Born Again

Good Books Vrs. Bad Books

 

The topic of good and bad books, has been a continuing focus of my, (rather lengthy), heated rampages for quite a while now. I have finally arrived at the conclusion though, that I can no longer impose upon the good will of the ears around me to listen to my incessantly aggravated rants for over three hours a day. In effect of this, I will now compose my thoughts on the matter for all too bare witness too. (-and possibly roll your eyes at...)

    ☸ To preface, I would like to point out that these are the opinions of a long time reader and aspiring author. I understand that writing is not easy, and therefore no matter how crummy the book turns out to be, it should at least be deemed worth some degree of respect for simply having been written. It takes an insane amount of dedication, work, sweat, tears, and hard work for these novels to come about. My thoughts and feelings on the final product, do not reflect towards the writer as a person, simply because of the outcome of the particular novel in question.

 

   So, where to begin? If you are an avid reader, you more than likely have encountered that one book which served as the catalyst into your sudden adoration of the printed world. For me, the journey began with Eragon by Christopher Paolini; a homeschooler who at the age of fifteen, not only wrote the beginning novel in the inheritance cycle, but also graduated from high school with a full education. If you think this is impressive, wait until you read the book.
   Eragon is loaded with a sort of magic you can only find in the depths of the world of fantasy. It sparks the imagination into a dizzying whirl of bedazzlement, in a way that stirs the heart into a passionate craving for adventure and creativity you cannot find anywhere else. The characters robbed me of my heart, and became the people I admired most in the world of literature. Eragon, taught me that loyalty, friendship, fantasy, and adventure, were right at my fingertips! He showed me that they were worth fighting for, even if it meant going against insurmountable odds, and even in times when the enemy sometimes was yourself.
   This epic adventure became the first in a long line of books I now treasure with a sort of esteemed reverence. Throughout my childhood and into my current years, Harry Potter, Spiderwick, The Rangers Apprentice, The Book of Three, The Series of Unfortunate Events, Bartimaeus, Percy Jackson, Inkheart, Fablehaven, Peter and the Star Catchers, The city of Ember, Mind Games, The Host, The Hunger Games, Candy Shop War, Lord of The Rings (though that was mainly the movies), The Immortal Rules, Seven Realms, and so many other titles have shaped my very soul and being into the person I am now. Eventually, I even discovered my all-time favorite novels, Mistborn and The Stormlight Archive both by Brandon Sanderson, along with Unwind by Neal Shusterman.

 

   A good book, is made up of more than just fancy words and carefully put together sentences. It's much more than an interesting plot line, or even good characters. When you're reading a good book, It's as though part of your soul awakens and forms an unexplainable bond with the spirit inked onto the page. The words on the paper jump to life! It's more than a movie, where only the visual sense is engaged, it's so much more. Reading entails emotion, mind activity, and interpretation on a higher level than many other forms of entertainment. It's like a living, breathing thing within your mind. It's beautiful and enchanting. Full of fire, and energy. Good books are really the doors to another reality. A reality which can be crossed into every time you open the page, no matter what's going on in your life at the moment. You find yourself desperate for the next glimpse into that world when you are apart, the mere moments you spend away like the aching seconds ticking by in an eternity. It is a form of art so explicitly delicate and bewitching, that it's hard to return to our reality when the story closes. It is these books, which I have come to love with a fervent passion.

   Now, as expected, let's turn our attention to the real topic for this post. Bad books.
   It has become increasingly apparent to me, on my many voyages to and from the library, that most of the books being written in our current age are absolute, bloody rubbish. Let me address the two main reasons behind this:

1. Insta-love.

   I cannot. No, I really cannot tolerate this form of complete and utter abandonment from the good name of literature. These abysmal creations should be sought out, and destroyed in waves of fire and acid. For those of you who evidently do not know what insta-love is, it is the rather absurd situation that commonly happens in many young adult 'books', (and I use that term loosely), when the heroine/hero instantly falls in love with the subject of romantic attention upon first glance.
   First of all, this is NOT what happens in real life. Sure, you may abstractly observe to yourself, "Oh, he/she's pretty cute. I might want to get to know them." -but "Oh my gosh, I'm in love with this girl I barely know and am going to ask her to marry me as soon as I can get close enough to pack her in the back of my car," IS NOT APPROPRIATE. It is a lazy, uninteresting, and a downright sickening form of hackneyed phrases known by the common term, as a cliché. I cannot stress how boring, and downright terrible these books are.
   In my opinion, the insta-love spree started with the popular young adult novel, Twilight by Stephenie Meyer. Now, for those of you who have actually read the book, I think we can agree that it wasn't as bad as all the hype made it out to be. It was far from good, but it was enjoyable enough to keep my attention, despite its many flaws. After Twilight's sudden birth into our world however, I feel that every halfwit with a scrap of writing ability, has suddenly decided to recreate the story of Twilight by just changing the names and adding a new mush extra. 
This is utter blasphemy to the dignity of the human race.
   If I read one more book starting out with "girl in high school, sees attractive looking boy with a dark secret," I'M GOING TO FREAKING BURN THE BOOK ON TELEVISION.
   Writers out there, if you are considering writing a book, PLEASE do NOT use the overused ideas within our young adult genre. I understand that not everyone can be as brilliant as Brandon Sanderson, but if you could just put a little more than a days thought into this book, that would be appreciated.

