Experiences

I always hear the advice to, "write what only you can!" To write the story that only you can tell, the story that's deep inside your soul and just begging to be told. To write the story that you would want to read.

I love this advice; I think it's valid and helpful because writing something you're interested in and passionate about will always turn out better than writing something that you think others will want to read. That's what brings diversity to the realm of stories--if we base our writing on what we think (or know) others already read, then every book would just be the same.

HOWEVER. While I'm all for writing the book you'd want to read, sometimes...I don't want to. I just want to cut to the reading part.

Now, I like reading and writing about the same amount. (Actually, scratch that. I like reading more because it's less work and the gratification is more instant.) I will happily work to write more stories about things that I find lacking in the ones that are already around. But writing a story myself doesn't provide the same feeling as reading one by somebody else, y'know?

Writing and reading are both about discovery--but reading is about discovering something that's out there, the thrill of finding something that you never knew existed. Writing is more about discovering what's inside you--the aforementioned "story that only you can tell."

Does any of this make sense? (I'm trying, here.)

Writing is more about getting the story right. You have this story, this idea, this sliver of a universe in your mind, and you have to do it justice. You have to. And so this results in a lot of trial and error, as you work your way through and learn more about this world that you've created and these characters that you've invented to live there.

Reading is about finding what already exists. Someone has--hopefully--already gotten the story right. If they have, it's like a friend on your couch with a warm cup of coffee in their hands, telling you about all the crazy shit that went down in the last couple weeks. They pull you in and make you care, and on their best days, they give you something to relate and identify with.

With reading, the excitement comes from following an unfamiliar path. Someone else did all the hard work, so now all you have to do is stroll on down and enjoy what they've done with it. With writing, you're the one doing all the hard work--and that's the exciting part. You choose where the path goes, and if you pick a route that doesn't work, you block it off and change course. You choose what the hiker sees, what exists for them to explore. And by the end of it, you know the whole place backwards, forwards, inside out and upside down.

So sometimes, I'm feeling adventurous. I want to put in the work, I have a decent strategy to do it, and I'm excited to turn everything in my head into something more concrete that can be enjoyed.

And other times, I just want talk the easy road and enjoy someone else's story.

As a writer, my first instict is to fill a void in the literary world myself. I notice something missing, so I immediately think that I should be the one to fill it. But at the end of the day, I get a different kind of satisfaction from finishing a story than I do from reading one--and, understandably, I don't get the same kind of satisfaction from reading my own stories.

Ah, the struggles of a writer.


Until later,

- Justyne

No Comprendo (BEDS 027)

Today, I'd like to tell you the story of how I dropped out of my Intermediate Japanese class after only being in it for about a day.

First, I'd like to start off by saying that I have never dropped a class in university before. I normally can't tell if I'm going to like a class or not within the add/drop period, and after that point I normally just stick it out until the end. (I'm very stubborn in that way.) The only reason I dropped this one is because I knew, after just one class, that this would not go well for me.

All will be explained in time.

It was Wednesday, the second day of school, and Japanese was my only class that day. I showed up an hour early, so I could buy some textbooks before class. The line, however, was so long that by the time I got out of there I was already fifteen minutes late on my first freaking day. No worries, though, not a big deal. I'll just sneak in quietly and sit near the back.

An excellent plan, if the door to the classroom wasn't located a mere few feet away from the professor, at the front of the classroom, for everyone to stop and stare at me as I scurried in mid-lecture.

Already, we're off to a great start.

After I sheepishly sat down in the first empty see I saw, right at the front of the class, the professor continued. She was going over the syllabus, highlighting certain assignments and whatnot, and while I felt a little lost without a physical copy in front of me, I could manage without it.

Then she said the following statement:

"You've probably noticed that, up to this point, I've been speaking entirely in English. That's because I want to make a gradual shift from English to Japanese, so you all can get used to speaking the language easier."

Seems reasonable, right? Defintely. And it was, for the next three seconds. After a slight pause and a nod, some unknown force picked me up and dropped me down in rural Japan--because my prof was speaking fluent Japanese at a rapid pace that I couldn't follow if someone was pointing a gun to my temple.

