be given detention (which is so unfair. It's not her fault her mom is frazzled), so an extra trip to this school is also required
• ceremony agenda for Scouts needs to be typed up, because they must show off their skits next week
• regular social civilities need to be maintained, or frazzled mom will alienate friends and family
• bills need to be paid, house cleaned, dinner made, or frazzled husband may make frazzled comments and this would lead to non-arguing which is extremely frazzling and highly annoying 
• trip to the post office needs to be made, because frazzled mom doesn't trust mailboxes to deliver bills
• library books are due. On this frazzled day. And that is what led to the brainless move.

I was happily finishing all of these tasks, proud of my industrious day. Sure, I hadn't managed to blog yet, or post to the Nathan Contest, but after lunch I wrote some, blogged some, and all was well. I only had two errands left: the post office and the library, which I had purposefully left for last because of the perfect commute loop created with picking up my daughter. So I loaded the boys in the car, swung by the post office, wrote out the checks in the car (because I'm frazzled, remember, so nothing is done ahead), and tossed the bills into the drive-by mailbox (despite my better instincts. I've had negative experiences with drop-boxes in the past, BUT, it's raining and I have three kids in the car. This is extremely difficult for me, I just want everyone to appreciate that). Then I tossed the checkbook on the passenger seat, picked up my daughter from a rainy-day schedule (think long lines of frazzled parents with umbrellas. And Southern Californians aren't used to the rain so the parking lot is a mess). Finally, only one errand left. The library. 

I always go into the library to return books. Firstly, because I love the library, and secondly, because as you know the drop-off seems risky to me. The first and only time I used it, the library workers reshelved my books without checking them in and I had to argue with them that I had returned them. Ever since, I go into the library and ask that they please scan the books, right there in front of me (in a nice, "Are these overdue?" way, of course). But it was raining. And I have a two year old with a yucky cough. Plus the four-year old fell asleep. And the eight-year-old is hungry and tired from afternoon learning. And I did it for the bills. So again, against my better instincts, I pulled up to the drop-off, ran around the front of my car in the ever-increasing rain, opened the passenger side door, and began unloading the books that were piled high on the seat. Some of you sharp-eyed readers may already know the mistake I'm about to make... the boneheaded, braindead move I made as I hurried to get those books out of my car, but in my defense it was very rainy and Southern Californians aren't used to the rain. So here it is. Somehow, in that pile of library books, the checkbook had gotten mixed in. I watched it slide down into the giant metal receptacle with mine-own-eyes. 

Really? I really have to take my coughing baby and sleeping preschooler and hungry second grader into the library to figure this out? Yes. I acknowledge the brainless stupidity of what I'd done. And here's what happened next:

1.   There is no parking. None. 

2.   The eight-year-old declares she has to go bathroom. Bad. The rainy-day lunch schedule threw her off and she forgot to go at lunch. I told you Southern Californians are no good in the rain.

3.   The two-year-old starts screeching. He does this when he's aggravated, especially when strapped into something like a carseat. It's loud and it hurts and makes frazzled parents want to turn around and go ape-crazy on the kid. But I don't. It's not his fault he's been stuck in a carseat for almost the entire day.

4.   When parking opens up it's at the across-the-street lot. That's okay, I'm grateful. Eight-year-old is now frantic and I'm imagining a trip to the doctor and urinary tract infections and feel like an official Bad Mom. 

5.   At last we're in the library. I shake out the Dora the Explorer umbrella (the daughter hates this thing, but it still works so why waste it?) and rush the kids into the bathroom. The two-year-old now has a runny nose to match his yucky cough. Bad Mom to the second-degree.

6.   The four-year-old refuses to try to go bathroom. Waking him from a car ride nap is always a recipe for disaster, and his scowl is fierce. He's not prone to accidents so I decide not to push it.

7.   The librarian takes in our dripping, coughing, scowling appearance. She tells us to please wait in line. She doesn't smile.

8.   We wait in line. It's not long, but the eight-year-old has to periodically state that she is S-T-A-R-V-I-N-G. When we're next, the four-year-old announces that he has to go to the bathroom. I tell him to hold it.

9.   I explain to unsmiley librarian that I have actually thrown my checkbook into the book drop receptacle outside. I tell her how stupid I feel, and by the way she starts shaking her head at me I can tell she agrees. She crosses her arms and everything! I feel like she's the principal or a severe, condescending justice of the peace. Above the noise of my four-year-old insisting to be taken to the bathroom, my daughter's declarations of hunger, and my two-year-old's congested screeching, the librarian asks me, "Why did you do that? (Dummy!) I'm very busy!" She didn't say "dummy", but it felt like she did, and the deflated balloon that was my spirit shrivels to the size of a piece of chewed up gum. I now feel like a moronic idiot. Rather than answer her inspired question, I ask her if she can help me. She cannot. There is no one else to work the counter. I look behind me. There is no one in line, but I suppose she has a job to do. 

