"Defying Probability" (Massasoit Writing Contest Prize-Winning Essay)

Here is the essay I wrote that won second place in Massasoit Community College's One Book, One College writing contest. The prompt was to write about a story that is told within your family and how it has influenced your life. Enjoy!

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It seems that I hear or ponder the story of my father's recovery from shattering his foot every day, and I know I experience the aftereffects every minute. There is a reason that my siblings and I are as healthy, strong, and hardworking as we are today, and it all started one day with a devastating injury. Whenever I feel inadequate, incapable, or incompetent, my dad reminds me of his journey.

My dad has always been an extremely active person. He played football all through high school, has cycled over one hundred miles, races motocross, and participates in Olympic- and Half-Iron Man-distance triathlons. Endurance exercise is his idea of fun. Therefore, when he shattered the bones in his foot back in 2004, he was devastated. Being an athlete, of course, he's more prone than the average person to injuries such as these. He had broken his wrists, tailbone, ankles, and even his pelvis before—but this one was different. After a tough search, he managed to find a specialized surgeon who said he would need to lodge a permanent titanium plate and seven screws in his foot. "Here's the deal," the doctor said. "We're going to do our best to reconstruct your foot so you can walk again, hopefully without any devices, but there are no guarantees. You'll likely have a limp for the rest of your life, and you'll certainly never run again." My dad knew the surgery was his only hope for being able to get out of bed and off his crutches, so he agreed to go through with the procedure.

After the surgery and eighteen months of physical therapy, he could walk again, but with the addition of the promised limp and support from a dozen Motrin capsules per day for eight years. Because of his condition and his inability to keep up with his normal exercise regimen, his health gradually declined and he fell into bouts of depression. He always describes the fall of 2008 as his lowest point. He was missing out on many milestones in his three children's lives, was becoming extremely overweight, and had developed Metabolic Syndrome (a common precursor to diabetes). When his physician warned him that if his blood pressure and sugar levels didn't improve within six months, he would be forced on additional medication, my dad decided that enough was enough.

My dad spent the next four years working with a personal trainer, during which he began to study the facts behind nutrition and endurance sports. When, after every attempt to curb his blood sugar, it still didn't drop low enough, he kept digging deeper until he discovered something called the ketogenic diet. Ketosis is a state of the body in which it is processing stored fats for energy instead of sugars and carbohydrates. After many trial runs, my dad learned that by consistently eating fats in place of grains, starches, and sugary foods, he could lose weight faster and last longer in athletic events. Then, being our father, he passed his knowledge on to me and my siblings. Thanks to him and his journey, our overall health, endurance, and athleticism have also seen great improvement, even if we're not quite as strict and self-disciplined as he is. But my dad didn't stop there. Now that all of his issues, including the painful, everyday inflammation in his foot, had been so noticeably lessened, a question arose in his mind—would he now be able to run again?

One day in early spring of 2013, my dad experienced one of the most pivotal moments of his life. He has described this particular part of the story in such detail that I could never forget it. On his way home from work, he noticed dark clouds beginning to appear in the sky and, predicting that it would soon begin to rain heavily, decided to grab the mail from our mailbox before going inside. After parking his truck and walking across the street, however, he realized he was a few seconds too late. The clouds opened up and rain began pouring down on him. Without even giving it a second thought, he grabbed the mail, slammed the box shut, and sprinted back into the house.

"It took me another few steps before what just happened hit me," he says. He had just run painlessly for the first time in almost ten years. He recounted this experience in a post on his blog, writing that "to the average person, running to seek shelter from a pouring rain is nothing out of the ordinary...but to [him], this was a mind-bending moment." For nearly the entire past decade, even mere walking had caused him pain to the point of misery. Running had been completely out of the question. I remember when we used to play at family softball games, and he would purposely try to hit a grand slam over the fence every time he was up at bat, because his only chance of getting around the bases was to slowly walk them. I remember him being forced to participate in relay versions of triathlons—he could bike and swim just fine, but then he would longingly watch a teammate from the sidelines as he or she completed the running section in his place. I remember watching him sit down on a couch and ice his foot at the end of a day of walking around Disney World, not understanding as a young child just how much agony he was experiencing—but then everything began to change.

My dad dashed through 2013—literally. He began running almost every day and completed his first full triathlons. After each of them, he recounted parts of his story for us again and again. His doctor had said he would never run again. He had believed it. And yet, here he was. By 2014, he was running ten miles at a time. In 2015, he completed a Half-Iron Man triathlon, which includes a 13.1-mile run. And later that year, after noticing that one of his business clients was looking for runners for their charity, he set his sights on the Boston Marathon.

It was during this leg of the journey that I really began to listen to him and fully understand his story. I watched him train every Sunday, riding my bike alongside him as he ran, holding his water bottle as he progressed from fifteen miles to twenty to twenty-five each week leading up to the race. The experience was incredible. This guy had gone from being bedridden with a shattered foot, always forced to the sidelines, to running and completing the 2016 Boston Marathon. Every member of my family knows his story, young and old, even if they weren't directly involved in it. This story has shaped all of our perceptions of what is truly possible to accomplish. We have all been inspired by my dad to strive to achieve any goal we have—athletic or otherwise—despite our impediments. He has taught us all by retelling his tale again and again that we can overcome anything to which we set our minds, even if it goes against all odds.