What made it worse? She was asking the class questions, and they were answering her. She was writing things on the chalkboard, numbered one to five, and I only recognized a single word out of the bunch. I sat there in shock and in panic, because clearly one of two things had just happened:

Scenario #1--I had actually somehow managed to register myself for an advanced language course, or,

Scenario #2--I had somehow fallen into a parallel universe, where everyone is automatically fluent in Japanese and such a course is simply an easy way to get a university credit.

(Or, Secret Scenario #3--it had simply been too long since my Intro class and I probably shouldn't have considered registering for a more advanced class without some thoroughly thorough review.)

So as I'm furiously pulling up dictionary app after dictionary app, trying to figure out what the hell was going on, the teacher starts calling on people. She picked one student at the far end of the class, and asked him to go first. This is good, I thought. I can work with this. I can listen to everyone else and narrow it down through the process of elimination.

Except that student wasn't ready. So she picked another student, sitting in the front row at the opposite end of the classroom--me.

I swear, in that moment, everyone heard my heart plummet from my chest down into the depths of the basement. My blood pressure skyrocketed, my brain fried, and as desperately as I wanted to say something--anything--any and all Japanese vocabulary evaporated, and the only phrases coming to mind were in French. (Yes, you heard me. FRENCH. After being dormant for five years, my sub-par French skills picked now to rise to the surface.)

Luckily, I got out of it, through a quick shake of my head once she finally asked me if I was ready. I desperately tried to follow along with the volunteers she picked to speak up and introduce themselves, but that ended up being pretty useless as, like I previously mentioned, everyone else in the class seemed perfectly capable of not only understanding the prof, but also replying just as quickly as she was. I exited the class feeling shaken, clueless, and in an absolute panic about how I could possibly manage to pass this course, let alone do well in it.

But like I said, I'm stubborn. I resolved to do the extra work, convinced that I was capable and could do it. I headed straight back to the bookstore, eyes set on that course's text and workbook.

Back in my intro class in PEI, my professor--bless his soul--made his own textbooks using outside resources. He sold it in the bookstore with a construction paper cover for six dollars, easily my cheapest textbook ever. No other prof I've had has done that, and I will forever be grateful for the money that professor saved me on my first round of textbooks.

HOWEVER. In the University of Winnipeg's intro class, they use a different textbook, which continues to be the requirement for the first half or so of the Intermediate class. Everyone else in my class had these materials--excpet for me. And I was convinced that if I could just get my hands on that workbook, I could power through all of the beginning excercises and emerge with fresh knowledge and understanding of the language that would, if not teach me to swim, at least prevent me from drowning entirely.

Except the problem is, the Intro text--while definitely required and used in the Intermediate class--was not listed as a required Intermediate text as the bookstore. Which means that the bookstore, through no fault of their own, only ordered in accordance to the Intro class.

Which means that, by the time I got there, the workbook that I had been counting on, the basket that I had put literally all of my eggs in, was gone. Sold out. Probably not going to be restocked, because that's just the way my life was going.

I bought the textbook that day, and contemplated over the next couple of days over how to proceed. But after I spent those couple of days stressed out to the point of not even being able to think...I just locked onto Web Advisor and dropped the course. I returned the text the next day, got my refund, and focused my stress and worrying on my other four classes.

Because that amount of stress, my friends, simply is not worth it. Sometimes you gotta know your limits and draw the line when you get there.

Hope you all enjoyed watching me suffer!

Until later,

- Justyne

Story Revivals

I am not going to talk about the new Harry Potter book, for two reasons.

Reason #1: I never really read the Harry Potter books growing up.

Reason #2: When I tried to read the Harry Potter books, I discovered that I didn't actually like it very much. (Which, for my generation, is an apparent crime agianst books. And yet, here we are.)

All the excitement and build-up to the actual release (which, at the time of writing this, was just last night at midnight) has got me thinking, though, about all the recent revivals of classic, beloved franchises that we've seen in recent years. We got a new Star Wars movie back in December, a new Ghostbusters movie just this past month. Finding Dory came out after thirteen years of Ellen Degeneres begging for a sequel. Everyone--everyone--is playing Pokemon GO. The third season of the Sailor Moon remake just wrapped up a couple months ago.