2. Flat characters/plot.

   This is pretty much along the same lines as the first, yet a little more specific. Use your brain. Recently, I read the absolutely heartbreaking novel, The fault In Our Stars by John Green. Not only did he use his brain, but he crafted a thought provoking, beautifully worded novel, about real pain and heart ache. He showed us what it is really like to be human, and have problems that cause you to stick out from the rest of society. It wasn't hard for the main characters. It was brutal. Not only did he excellently portray the romance, but he developed it without it becoming the characters themselves. Though Hazel and Augustus loved each other, they still had their own personalities. They kept what was most important in themselves, while building up the rest through each other.
   When I open a romance book, I want there to be a real effort made by the author to capture what love really means. That entails building, developing, and cultivating the relationship without it becoming their entire personality. No one likes to read about that sappy girl and boy who just hang all over each other and have real no life outside of making out on ally walls, (Jace and Clary, I'm looking at you).
   There are reasons for plots. They are meant to progress a story, regardless of what that story is about. When I open a book, and the only real thing that happens on the paper is that Sally's dog dies, I'm going to be disappointed. However, if the grocery store next to Sally's house gets blown up, and she suddenly finds large pastries wrapped in stylishly pink wrapping paper at her doorstep every Friday, with mysterious notes adorned with illustrations depicting various winky faces, I'm going to be intrigued. (Maybe slightly creeped out too, but you get the point).
   Writing is meant to be an adventure! It's not meant to bore the reader to sleep with endless clichés and overused plot ideas. If you can't at least try to be original, then why not just attach a helpful notice to the front of your book stating, "I basically ripped this story idea off Twilight, read at your own peril." This would be much appreciated by the girl who now has to check out over twenty books from the library every week, just to find out that over six of them are basically plagiarism. 
   I think most times authors really don't value the true worth of both characters, plot, and dialog as much as they should. I'm not against writing about what you're passionate about, but I do plead with you to try and be yourself! Don't bend to the whims of the popular book trends, strike out on your own. I don't want another Hunger Games, or X-men. I want something that you thought up, you came up with. I want to read something that jumps to life in my hands!

 

   Though I could really go on about this for a few hours, I feel this is enough to accentuate my points for the moment. Any thoughts? Was I too harsh, or not harsh enough? Do you agree with Twilight being the mother of all insta-love?

Uprising

   *Update
So, I've had quite a few questions about the meaning of this poem from various readers. I decided this morning that I would just clear it all up with a explanation of what I was thinking of when I wrote this. The nice thing about poetry however, is that it doesn't always have to mean the same thing to everyone. So if you thought it had a different meaning, then don't let my explanation deter your own conclusion.
   To start with, the poem is really set more on an emotional level than a literal one. In the first verse the speaker states,
"it's through your eyes, 
that I unveil the monster."
Perhaps the speaker's doubts are fed to her through the man in question? Hence, when she looks into his eyes, she sees what she most hates within herself.

   The next two verses depict a ruined city, which is actually a deeper perspective into the man's eyes. We see that the speaker is not the man's only victim,
"a war ground splayed in corpses,
all piled around your feet."
This begs us to ask the question, what war are we fighting then? Perhaps one of courage and fear, or love and hatred. As we see from the following lines, both subjects have fallen from the stars. We can either assume they are fallen angels, or that both have descended from humanity. In essence, both of them represent different emotions. The speaker, love; and the man, hate.
"My hand reaching for yours,
then falling back beside my waist."

   The war between the two escalates within verse six. Not only now is the war between the two injuring those around them, but the speaker is beginning to realize that the man's hold over her heart, is beginning to tear their worlds apart.

In the second to last verse the line,
"and rivers made of our tears,"
is a very crucial part of the poem. It shows that despite all the hardship and pain the two have waded through, their tears will now be the only reminder of each other. The speaker has made the decision to have courage, which will leave all of this behind as only a memory.

The last line finishes this idea off with,
"we will become something more than our fears."
This is a goodbye. A final battle cry before the white flag is waved, and they go their separate ways. The speaker is leaving her self hatred, which has become everything the man stands for to her. She has decided to leave the war of hate, and have courage to love herself.

Awkward moment: are we actually dating?

So you're not dating... but then you're not 'just friends' either. It's as though the pair of you are waiting on some massive, solar explosion to occur which will hopefully nudge you over the line into a definite relationship status. 'It's complicated' usually is the term that first pops into most peoples minds when they suddenly find themselves in this weird kind of dimension. In reality though, it's not really that difficult! In all simplicity, what's basically going on is that you're both waiting on each other to make the first move, but no one's moving forward in fear of rejection. (Though, at this point in time it's clearly obvious that you like each other.) Who then, is going to break the awkward, unidentified state of materialized being and say, "hey, you know what? We're going out now!"
   