"I'm Writing A Musical" - Seven Months Later

Words can't even begin to express how incredible this journey has been, but I'm a writer, so I suppose I'll have to make them work.

On April 8th, 2016 (at least, according to the date on my earliest Word documents), I was struck with an idea. It wasn't so much of a grand plan for a spectacular production as it was a fun project to keep me busy. What it has grown into, however, is more than I could have ever asked for.

On October 15th, 2017, this crazy, ambitious figment of my imagination finally became reality. Percy Jackson: The Musical played at the Oakes Ames Memorial Hall in Easton, Massachusetts. We had a cast of thirteen awesome local actors ranging from age twelve to seventeen who had been working tirelessly since mid-July to make this show happen.

There are a few people I'd like to thank, the first being my awesome assistant director, Catherine. She was one of the first to read my script and provided the encouragement I needed to get started on the production. Next, my parents, who blindly trusted that this wouldn't be a complete disaster and helped with the logistical matters. My brother, Shane, who was coaxed into taking on the lead role but ran with it and elevated it to the best it could have been. My sister, Zoe, who has helped me with every aspect of writing, composing, casting, and directing, since the beginning. The rest of my incredible cast who put up with my antics for three months and dealt with uncomfortable costumes, difficult harmonies, and too many lines. I hope everything was worth it for you guys, because you performed terrifically. And, of course, everyone who came to the show. Thank you all!

One downside of putting on a completely independent production was the fact that we could only have one showing, and tickets were rather limited. Fortunately, however, we took a video; you can view it here. Enjoy!

"The Watchman" (Short Story)

(This was written for NYC Midnight's 2017 Flash Fiction Challenge. The prompt was sweatshop/drama/automotive battery. I had a 1,000-word limit—and, boy, did that make things difficult. Nevertheless, enjoy!)

Every day I sit and watch them work.

The dozen or so rows of rickety old brown tables, the rusting typewriters that line each one, the monotonous clicking of the keys not unlike the irritating drone of a hundred crickets, the putrid aroma of spilled ink and bad breath filling the room as a silent, invisible killer, the sunlight streaming through the diagonal crack in the far wall that bakes them all slowly like meat in a broiler, the lines of individuals in similar drab attire pressed shoulder to shoulder in splintered chairs…they will never know this, but it is hell for me, too.

They will never know the bile that rises to my throat each time a young man—a boy, even—with a brown satchel greets me with a grin, takes a stack of papers, and continues off on his merry way. They will never know the ache that throbs in my temples as I scrutinize story after tedious story, at first itching to find the one that will most proficiently catch a potential buyer’s eye but soon enough drawing lots on which will fill the rest of the page. They will never know the smile that grows once one of them turns away, head bowed, after bidding me good morning.

The worst to bear, however, is the fact that they will never know that I know them.

There’s the man who sits in the far corner. Arnold. He’s a handyman by trade, will repair your leaky sink or change your tires free of charge if he likes you—or fears you, in my case—and never found a sufficient job in that field, so now he’s stuck here in what they all call the sweatshop, crafting false scientific studies and reports of fake technology. One morning, I went to start my car and realized the battery was dead, and I asked him if he could replace it, and he obliged without question. He’s a smart man as well as a good one. The irony is in the fact that here, he doesn’t even get to work with a computer.

Then there’s Susanne, who sits closest to my office. She’s pretty, or at least looks like she could be underneath the sweat and the frown and the messy hair. She’s the hardest worker of them all. Never once have I had to stand over her with that menacing look my predecessors and peers have told me to use. Sometimes I wonder if maybe someday I will talk to her, but she has been here writing celebrity gossip for five years and I have yet to do more than nod politely as I pass.

Next to her is Carla, who used to aspire to be an author. Then Sean, who was a librarian back before those all closed down. Then Lily, who is far too young to be here in my opinion, but there are no rules regarding that anymore.

Today, a man in a polished black suit steps into my office.

“Hello,” I say.

“Good afternoon.” He offers a hand and I shake it. “Emmet Smith.”

“What brings you here?”

“I’m interested in buying.”

I stare at him, confused. “You can subscribe by email.”

“Buying the company. I would like a rundown of how the place works, if you don’t mind.”

I swallow. “Okay. Um. It’s really no different than all the others.”

“If you don’t write something worthwhile, you go home hungry?”

“Exactly.”

He nods. “I own a magazine. I’m looking to, ah…” He gazes out my window toward all of them. “Expand my empire.”

I clear my throat. “I can give you the number of my owner.”

“I’ve already spoken with him.”

“Oh.”

He places a hand on the doorknob but doesn’t turn it. “I’ll be back.” Then he opens it— 

“Don’t get too comfortable.”

—and closes it behind him.

I sit back down behind my desk. News stories. This would make a good news story. I’ll hand it off to Arnold or Susanne or Lily and have them write it for me. Headline: Man Infiltrates Company Office and Demands Ownership. It would sell so much that maybe I’d have enough to live off of if I were to lose this job.

Losing my job. I’ve imagined it before, of course. Each time I do, I pace the rows of tables and snap my fingers a few times in a few faces.

“Get your stories to me before sunset or you won’t go home tonight.” And then I feel bad, because I remember that they’re handymen and messy-haired and young. But I don’t take back my words.