And now, an eigth Harry Potter book, after nine years of publication silence.

Regardless of what it is, I love--love--franchise revivals. I know there are lots of cynics out there who grumble and moan, about how nothing these days is original, how the sequel ruins everything, how a remake is unnecessary and just proves that Hollywood will do anything for a money grab.

To all those Negative Nellies, I have only four words--shut the hell up.

The excitement on the internet this week is palpable. All the fans that grew up with Harry Potter, that have treasured the series in childhood, are bouncing off the walls at the prospect of an eighth book finally coming out. I am not a part of this fandom, but even as an outsider I can see how important this is. Everyone my age gets hit with a wave of nostalgia, as they get to live through this experience that they've only known from a child's perspective.

Not only that, but now the new generation of fans, who were introduced to the series long after it's original publication run finished, get to live through the excitement for the first time. They get to discover what a Harry Potter midnight release is like, they get to live in the excitement of a new book for the first time.

It's an incredible feeling, and no one has the right to deny anyone that excitement. Stories like Harry Potter are able to survive for so long because they matter to people. They make a difference to us, the readers, and can continue to have an influence on us for the rest of our lives.

Stories matter. And the reality of seeing our old favourites renewed in any form doesn't just revitalize our love for a story, or make it relevant in mainstream media again--it revitalizes a community and brings it together.

I don't know. I just thing revivals are pretty damn great.


Until later,

- Justyne

How do book ratings even work?

I've been doing (almost) weekly reviews on this blog for around a year now, and I've come to the realization that my rating system is extremely inefficient. Basically, I rate a book on a scale of 1-5 stars, in two different ways. Either:

1) Based off of how strong my emotions are reacting to the story,

OR

2) How well written it is IN SPITE OF how strong my emotions are reacting to the story.

Let me explain. We're going to compare three different examples: November 9 by Colleen Hoover (which I reviewed on Wednesday), Pinch Me by Adena Halpern, and Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone by J.K. Rowling. Let's start with the most recent.

I just read November 9. At the time of writing this, I just finished it last night (instead of doing homework lol whoops). If you haven't read my review, I'll summarize it for you: I LOVED IT A CRAPTON. It started out fluffy and cutesy and turned into a soap opera halfway through and I ain't even mad because I loved every second of it! So, obviously, I immediately went on to Goodreads and rated it five stars, because I was on an emotional high that I never wanted to come down from.

Now, despite how much I loved this book, I recognize that it's not perfect. It's got some issues. (And I identify those issues in my review, if you wanted to know what they are.) But I made the conscious decision to forego all that in favour of a five star rating, because that's what I do when I adore a book--I give it an immediate five star rating.

Now, I'm going to hit you with an extremely unpopular opinion that's going to get me kicked off the internet--I don't like Harry Potter. I'm sorry! I tried! I forced myself to read the first book a couple years ago, and I had little to no emotional attachment and/or reaction to the story. Even watching the movies, I'm indifferent. I just don't give a crap about wizards, I guess.

Anyway, my initial reaction (or lack thereof) made me want to give the book a pretty low rating. Like, a two. Or maybe even a one. (Which is unheard of--a one-star book is one that I don't finish, which means that I don't rate it because I feel bad reviewing an unfinished book.) But still, on Goodreads, I gave it a solid three. I question this, given my passionate indifference to it.

But here's the thing--it's actually really well written.

Even though I couldn't bring myself to care about the characters, even if I felt that the plot advanced too slowly in parts and I have 0 intention of ever picking up the second book, I can still acknowledge the fact that it has some great bits. The description is really well written, and the world is one full of imagination and wonder. Even though I, personally, dislike the book, I can see how so many people fall in love with it.

