066. Young, Maleable Minds

[In which our heroine contemplates giving and getting advice.]

Recently, I had a conversation with a college-aged person* who is thinking about attending my beloved Alma mater. Naturally, I was overly excited and geeked about the professors, classes, groups, living in the city, and the general experience, but I think it all went over pretty well and that the Office of Admissions will be getting one more application this year.

A few days after that conversation, my mom told me that a family friend told her she always thought that I had helped shape her daughter’s life and that she is the (fantastic) person she is today partly because of me. (As long as she doesn’t turn out to be a psychopath, I’ll take the compliment).

065. Still in Awe

Official White House photo by Pete Souza

064. Make-Up Stories

[In which our heroine regales her audience with a heartwarming tale from her childhood. Curtain up...]

We’re lying on our stomachs under the glass-topped table in our kitchen, alphabetically by height (which worked in our family until my brother shot up to a gigantic 6′2″; 6′4″ if you count his current college-kid ‘fro); me, my sister, and my brother, squirming and kneeing each other as we scramble to adjust the blankets and pillows so Dad can start. Since it’s winter time, there’s a fire in the fireplace in front of us, slowly dying and not at all like its previous status as roaring focal point of conversation.

“Make room for me!” Dad gets under the table with us. Mom looks like the parent from a cartoon, a pair of crossed legs under the table. She’s sitting in a chair, sipping Earl Grey tea and probably nibbling on a tea biscuit, happy to not have to talk for a while (I’m told I was an exhausting-ly chatty kid).

063. Quarter Century

[In which our heroine reflects on her first twenty-five years of life.]

“But next year you’ll be closer to 30 than 20!” This was said to me by a friend in honor of my 25th birthday (is there some giant milestone that occurs at 30 years old? Wait, don’t tell me yet, I can hold out for that information). But as that moment is now 364 days away, I’d like to take this time to reflect on the first quarter century of my life, as I remember it (which is, of course, biased as all get-out).

Age 0-2: Affectionately, I refer to these years as “the best years of my life,” mostly to annoy my parents since I was 2 years and three months old when I became a sister and therefore no longer an only child. I have nothing against my siblings, in fact I quite enjoy their company and personalities (now), but this does not deter me from continuing my head games.

Age 2-10: From this period, I remember being painfully shy, lots of My Little Pony and American Girl play-time, having an AWESOME sledding hill in our backyard, reading out loud to my classmates when the teachers were too tired/bored to do so, and moving to a new town and being “the new kid” in 4th grade. Also, I got a little brother.

062. Santa Claus CAME to town

[EEEEEEE!!!]

It’s a dream come true.

OK, “dream” is maybe too romantic of a word, and that particular phrase is probably best left for things like marriage proposals and the like, but really, opening this particular package was an amazing moment. Let me reenact it for you:

061. “I love las”

[In which our heroine writes about another fantastic band she didn't know about until recently, but with which she is now mildly obsessed.]

VideoSong: a creation of Nataly Dawn and Jack Conte, collectively known as Pomplamoose (also French for “grapefruit”), in which you see the creation of every sound you hear. An example:

In addition to great originals, they do covers, too:

060. Learning to Write About Writing

[In which our heroine tries to work some things out... about books.]

I’ve been listening to the local NPR affiliate’s book review show, affectionately called “The Book Show,” in which the host interviews authors about their work and their inspiration and their writing process. Recently, I heard part of an interview with John Irving, who apparently begins with the end of his stories and works backwards and stops when he gets to the beginning. I also heard an interview with Barbara Kingsolver, who goes where “the characters take her,” which is presumably into the story and then to the end.

Clearly, there is no “right” or “wrong” way to begin to write a book. Start from the end? Sure! Start from the beginning? By all means! What about the middle? Hey, why not!