10.   The crusty old library lady begins organizing books and I ask her when another library worker will begin a shift, and she says there are already other library workers in the library, helping patrons find their books. In fact, one appears a second later and I ask, "Can she help me?" The librarian doesn't answer, but she rolls her eyes (for reals) and disappears into the back. The four-year-old, who has been yelling at me for some time that it's not good for his private to hold his pee-pee marches off to the bathroom without me. I chase after him and the librarian comes out with a set of keys. I apologize and tell her I need one teensy second. She shakes her head again and turns her back to me, and a small part of me almost let's him have an accident all over her floor.

11.   Out of the bathroom at last, the nice library worker girl takes me and my grumpy kids outside and we recover my checkbook. She's kind, and says that things like that happen all the time. 

12.   I walk my wet kids across the street to the car and decide they deserve hot chocolate. From the drive-through Starbucks. Mommy's had a long day.

Junior High

After a whole week, yet again the only thing bringing out fierce feelings of hostility in me is the mound of Terrible Ironing that sits on the bench over there. In an effort to bring out a nice rant, I flipped through my old junior high yearbook... my family is from Costa Rica, in case I've never mentioned it, and the mentality is a bit different for those tween years. Flipping through those blank, signature-less pages was like a trip down Memory Lane. Awkward, embarrassing, Memory Lane. I always wondered how those kids (you know the ones) maintained their confidence and composure through those difficult pre-teen years. I also wondered why they loved pointing out my complete lack of such an ability. If those kids could see me now, right? 

Why hello, Jane Smith. It's Diana Paz! You don't remember me? At all? Well you've still got a rant coming and do you know what? Playing the violin is cool! It helps with math and some other things too! And you know what else? It wasn't my fault my grandma cut my hair! Or that my other grandma found all my clothes at the swap meet and she happened to love floral print and added ruffles to everything! Do you think I liked wearing poofy sleeved, lace-collared blouses in junior high? And do you know that growing out a short-on-bottom, long-on-top, Aunt Bea haircut is a slow, mushroom-headed process that is moment-to-moment agony? Especially while lugging a violin case everywhere? Well, now you know.

Ah, good times. But it's weird, I always had a hard time coming up with an "Embarrassing Moment" to share in those college orientation icebreaker games or Freshmen English writing assignments. How do you pinpoint one moment in half a decade of embarrassment? "My most embarrassing moment was walking onto the school bus every single day for three straight years." I would have had an easier time writing my least embarrassing moment.

Maybe you were all part of the In Crowd and don't have any embarrassing memories, but if not, is anyone else brave enough to post a junior high horror story?

I Am Portobello Mushrooms

The Wednesday Rant is here! Somewhere inside me the alliteration beast I keep chained up wants to call it Wednesday Whinings. Rant is so intense an image. I picture people stomping around, tearing at their hair and throwing their microwave burritos against the wall in pent up rage and frustration. Not really my thing. Still, a blog is about venting to a certain extent, right? Maybe I'll call it the Vendsday Vent, bwa-ha-ha-ha!

Possible ranting/whining/venting topics:

People Who Don't Return Books. This is on my mind every time I look at my bookcase. Rant-rant-rant, it's my own fault for lending out the books so what do I have to rant about? 

People Who See You Engrossed in a Novel But Insist on Making Small-Talk. This just happened to me in the doctor's office but again, myself to blame. I tend to make eye-contact and smile when I enter a room. Combine that with the fact that I was raised to endure torture and eat poison before making anyone feel bad, and the outcome is, put the book away and chit-chat with the nice lady.

License Plate Frames/Bumper Stickers That Make No Sense. Is this book/writing related? No, but I'm going with it because I enjoy witty bumper stickers and license plate frames and I saw one yesterday that confounded me. Maybe you can figure it out... A license plate frame that says: "I AM PORTOBELLO MUSHROOMS." What. Gives. I almost followed the lady down a wrong turn trying figure out the code I was missing. And the worst is, no one who I tell this story to believes me! There's nothing more frustrating than begging someone to believe when you're telling the truth!!! Okay that was a blanket statement but not being believed is at least on the top ten list of frustrating feelings. Everyone thinks I was confused and it must have said "I LOVE PORTOBELLO MUSHROOMS" or "I GROW PORTOBELLO MUSHROOMS", but I promise you, as I sit and type this it did say I-AM-portobello-mushrooms. If the lady in the car's purpose was to have someone's mind thrown into the spin-cycle for the rest of their drive home, she succeeded. You win P-shroom lady, wherever you are! I am portobello mushrooms too!

I admire people with bumper stickers. It seems so damaging to the paint! Do you have anything on your car? Your Alma Mater? Your favorite band? One that says, "If at first you do succeed, try not to look astonished" or "Make way for the princess"? 

A quick search on Google provided these gems: 

• "The Book Was Better." 
• "Destiny Has Brought us Together"
• "I Ignored Your Friend Request"
• "Don't Judge a Book by its Movie"
• "Shh...I'm listening to a book"
• "I Believe I Have a Keen Sense of Humor But it's Hard to Convey that Sense on a Bumper Sticker."