And then there's Pinch Me, an adult fiction book that I read shortly after Harry Potter, and gave it the same rating. HOWEVER. I enjoyed this book a hell of a lot more. I liked the premise better, I liked the writing style better, I liked the characters better. I rated it lower on my scale due to smaller things, like absurdity of some of the plot points, or the overall goofiness of it that just can't be taken too seriously.

Still, though, the more I think about it, the more I'd like to bump it up to four stars.

Actually, I think I'll do that now.

That basically proves my point right there: I have no consistency. Zero! I make it up as I go! I have no system, no protocol to figuring out what I should rate a book. It's just "Eh...sure, we'll go with this." I almost feel like five stars isn't enough--because how can I rate two books that I enjoyed differently the same number of stars? More importantly--do my ratings really mean anything if I just go back and change them later? (Which I do. A lot.)

(If you'd like further discussion on rating books, I recommend this video by Ariel Bissett on YouTube.)

How do you normally go about rating books? Or do you just simplify your life and not even bother?

Until later,

- Justyne

My Favourite Book

"Jason was going to Brain Camp. It had another name, a real name, but that's what everyone called it."

That is the opening line to The Truth About Forever by Sarah Dessen, which I reviewed last year after reading it for the umpteenth time. I know the first two lines as well as I know my own name. I can't recite the whole book, as cool as that would be, but there are certain lines that pop up in my memory from time to time; the extent to which I know this book is the equivalent of the way I recite dialogue from The Lion King II as I watch it. (I can't do it with the original Lion King, strangely enough. I can only do this with a few select movies, and I couldn't tell you why that's one of them.)

I have this thing where, once I experience something that I thoroughly enjoy, I want to relive it over and over and over again. I listen to my favourite songs on repeat for days. I once watched Tangled three or four times in a row over the course of a day. (That wasn't even on purpose--I put it on while I was doing homework, and it just...stayed on. And kept distracting me. Turn off the TV, kids--yet another life lesson from Yours Truly.) In the 8th grade, after having read The Truth About Forever once and deciding to use it as the focus of my book report, I read it eight times in a row. I'm not kidding or exaggerating here--I'd read it constantly, during breaks at school and in my free time at home. Once I finished the last page, I'd just flip the book over and start from the beginning again. I did that for the entire time that I was working on my report, and when all was said and done, I had read the novel a solid eight times. (Not including the first initial read through, before being assigned the report.)

Not everyone understands why I do this. Some people get annoyed after I blare my new favourite song for the seventh day in a row (to the point where my dad came into my room and shut off my stereo himself, once). Some people consider watching a movie once a year to be sufficient, even as I proceeded to watch Frozen six times in theatres. I mean, I love watching a new movie or reading a new story as much as the next person, but everyone else seems to quickly bore of the old stuff, always ready to move on to the next, whereas I need a couple evenings to properly cry and mourn the end of one of my television shows. (I don't cry because it ended poorly or too soon, but because it ended at all. There are two different reasons to yearn for more story, and mine is the latter.)

The words that fill my favourite book are familiar--almost comforting at times. Even though I know what's going to happen, and there's no chance of being surprised, I know I'll still enjoy it. I won't get bored or restless, even as my mind begins to form the words before they appear on the page. The characters will still have life to them, even though they're just acting out the same story I've read a million times. The fact that people are satisfied with only experiencing a story once is mind-boggling to me. If you love a book, why wouldn't you want to go back in time and relive the experience? The writing will be as good as it was the first time, the characters will be just as lively, the plot just as well crafted. Why does something have to be new to be interesting?

I love my well-worn, scribbled in, spine-cracked copy. I wouldn't trade it for anything.

What about you? Do you reread your books after finishing them?

Until later,

- Justyne

Micro Fiction Monday: Keepsake

She allowed herself to step back for a moment. She stepped back, leaving her body as an empty shell so she could fly. So she could sleep on a cloud with the moon as her nightlight. So she could ride the waves of the wind and collect the stars as she went.

When she returned, all was as it should be. Her extraordinary life was no longer extraordinary; mundane, as most lives are. Except, of course, for the stars filling her pockets; a keepsake and a reminder of her journey. She would keep them forever, pressed into the pages of her favourite books.