   You're right. Absolutely no one. Because it certainly is not going to be me in the front lines jumping up to volunteer! In my personal defense, it's my strong belief that the male in the relationship is to take the first moves. You can do all you want to encourage him, but if you really want proof that you have a confidant man who will take care of you, you have to let him steer the ship.
   Sadly though, because of my belief it takes a darn lot longer for anything to broach the fence in the road without my actual guidance towards the finish line. Hovering within the space of complicated is good to a certain point, before you realize that eventually your going to have to find something to hold on to, whether it be back on earth, or forward. (I feel like I'm quoting something from Star Treck now... Speaking of Star Treck into darkness...)

   Anyways, those are my thoughts for today! My ability to write has blessedly returned, thanks to my wonderful friends and awesome support from my followers!
    Thank you all, I'm back to stay (again)!

Finding forgiveness, in pain.

 

   At a certain point, you begin to understand that what your feeling, is becoming who you are. Emotions, hold such power within the human conscience, that- to an extent, they can shape an individual's mind. What begins as an emotional wound can, with the right catalysts and feeding, become more like a festering disease than just a small incident.
   A few days ago, someone very important to me snapped out in response to an (admittedly) sullen Lyndsey, "recently I feel like you've become angry at the world."
   Without hesitation, my sharp reply before leaving was, "there is just so much to be angry at."
   I have to admit, I went home and cried for a few hours after that. I was shocked with my answer. At first, I didn't understand why those particular words had come so easily, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized the truth to it. That I was angry. At everyone.
   Angry because they couldn't understand. Angry at myself for not being strong. I was angry for feeling swamped in emotions that I could barely begin to explain. I felt as though I was trying to stay afloat, and be the best person that I could be, and not only was that not good enough, but no one else seemed to be bothering to try to do the same. I felt deeply alone, in a way only the heart can feel.
   After these thoughts finally sank in, I began to realize that I was turning into exactly the person I'd spent so long running away from. A hollow, angry, and bitter individual. Intent on causing the pain I was feeling inside to those around me, simply because I didn't know how else to communicate it.
   To emphasize this, I'll go back to an example starting a few weeks ago when I became friends with an acquaintance I'd briefly known for a while. In the weeks following our friendship, the beginning trails of awareness about my newly forming personality slowly began to become apparent to me. The more we talked, the more I realized how hard in nature I had become. I felt like a dark disease, against the clarity of his light. In response to his kindness, I began to notice of how my responses usually entailed empty emotion. As I studied this further, It was as though I saw before myself a large invisible wall. A wall, which in retrospect of the situation, was meant to shield me from the world I was so clearly beginning to despise within my frenzied mind.
   Upon laying this bare to myself, I decided to try and step away from it for a moment. On a particular evening, when talking with this friend I introduced you too earlier, I voiced something of a slightly more personal topic than I usually got. Admittedly, this wasn't easy for me to do. On my part, it took a lot of conscious effort to bring the subject up. I mentioned a problem I was having and asked him for a little advice on the matter. In all candor, just telling him about this made me feel like I was staining his brilliant cape of liquid gold with the dark vapors streaming through my mental wall. So, to put it simply, I was astonished when he not only seemed delighted by my actual feelings, but let me keep talking. I hadn't expected the reaction I received. The looming wall within me distorted all sense of reality, in a way that gave everyone a brooding ulterior motive.
   The point of telling you this is to illustrate the point that more often than not, we let injuries from the past, build up into actual scars that impair us from functioning normally within society. Belittling your pain is not my goal here. However, prompting you to stop holding onto the past and accept that what you are living in now is the present, is my goal. The person you are in this moment is likely the person you will continue to be.
   Anger is like a poison. It saps away the energy from your limbs and instead expends it upon building a roaring furnace of hatred and despair. It will consume you.
   You have gone through a lot, and you will continue to go through a lot. Imagine a traveler, in the process of climbing up a steep cliff. Every time he sees a large rock that looks somewhat interesting, he slips it into his backpack. Eventually though, as he continues upwards, the accumulation of weight from his backpack and the strain upon his already weary body are too much for him to handle. Instead of simply leaving the rocks behind though, the traveler continues to stubbornly push on, even though his trembling fingers can no longer grasp the jagged sides of the mountain and his calls for help can no longer form in his gasping lungs. He lets go, and he falls, just as every sensible person could predict he would.
   Much like the traveler, if we continue to pile up every pain and tragedy that has happened to us within our backpacks, we will someday fall too. No matter how many times you cry for someone to help you, there is nothing they can do unless you first learn to help yourself. You are the one in control. You are the one on the mountain piling the rocks into your backpack and brashly continuing on. Just let them go! Let the past, be the past. Let your anger, turn to forgiveness. As you do this, not only will you begin to climb faster and higher up that mountain of life, but you will eventually reach the top without those regrets latched onto your back.
   You have the power, to forgive and forget. Don't try to hold onto those feelings, just because you want everything back.
   I'm beginning to understand that we can both retain the good of our lives, while learning to leave behind the bad. They aren't what makes you who you are, and they won’t help you to move forward. There are lights burning around you that you can't enjoy behind your anger and hurt.

   

In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me lay an invincible summer. - Albert Camus