Here, if you try to take back words, your own story will be pulled from underneath your feet.

I glance out at them, all of them with their heads bent over like the spines of those parabolic sea serpents, typing away. They will never know my feelings about this place. They will never know me.

They will never know that I am the one who bought the typewriters and eliminated the hand cramp-inducing pen and paper, that I am the one who prays at night for them to receive even the slightest bit higher pay than before, that I am the one who hates the distorted paper and defaming articles more than any of them.

I care, but they will never know, because I’m a coward. I’m a coward who doesn’t want to lose his job and will continue to publish a fake newspaper with fake stories for real money until one of them decides to write my own death.

So until then, I continue to sit and watch them work.

More Happy Than Not by Adam Silvera (Review)

It's been too long since I've held something in my hands as well-crafted as this, and I am happily (no pun intended) satisfied with my choice of final summer reading. This book, published in 2015, is an intriguing, eye-catching blend of contemporary YA and science fiction. It’s from the first-person POV of Aaron Soto, a high school student living in the Bronx with his mother and older brother in a one-bedroom apartment. He has a group of friends on his block (a bunch of hilarious, heartbreaking, and memorable characters) who like to fool around and play manhunt and a serious, devoted relationship with a girl named Genevieve.

Introduced in the first sentence of the book is a new institution named Leteo (the Spanish translation of the river Lethe—the river of forgetfulness from Greek mythology). Leteo provides a procedure to its patients that suppresses and makes them “forget” harmful and sorrowful memories…with some side effects, of course. Though it seemed foreign and unfitting for a story about friendship and happiness at first, it is so seamlessly integrated that it will leave you wondering how the world would change if something like this came into existence.

Without spoiling too much of the story, I’ll say that it had an incredible plot for something so character-driven, and its twists and turns left me gasping aloud on multiple occasions. I was extremely impressed by Silvera’s ability to keep me so hooked from the very start on these characters and this world I had never met before—a definite recommendation for all YA readers.

A Bit of Poetry

I've been working a little on a poetry journal lately, and I thought I'd share some of them today—the ones that fit under the broad theme of reading and writing. I can never come up with titles, so I'll just use dates to differentiate them. Enjoy!

4/28/17
A book takes you
     transports you
     makes you forget
     about the choices you've made
     the things you regret
A book shows you
     leads you
     to a faraway land
     so don't close the back cover
     'til it's real in your hand

6/6/17
If your poetry has no rhythm and rhyme
I'm sorry, but it is a waste of my time
If your poetry is any form of "abstract"
I'm sorry, but it is really quite sad

Poetry without rhyme is as if you took
Ten words from a newspaper and called it a book
Poetry without rhythm is like those "artists" that paint
A single dot on a canvas and think they're some saint

All of the poems oh-so-highly regarded
That could have been written in a kindergarten
All of the poems critics call "works of art"
Might as well be humans sans bones and a heart

6/10/17
A sonnet is composed of fourteen lines
Contained within each one five brief iambs
But how am I to tell you in these lines
Enough detail that you know who I am?

I have already wasted four of them
And I still have no clue how to begin
By now I've used another three, so then
I'll have to find some way to fit stuff in

With eight lines down the drain I'm getting scared
(You'll find I'm usually a bit afraid)
(Though friends tell me that I'm always prepared)
(However, for this poem, I've lost faith)

I've reached a dull penultimatum here
Suppose I should just end it now. Oh, dear...

8/30/17
There once was a comma named Oxford
She made sentences far less awkward
When writing a list
Before "and" she sits
But many poor writers forgot her!

"The Dark Prophecy" by Rick Riordan (Review)

This is the first time I have given three stars to a Rick Riordan book on Goodreads, and I feel sort of obligated to elaborate on why I chose to do so. 
I think THO was awesome—not nearly as strong as Rick's previous work, but the first book in each of his past series was always the weakest, so I still felt that TOA had great potential. Actually, it does still have potential. This book, however, just didn't sit well with me, and here's why.

1. Character choice. 

Rick chose Apollo, Leo, and Calypso to be the main questing trio. Calypso is simply an underdeveloped, bland character. I don't even know how to describe her personality. I do like how she could connect with Apollo because of their shared previous lives, I enjoyed the chapter in which she discovered she still had some powers, and the notepad thing was hilarious, but other than that, who is she? A person who just fights with Leo all the time? Speaking of Leo, he used to be one of my absolute favorites. He was developed so well throughout TLH, MoA, and HoH, but BoO just ruined him and Rick's attempt to clean up the mess he made was evident in this book. For example, he mentioned that he wanted to see his friends again, and I got really excited that everything would finally be fixed, but then he goes on to say that he isn't even going to stay in one of the camps. I can't accept the fact that he, a kid who spent pages and pages worrying about fitting in and finally found good relationships with everyone aboard the Argo II, would just toss aside his friendships so casually like that. 
The new characters Rick introduced were no better. There were too many of them at once and it was extremely confusing. I wanted to like Jo and Emmie and Georgie but I just couldn't. I thought that Lityerses was actually the most interesting and I hope he continues to appear in the future.