Let me know of any good ones you've seen! :)

Wednesdays I Rant. Unless I Have Nothing to Rant About

It may or may not be glaringly apparent, but I try to keep things positive over here on the Coaster. I love snarky, biting blogs but there are plenty out there, and I get my dark fulfillment nodding in agreement as I read through the rants of others, thinking This blog is so great! It's funny because it's true! Har har har!!!!

As for me, I'm that person who tries to turn everything into a win-win situation. Ah yes, you know the type. There's always a bright side...there's always a way to turn a negative into a positive. In short, irritating. It takes a special kind of person to be friends with me. 

But we all have our grouchy, craggy-faced moments. My peak in bellyaching came when we welcomed baby number three into our happy home. Things got so hectic, and I had no time to read books, much less write, and everything was a blur of diapers and bottles and horrible, horrible laundry-- I had the green-eyed look of the Hulk a little more often than I'm proud of. Thankfully I have a good husband who realized what was happening. He sent me to Barnes & Nobles and even allocated "mommy time"; he was a man with a big plan and even bigger dreams of getting his sunshiny wife back, and as you might have figured out, it worked!

We all have those crusty days (or weeks) when moans and groans make us feel better, and on the flip side, I bet even the crankiest, most sourheaded griper on your favorite blog or forum has an uplifting moment from time to time. Okay, maybe you've never actually seen it, but it's certainly possible!

The point is, this blog is not a rant-free zone. In fact, I set Wednesdays aside as my official "rant" day. But I figure if I don't have anything to rant about that's okay too. So in conclusion, if I have something bugging me I get to rant on Wednesdays (yay!), and if I have nothing to rant about I can blog endlessly about whatever comes into my head (yay!). See? A win-win situation :)

Commonly Asked Questions of an Unpubbed

The five most asked (and most annoying) questions people ask if they somehow figure out I'm a writer.

1. Why aren't you published?

2. You know that famous author XXX? I heard it only took her one month to write her book and she got an agent the very next day and it was published the very next week and she got a jillion dollar advance. Why don't you write a story like hers? 

3. Your story sounds interesting, but I have a REALLY good story you should write...want to hear it and then after you write it and get super rich we could split the profits? Fifty-fifty, of course, since I came up with the idea and everyone knows ideas are protected by copyright.

4. Why don't you write something meaningful, like your Grandma's life story or something, instead of that fiction stuff?

5. Why DO you write, anyway?

How can I respond other than with courtesy and patience? Out loud, anyway. They have no idea what it feels like to have something you love rejected, to tear it apart and try again, or to abandon it altogether. They probably can't even understand what would possess someone to do what most likely they've loathed and dreaded all through their lives: writing.

1. Why aren't you published?

Real Answer:

"Publishing is a very tough business, but I'm happy with my efforts so far."

Defensive, Internal Answer:

"You obviously have even less of an idea of what the publishing industry is like than I do! Maybe I'm not published because I just suck as a writer and I have terrible ideas! Would you like some vinegar or are you fine with pouring salt in the wound?"

2. Why don't you write what XXX bestselling author wrote when she sold her first novel in two seconds flat?

Real Answer:

"It happens like that for some authors and I'm very happy it does. As for writing what he/she writes, every author's style is his or her own."

Not so Nice Answer:

"Really? I'm supposed to regurgitate what a bestselling author wrote and expect to find myself on easy street? Is that how anything else in life works?"

3. Want to write my idea and split the profits?

Real Answer:

"Actually, coming up with my own ideas is what makes writing so rewarding. Maybe you should try your hand at writing, you might like it."

Evil Twin Answer:

(Several seconds of deep belly laughs). "Nice one. Oh, you're serious? I have a better idea, why don't you write a three hundred page novel about MY idea? Then I can see it come to life and collect half the profits...which would be slim, by the way. You don't want to? Why, because writing is hard? Yes, yes it is. At this stage in my career, if I'm gonna write my heart out for anyone it's gonna be me."

4. Why don't you write something better/more meaningful than fiction? What about Granny's life story?

Real Answer:

"Fiction makes us laugh, cry, fall in love and experience every type of emotion in the human condition. Everyone's tastes are so different, maybe my story would be meaningful to someone. In any case, since I am unpublished and unpaid, I should at least write what I enjoy."

Annoyed Answer:

"Oh get off your high horse."

5. Why do you write, anyway?

Real Answer:

"Because I really enjoy it. It's my favorite, most beloved medium. I like writing long emails and long posts; I like writing better than talking. Most of all, I love writing stories, because I can be anyone in any place. I can control how it all happens and I can discover ways I didn't expect a story to turn out. And there are so many stories that run through my head, some of them just for me, but others I want to see on paper and experience somehow. It's how I feel most real, most like my self. I love writing. Some people live, breathe and eat football or cars or movies or cooking or MTV... it's what makes them happy. Writing is hard, but it makes me happy."

My real answer is my only answer.