They shined just as brightly as the stories inside them.

~~

Until later,

- Justyne

The Importance of Stories

"I will not tell you our love story, because--like all real love stories--it will die with us, as it should." - John Green, The Fault in Our Stars (pg. 259)

The words that followed these ones, in text and in film, were ones that broke me down into a weepy puddle of tears. The words that followed were so emotional and vital to the story, in fact, that I completely forgot about this sentence entirely. I saw the quote online, and after flipping through my copy of the book, lo and behold: there they were, plain as day, existing there beyond my memory the entire time.

The words that followed these ones are ones that I love. But I'm sorry, Hazel; I strongly disagree with you on this front. Because I believe that no story, love-related or not, should ever die.

Stories mean something to us. A big something to us. Just ask someone who grew up reading Harry Potter, or anyone who ever stood in line at a book signing to tell the author how much their book helped them. Ask anyone who's ever related something to their best friend in tears over the phone, or in person with arms and bodies to comfort them. Ask anyone who ever wrote a biography, or read a biography. Ask anyone who grew up believing in fairy tales, anyone who insisted on writing everything down. Ask anyone who has ever related to another person, real or fictional.

Stories change us. They help us. They act as maps and compasses, guiding us through life. We get inspiration from text and from film, motivating us to get up and accomplish things we've only ever dreamed of. The best advice is given to us through stories from those older and wiser, tales of catastrophies and mishaps and giant mistakes that, while cringe-worthy, were never truly regretted. We feed relationships with our stories, our reasons for being who we are. Our best and closest friends know everything because they are there, experiencing it with us, or waiting at the finish line to hear the whole story.

Stories intrigue us. They fuel us. They promote curiosity and creativity and conversation. Stories are meant to be shared. It's why I write, why I'm constantly discovering and experimenting with new mediums. I believe that stories matter.

And in the world of Hazel Grace, a world of asshole writers and miracle drugs and pre-funeral eulogies, she is wrong. Because if their story was not this book in my hand, it would be remembered. It would be held in the minds and hearts of her family, and the family of Augustus Waters, and their friend Isaac. It would be held in the mind of Van Houten, the drunken author, and his assistant who helped them experience so much. They would be remembered by the doctors who treated them, the teachers who taught them. Their love story may be broken, split between witnesses, comprised only of pieces that don't quite fit to make the whole...but it would still be there.

And someday, it would be told, as best as it could be, in any way possible.

It only takes one person to remember a story. It only takes one person to pass it on, down the line. It's how legends are born, how urban myths are created, how cultures thrive.

Real love stories do not die with the lovers, nor should they. They are left to simmer, to grow and develop, until they are ripe and ready to be told. And then they are.


Until later,

- Justyne

Improvement (Micro-Fiction Monday)

He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to be holding this sword, facing his “opponent”—a wooden block, carved vaguely into the shape of a person. He didn’t want to listen to the sharp thwaks of metal against wood, or the constant yelling of the Guard Master and his useless orders.

No, I will not space out my feet.

No, I will not grip the hilt differently.

He didn’t want to be here. But here, he was stuck—unlike his older sister, who was standing at the opposite end of the field, surrounded by her peers. He was lucky she controlled the earth element, because those were the only ones permitted to train on the field with the warriors. The rest of the magic students were spread out across campus—the water students were down by the fountain in front, the fire students on the concrete platform behind the main building, and the air users were up on the rooftop. At least, that’s where they started. Every now and then one flustered child would go running past, hair wild, the silver emblem on their uniform flashing as they hurried off to rejoin the group.

Now, he watched his sister wave her hand. Sparks of jade flew around, as the ground rumbled gently—he could feel it, even from here. A vine sprouted from the broken earth, reaching up and wrapping itself around her finger.

Why did she get to be a magic user? They had the same magical ancestry. Why did he have to be the one trapped, without any elemental connection of his own? He yelled out and struck the wooden dummy in frustration.

His teacher nodded at him, his approval silent, but evident. The boy was improving.

The boy didn’t want to improve.