2. Humor. 

I still have mixed feelings about Apollo—he was a hilarious narrator in the first book, but this time around, his humor seemed quite forced and honestly overkill. Someone needs to bar Rick from popular culture because, while he used to employ sarcasm and wit, all he does now is reference it and call it "humor." It's like he has run himself dry. This book would be ten times more entertaining if he had cut half of the jokes and replaced it with some serious writing that he actually does so well. Apollo himself—his mindset, attitude, and situation—is enough comedy in itself, and it's great. I don't understand why he feels such a need to make EVERYTHING funny.

3. Plot. 

There seemed to be hardly any depth to the plot, and if there was, I couldn't find it buried underneath all the extraneous humor. I enjoyed seeing Apollo grow and become more compassionate. I liked his connection to the villain. I thought that Meg's growth and change was apparent and her storyline is intriguing. But what was the real plot of the quest? I couldn't tell you.

All in all, this book was rather disappointing. It was entertaining, yes, but it was far from reaching the standard that Rick's previous work has set. I am still holding out hope for the last three in this series and I believe that if he tries hard enough, he could redeem himself and write another three four- and five-stars. 
If only Grover had appeared sooner. If he is actually going to play a role in TBM, it will (hopefully) be much more enjoyable.

"Summer Nights" (Short Story)

Night was her favorite time of day. 

She wasn’t quite sure what it was that she so enjoyed—the darkness, perhaps, or the cold, or the quiet—but out of all the endeavors of her daytime schedule, none could compare to her favorite pastime—sitting on the roof of her secluded cabin just as dusk began to swallow the sun.

Bliss. Not a soul (dead or alive) to bother her, left alone with just her thoughts. Truthfully, those were oftentimes as irksome as any person could be, but raised there she could allow the gentle breeze to chill her skin, rustle her hair, and clear away some of that burden. Seeing the forest—now dark as charcoal—and the ocean—revealing the colors of its depths—from an elevated point of view seemed to change her perspective on life, as well, and caused each of her problems to dissipate for a brief moment, a temporary pause in time’s tiresome script.

She looked to the stars, too. She used to know all the constellations, back in her childhood and before the lights of neighboring cities conquered and distorted the midnight sky. Admittedly, she loved night’s scattered stars far more than day’s sole, and she sometimes felt, at such a height, as if she could extend two fingers and pluck them from their positions. Once she tried, in a moment of childlike credulity, but then lowered her hand in mortification.

Thus occurred to her another pleasant aspect of the Earth’s black shadow—every action of hers was concealed, hidden from any eye that might pry. She could make a great fool of herself, do any sort of unspeakable or ridiculous thing, and it would be known to none but her own conscience.

She kept a blanket with her—one of which the fabric was just thick enough to keep her warm but thin so that shivers from the slowly-cooling air still shook her. She was unaware of its color, as she hung it each night around the chimney and did not glance at it again until the sky reverted to black.

Her summer nights were of the utmost importance. Her summer nights allowed her a comfortable and kempt place to rest, whilst the day tossed her round and round until she could no longer see. Her summer nights wrapped her in velvet cloaks and lacy veils, whilst the day stripped her of coverings and laughed as the sun glared upon her bare skin. Her summer nights reassured her with comforting whistling and peaceful quiet, whilst the day hurled at her harsh insults and blatant shrieks.

Her summer nights belonged to her and her alone.

The Filter Bubble: Harmful or Hoax?

In the days, weeks, and months following the widely controversial outcome of the 2016 U.S. Presidential Election, the term “filter bubble” has been tossed around between liberals and conservatives alike—but what exactly does it entail? Is it a false theory perpetrated by those who are upset by the election, crafted simply to place blame on the Internet rather than their own political parties? Is it a phenomenon caused by the decisions of social media users themselves and not at all the fault of Facebook’s algorithms? Is it a real issue that should be studied and eliminated? Each of these claims have been supported by vast numbers, to the point where this “filter bubble” idea has become a household phrase. According to journalist John Bohannon of Science Magazine, “political scientists have wondered [for years] whether the social network’s news feed selectively serves up ideologically charged news while filtering out content from opposite political camps”—which is the theory behind the filter bubble (Bohannon 1). Eli Pariser, the author of a 2011 book regarding filter bubbles, agrees that “it’s much easier than it’s ever been to live in an information environment that is several standard deviations from normal” (Brodeur 2). Perhaps this idea of social media filter bubbles has existed for longer than this generation has imagined, and the recent election merely struck surprised voters with the realization of just how potent they might be.

The term “filter bubble” is defined as “the tendency of social networks…to lock users into personalized feedback loops, each with its own news sources, cultural touchstones, and political inclinations,” according to Amanda Hess of The New York Times (Hess 1). Many blame the networks themselves—usually Facebook and Twitter—for this phenomenon, but Michael Andor Brodeur of The Boston Globe disagrees, calling filter bubbles “self-styled personal ecosystems of information we burrow ourselves into” (Brodeur 1). Others believe that the bubbles are caused in part by users’ own behavior and choices but also by the algorithms these websites use to enhance the browsing experience. For example, “when you do a search on Google…the results you get back will differ depending on what the company knows about you” (Bohannon 2). No matter the origin, however, it is important that social media users become aware of their own filter bubbles and the threats they may pose.

A filter bubble creates an environment for an individual that is friendly to their political opinions and only exposes them to posts and stories with which they will agree. Perhaps this sounds harmless in theory, but it actually politically polarizes the user, allowing them to sink to the deep end of their political ideology. Liberal or conservative, left or right, the more they click on news stories that comment positive on their side or negatively on the other, the less inclined they will be to analyze or even consider an opposing opinion. John Bohannon of Science Magazine believes that this division of media exposure could eventually lead to total political extremism of both major parties, and ultimately a chaotic pandemonium of a country. Views like this can seem a bit far-fetched themselves, and many are skeptical, but it isn’t so hard to imagine the consequences of a society in which “liberals and conservatives…rarely learn about issues that concern the other side simply because those issues never make it into their news feeds” (Bohannon 2). Brodeur agrees that “these are not ideal conditions for a productive cultural conversation” (Brodeur 2). For these reasons, it is likely in the country’s best interests to attempt to defeat this filter bubble phenomenon.

Brodeur claims that “it’s highly unlikely that Facebook will take steps to burst its own bubble,” but a variety of solutions to this situation are available for individual use. The Google Chrome extension PolitEcho, which “crawls through [a user’s] Facebook network and visualizes its political bias,” is one option that is becoming increasingly popular (Hess 2). FlipFeed is a plug-in coded by researchers at M.I.T. that allows you to experience the Twitter feed of a “random, anonymous user of a different political persuasion” (Hess 2). Read Across the Aisle, an iPhone application, alters its users’ news-reading experiences—as they browse articles within the app, an onscreen meter will fade from red to blue and back again “based on the particular site’s ideological bent” (Hess 2). Another plug-in that deploys a different tactic is Escape Your Bubble, which is available for Google Chrome. Described as “aggressively positive,” it sprinkles stories and posts of opposing political views within a user’s Facebook feed and labels them with a pink heart icon, smiley face, and the message “happily inserted by your EscapeYourBubble Chrome Extension” (Hess 2). The idea behind all of these plug-ins and applications is the benefits of “stripping opposing ideas of their negative emotional impact” (Hess 2). Heavy emotional influence is one of the leading motivators behind a person’s political ideology. 

While not entirely agreeing that Facebook’s filter bubbles are caused by algorithms, CEO Mark Zuckerberg does agree that there is an existing “need to grow local news outlets…and present people with a range of perspectives,” which is just what these web extensions can accomplish (Hess 4). Zuckerberg’s net worth has actually plummeted by close to four billion dollars since the 2016 Presidential Election, and many believe this is due to the claims against Facebook’s code. Others see this as finger-pointing, however, and stand firmly with their beliefs that social media played no role in the election outcome. A 2012 study found that “Facebook’s news feed algorithm does indeed create an echo chamber effect,” but it is nothing to fear—according to their research, “the algorithm made it only 1% less likely for users to be exposed to politically cross-cutting stories” (Bohannon 3). This study was performed, however, by Facebook’s own in-house social scientists and could be heavily biased. Despite this, they did produce at least one statement of truth—“the power to expose oneself to perspectives from the other side in social media,” they stated, “lies first and foremost with individuals” (Bohannon 3). To have any hope of defeating the filter bubble, whether it be a product of a computer code or each user’s own internal bias, social media users need to increase their awareness of what they are reading and why and work to expose themselves to new beliefs and opposing ideologies.

March and April Reads

Here's a shelf update for March and April 2017. These past two months have been busy ones, and I didn't have a chance to read as much as I would've liked to. I have some exciting stuff on my list for May and June, though—including the new Rick Riordan book coming out tomorrow!

Once again, my favorite works are in bold:

• The Upside of Unrequited (Becky Albertalli, 2017)
• Mother Courage and Her Children (Bertolt Brecht, 1939)
• The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes (Arthur Conan Doyle, 1892)
• "The Final Problem" (Arthur Conan Doyle, 1893)
• "Young Goodman Brown" (Nathaniel Hawthorne, 1835)
• "Dr. Heidegger's Experiment" (Nathaniel Hawthorne, 1837)
• "The Birthmark" (Nathaniel Hawthorne, 1843)
• Blasted (Sarah Kane, 1995)
• "Miss Brill" (Katherine Mansfield, 1920)
• Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe (Benjamin Alire Sáenz, 2012)
• Oedipus Rex (Sophocles, 430 B.C.)

To read/finish for May/June:

• More Than This (Patrick Ness)
• Hidden Figures (Margot Lee Shetterly)
• The Dark Prophecy (Rick Riordan)
• Alex and Eliza (Melissa de la Cruz)
• Eurydice (Sarah Ruhl)
• Alexander Hamilton (Ron Chernow)

"The Upside of Unrequited" by Becky Albertalli (Review)

"I'm on the toilet at the 9:30 Club, and I'm wondering how mermaids pee."

From the moment I opened this book to the moment I closed the back cover, I could not stop smiling. First of all, Molly Peskin-Suso is one of the most relatable main characters I have ever encountered, and I felt happy and sad and proud of her through every twist and turn of her journey. Albertalli perfectly captures the personality of a socially anxious girl who is afraid to do everything she believes being a teenager entails. Never before have I seen social anxiety written so well--Albertalli's experience as a psychologist definitely shines in her work.

The humor is quite endearing (though at some points a little overkill, but it fits the characters and the story), and I loved the pop culture references. Allusions always make a story feel so much more REAL.

I also adored the relationship that Molly has with her sister. It's heartwarming and so, so authentic. I was nearly reduced to tears when they eventually came to the conclusion that, yes, eventually all siblings grow apart and find new people to be their confidants. It's a depressing subject, but the real, raw emotion expressed in her simplistic writing style is beautiful and poignant.

The one aspect of this book that I didn't enjoy so much is its political side. I'm always a supporter of writers making political statements through their storytelling, but Albertalli went a bit overboard with this one. It was too much at once and she made her opinions far too obvious. The best way to make a good, thought-provoking statement in a novel is not to state it outright or drag it out of the characters' mouths, but rather to weave it seamlessly into the story. Show, not tell.

Other than that, though, this book was lovely. I highly recommend it to any contemporary YA reader who enjoys the work of John Green, David Levithan, and the like. Definitely a full five stars!

"Because that's the thing about change. It's so painfully normal. It's the most basic of all tragedies...and it's weird how I can know this, but it doesn't make it hurt less."

Selfishness: The Human Condition

"Good character consists of recognizing the selfishness that inheres in each of us and trying to balance it against the altruism to which we should all aspire." - Alan Dershowitz

Selfishness—it’s what we all despise and condemn. It’s everything we never want to project onto our outer facades because we all want to be seen as good, kind, caring people. However, deep inside, it’s a trait we all carry. It dictates our every decision, decides our aspirations, controls our very lives. “But,” you protest, “what about the things we do for others? What about self-sacrifice?” Most humans, at one point, will attempt to do something selfless. Acting out of love or respect for others does exist, of course, but true selflessness does not. It may appear prominent on the surface of many, and we worship them as heroes, but these so-called “good deeds” and “acts of kindness” are rooted in our brains to a much larger force. Pure selflessness can be proven to be completely nonexistent.

Imagine a scenario in which you have just escaped a house fire. You perform a head count of your family when you realize someone’s missing. You choose, in a split-second decision, to run back inside the building and rescue them. Is this a selfless act? Not entirely. You are, of course, sacrificing your health and possibly even your life for someone else—but what are you gaining from it? Quite a lot, actually. You are saving the life of your family member, some who makes you happy. Attempting to save someone or something because it brings joy to you is inherently selfish. You are also, most likely, going to be publicly praised and admired for your actions. Even if we deny that we do, every single one of us desires adoration. We all want to feel appreciated. This is also technically selfish.

Now let’s remove a few of these details. Let us first imagine that this person you are rescuing from the fire is a stranger, someone you have never met before. Saving their life would be less selfish, wouldn’t it? Wrong. Firstly, you would still gain the public attention, possibly even more so, and secondly, you would gain quite a large sense of pride. Try saying “I rescued a stranger from a burning building” out loud. Feels good, doesn’t it? Well, “feeling good” is what all of us strive for with every decision we make, whether we know it or not. And if we make a choice because our instincts tell us that we will feel bad or guilty if we don’t do it, the choice is a selfish one. Even if someone is completely unaware of how “good” doing something morally correct will make them feel, they are making that choice because they know that if they don’t, they will feel bad. One may even decide to perform an act of kindness because of this fact only. Therefore, selfishness can apply to every action of “doing the right thing”—even if you don’t know the person you are helping or won’t get any praise for it.

It is interesting how religions view selfishness. “Love your neighbor as yourself” is a commandment in the Church that plays off of human selfishness and urges Christians to project those feelings onto others. Many other religions have similar views and laws in place. If we follow these rules, though, are we truly acting selfless? The answer is, once again, no. Why do Christians follow the teachings of the Church? Why does eighty-four percent of the human population follow a religion? It’s not just because they think it is “correct” and “good,” despite what you may hear. It is out of fear—the fear of the consequences of doing something wrong—and the desire to reach an afterlife. There is not a single religion that does not place emphasis on the idea that if you die as a “good” person, you will reach some sort of reward or paradise after death. Many also believe that some deity will punish you for doing anything morally wrong. Therefore, one of the main motivators for most people to do anything “good” is the desire of a peaceful, happy afterlife—selfishness. Does this mean that unreligious people are less selfish than the religious? No. They just have slightly different selfish motivations.

The idea that every single person is inherently, instinctually selfish and that a choice without it does not exist may seem like a dark view of humanity, but it is actually just a realist one. Every species of animal is selfish as well, every action of theirs taken for their own survival, but do we consider them to be selfish in the same way we do for a human? Not usually. We see it as them just doing what they need to in order to live and thrive. It is their nature, and it is ours, too. Selfishness is not necessarily evil. Saving someone from a fire is not an act of immorality, even if some of the motivations for it are selfish. Only sometimes can selfishness get out of hand; that is the kind we usually see and point out.

Is there, then, any hope for controlling human selfishness or suppressing it entirely? In some ways, yes. If we assess every decision we make and figure out how it is tied to our own benefits, we can become more aware of it. We can work to make decisions that, even if they are for our own advantage, do not harm anyone else. If an action is motivated by selfishness and knowingly hurts others in the process, it is a truly immoral one. Humans are not predisposed to evil, just oriented by our own individual needs and desires.

If you’re looking for more examples, take this essay. Why did I write it? Well, quite obviously, I want it to gain attention. I want to be applauded for my writing and ideas. I also find great joy in writing—it makes me feel good. I can fully admit that almost every reason for writing this and posting it is selfish. Everything I do and likely everything you do as well is motivated by self-interest. It is simply how humans’ brains are hardwired. The results of our actions are what really matter.

I'm Writing A Musical?!

Yep. It's official! I'm currently in the second-draft process of writing a—you guessed it—musical based on my all-time favorite book series, Percy Jackson and the Olympians.

Perhaps this is of zero interest to you, but maybe some of you want to know a little more. I'll try to keep this post as brief as possible, but I am admittedly extremely excited to share every detail about this project into which I have put so much time and effort.

First off, I'd like to mention that I am in no way associated with TheatreWorks or their Lightning Thief Musical that is opening in New York this summer. I began work on my musical months prior to its announcement, and mine is quite different in content. I am also in no way endorsed by Rick Riordan or his publisher or any of that (unfortunately). Okay, moving on.

In early 2016, about one year ago, I was assigned by my English teacher (hi, Mom) to write a scene from a book or movie in Shakespearian style. Of course, I chose a scene from a Percy Jackson book, and while writing it, I was suddenly struck with an idea—imagine Percy Jackson as a stage performance.

My first thought: That would be crazy. There are five books, ten if you count the second series. It would be, like, twelve hours long. My second: Eh, who cares. I'm gonna try.

So I gave it a shot—four, in fact. The first attempt was quite terrible. I decided to go with a musical drama—minimal song and dance, though, mostly dialogue. I tried to sum up the entirety of the first series in a single monologue and then dive right into the second. The plan was to show only the most important scenes from each of the five books, barely touching upon the characters themselves and focusing mainly on the plot. The idea was, in short, awful, and it was rightfully trashed after eight days and eleven pages.

Fast forward two months, and I've returned to the drawing board. I decided that this time I wouldn't take the story so seriously and attempted to make a humorous, AVPM-esque parody musical. It might've turned out well if I had put some effort into it, but the problem is I don't do silly very well. I can incorporate jokes and comic relief into my work, but writing straight-up comedy is not my forte. This one also lasted only about a week.

My next idea was to ditch the whole musical aspect entirely and just write a play. Then I narrowed it down even further to just the first book, The Lightning Thief. I spent two hot summer days simmering away in my attic bedroom, transcribing the book into a play format, and then gave up. At the time, I figured that was it. Maybe someday I'd return to this ridiculous project.

It wasn't until late September that I analyzed my thought processes for these failed ideas in an attempt to figure out what I was doing wrong, and I realized fairly quickly that I was focusing too much on plot.

To me, Riordan's characters have always been the most important and memorable aspects of his books. His characters are seriously like children to me—just ask my friends. I discovered then that I was putting way too much effort into making the plot of this stage adaptation exactly the same as that of the original stories, and that I was ignoring the best part, the part that means the most to me.

Here's something I've realized while writing this, my novel, and many other things—I am much better at creating and developing characters than plot. Therefore, for my next try at this Percy Jackson stage show, I decided to showcase my strengths instead of relying on my weaknesses.

It's not really a show for the average Percy Jackson fan. It's not a kids' show. It's something that is built on everything I love about the books, which themes I believe are the most meaningful. I played with each characters' strengths, weaknesses, relationships, and desires, and crafted a mainly character-driven plot that is a very simplified but still complex version of the original story. I decided to focus mainly on the first five-book series, but I tied in a few of my favorite aspects of the second one. Choosing what to include and what to skim over made for some seriously tough decisions, but I am extremely pleased with the outcome.

Despite everything I had to cut, the show's estimated running time is still close to two and a half hours. I have written over twenty original songs (just lyrics, vocals, and chords so far), and a completed rough draft of a one hundred and twelve-page script. Is it done? No. Is it almost done? Not even close. When will it be done? Who knows. I still have so much work to do and so many decisions to make. All I can tell you right now is that I really like it, and I hope you will, too.

There are no definite plans for the future of this project just yet. I would love to have an actual cast, set, costumes, orchestra, and performances before I go off to college, but that would involve quite a bit of time and money that I just don't have. It's still possible, though, and would be the most amazing dream come true.

For now, I'm just going to keep chugging along, refining and tweaking to bring this crazy project as close to perfection as I possibly can. I'll let its future be determined when it arrives.

So, what do you think? If you like Percy Jackson, or even if you just like musicals, and would be interested in getting involved, let me know. If I want this to really become anything at all, I'm going to need quite a lot of help. Also let me know if you would perhaps like to see a blog post going into more detail about the musical itself—I'd be happy to ramble on for hours.

And if you've read this far, thank you. It's my love for writing and others' love for reading that inspires me to do crazy stuff like this.

January and February Reads

Bimonthly shelf updates? I'm going to try.

During these past two months, most of what I've read has been for some class or another, but I've still enjoyed just about all of it. I see assigned reading not as a tedious requirement, but as an open door to discover new authors and stories that I normally wouldn't have picked up on my own. Because of the classes I'm taking this semester, the majority of this January/February list is plays and short stories, but it has quite a bit of variety.

Highly-recommended pieces are in bold:

• Wonders of the Invisible World (Christopher Barzak, 2015)
• "The Story of an Hour" (Kate Chopin, 1894)
• "Clothes" (Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni, 1995)
• "Killings" (Andre Dubus, 1979)
• "A Rose for Emily" (William Faulkner, 1930)
• "Love in L.A." (Dagoberto Gilb, 1993)
• "Soldier's Home" (Ernest Hemingway, 1925)
• "Hill's Like White Elephants" (Ernest Hemingway, 1927)
• A Doll's House (Henrik Ibsen, 1879)
• "The Cranes" (Peter Meinke, 1987)
• "Three Girls" (Joyce Carol Oates, 2004)
• "The Cask of Amontillado" (Edgar Allan Poe, 1846)
• A Midsummer Night's Dream (Shakespeare, 1600)
• Antigone (Sophocles, 441 B.C.)
• "Mines" (Susan Straight, 2003)
• "A & P" (John Updike, 1961)

To read/finish for March/April:

• More Than This (Patrick Ness)
• Hidden Figures (Margot Lee Shetterly)
• The Outsiders (S. E. Hilton)

Five Things I've Learned While Writing My First Novel

For the last eleven months, I have been working on a novel. I’ve been calling it my first, but the truth is, it’s more like a fifth or sixth. Many times, especially in the past three years, I have attempted to write a book. Each ended the same way—pushed aside “for later” and then eventually abandoned altogether. This time, though, I forced myself to the finish line. I’m taking a short break to clear my head, and then it will be finally time to embark on the lovely journey of editing (also known as: tearing my writing to pieces, shoving it through a thousand filters, and seeing what’s left at the end).

Throughout this process, I’ve learned quite a bit, and though I’m by far from being an expert, I thought I’d share some of that knowledge. I present to you the five things I’ve learned while writing my first novel.

It’s not going to turn out like how you originally plan. Before I started this novel, I had two ideas—two completely separate ideas that had nothing to do with each other, and each only one sentence long. I decided at one point, “hey, I’m never going to get around to writing both of these, and they’re too simple,” and so I fused them together. If you read those two sentences and then the completed book, though, you might see a tiny bit of resemblance, but in truth they are only minor features now that barely matter to the story anymore. As I progressed, I added more and more detail to my plan, but those details were always appearing, evolving, or being scrapped altogether. I never stuck to much of a real outline—the story just happened on its own. I was pretty scared of letting go of the reins, as someone who rigidly plans out every aspect of my life, but it worked out for the better.

It’s okay to take some time to think. My original writing plan was to write a thousand words or more every day, no excuses. This, of course, fell to ruins after day one. It was due in part to my schedule as a student—unfortunately, writing isn’t my full-time job yet—but also because of writer’s block. I would try to start the next chapter, but I wasn’t one hundred or even ninety percent sure of what I wanted to happen yet. Eventually, I decided I would use my “busy days” as time to think instead of write, time to gain inspiration from the outside world for what I could write about next. During those days, I still tried to write something—a short story, an essay for school, a poem, anything—to gain some extra practice. Writing every day is extremely important to me, even if it is work on a few separate projects.

Wait until you are finished with the first draft to go back and revise. There was a period in June when I was about halfway to where I am now with the novel, and I decided that it was probably a good idea to go back and make sure there were no huge mistakes or plot holes before I continued on with the story. Bad idea. All this did was hurt my confidence. Sure, I got some of the tedious grammar-correcting and typo-fixing out of the way, but picking apart my writing like that before it was finished made me want to quit. The story wasn’t yet going in the direction I wanted it to go, there were subplots I hadn’t tied up, the writing style I had chosen was starting to annoy me…everything seemed like it was headed for the dumps, and I didn’t feel like working on it anymore. Fortunately, it was only about thirty-five thousand words long at this point and I got through the editing fairly quickly. I realized by the end of it that no matter how awful it seemed, I had to keep going, because I still had some good ideas that I hadn’t put into play yet.

Write whatever you want. Countless times throughout this process, I have questioned many aspects of my story, saying things like “but no one puts stuff like this in a novel” or “this is too weird.” The truth is, though, anything can be in a novel. If you’ve never seen something in a book before, great. Write it. There’s a first for everything. If you think it’s weird, even better. Go for it. Staying safe is not what makes a good story. You need good characters, a good plot, and good writing—but no one is there to tell you what constitutes “good.” You have to take some risks. Make it a book that you would enjoy—you’re the first reader, after all.

Don’t quit, no matter how much you want to. The first real novel I tried to write ended after sixty pages when I realized the story was too similar to the rest of the YA genre. Instead of trying to make it different, and better, I quit. Another one, my second attempt at YA, lasted through one and a half handwritten composition books before deciding that it was too strange. In both of these cases, I had told myself that I would finish them. So, when I started this one back in February, I was terrified that it would meet the same fate. I think it was actually this fear that pushed me through, though—there were points at which I didn’t even care how it turned out; I just wanted it so badly to be finished and not trashed like everything else. 

And now, well, I guess my wish came true. Perseverance and trust in myself has brought me to the end of this epic journey, and from here I can only go forward.

As of today, I have a sixty-eight thousand-word rough draft, which is twenty thousand more words than I thought I’d end up with. So far, I’ve done one quick edit on my own, and I’ve handed it off to a few friends for critiques and suggestions (be mean to me, guys) before I begin a real second draft.

When will it be published? Who knows. That’s a whole other adventure.