~~

Until later,

- Justyne

Back to the Start (Part II)

The following is a continuation of last week's post. If you missed it, you can go back and read it here.

It all started with Sailor Moon.

No, that was not a joke. It will not be followed with some snide, sarcastic remark, or a sentence that provides much better context to it. As silly as it may seem--and I am very much aware that it sounds extremely silly--it did all start with Sailor Moon.

To say I was a huge fan was...well, a bit of an understatement. I watched it religiously, every day--even if it meant waking up at six in the morning. When it was cancelled, I cried my poor little eight-year-old eyes out. I borrowed the two VHS tapes that the local library owned continuously, watching them constantly until they simply wouldn't work anymore.

When I was around nine years old, I got a tiny little locket for Christmas. Lord only knows where it is now, but at the time, the very first thing that went through my mind was the locket that Sailor Moon had used (that's what they had called it in the English version, anyway) to transform. With this locket, I could be a Sailor Scout, too.

I was nine when I wrote my first real story. It was a story about a group of girls, who used magical lockets to transform into superheroes. Sound familiar?

For me, that story was more than just a story. Just like that show became more than just a show. It was a way for me to be something more--more than just an ordinary girl. That stupid little story, the one I wrote all those years ago, that was my way of being a Sailor Scout. That was my way of saving the world. I often complain about how badly written my first writing attempt was, but really?

That story is my favourite.

Back then, there were no dreams of publication. There were no terribly unrealistic fantasies of becoming rich and famous through writing. (Well, not at first, anyway. Trust me, those came quickly.) There was only me, and the daydreams I spent saving the world. It was the first time, the very first time, that I was excited to write, and live in a fictional world all my own.

That is what I need to be looking for. Not stories that will make me money, but stories that make me excited. Excited to write, to feel, to live. One of my favourite quotes is from Neil Gaiman, who said, "I decided that I'd do my best in the future not to write books just for the money. If you didn't get the money, then you didn't have anything. And if I did work I was proud of, and I didn't get the money, at least I'd have the work."

I heard that quote a couple of years ago, in a video I stumbled upon while browsing the web. I've carried it with me ever since.

I'm not saying that I shouldn't aim for publication. And I'm definitely not saying that I'm going to stop aiming for it anytime soon, either. I will not rest until I can walk into just about any Chapters or Indigo bookstore in the country and see my book--my story--sitting on the shelf.

What I'm trying to say is that, for a moment, I forgot why I started. I forgot how wonderful it felt to be truly, genuinely excited about writing; to not worry about whether it was good, or whether people would like it, or how much money it would make.

To write for the thrill;

To write myself into the person I always wanted to be;

To write for the sake of writing;

That is my goal.


Until later,

- Justyne

Marathons (WFMAD Day 26)

I love marathons. The television kind, not the running kind. (I'm not built for running.)

The best kind of marathons are the kind I make for myself. I mean, official marathons on TV stations are great--I did get a Phineas and Ferb marathon on my birthday, after all--but have you ever cnoticed that most of them play the same four episodes over and over and over again? If I'm going to watch an 8-hour marathon, I'm gonna want some variety, thank you very much.

My favourite way to watch any show is to marathon it--to spend hours to days to weeks doing almost nothing but watching the series. Go big or go home, as they say. (Although I guess in this case I'm normally already home...but you get the idea.) 

The only problem with this method is that when it does come time to pull myself away--to work, to bathe, to get that valuable sleep that I so desperately need--it's extremely difficult. Never mind the whole laziness factor--because come on, the last thing you want to do after sitting on the couch for so long is get up--but after immersing myself in the story for so long, I just can't bear to pull myself away. Plus, there's the fact that every time I decide to stop watching, the current episode ends in a cliffhanger. A cliffhanger! How am I supposed to stop watching when the next episode is so readily available?!

The thing I probably marathon the most is YouTube videos. They're so short and funny and well made; it's impossible to "just watch one", and anyone who tells you otherwise is lying.

I do a similar thing with reading, too. I don't read nearly as much as I used to, but when I do, I finish my entire book in a day (give or take). I'll go without reading for weeks, then pick up a book and have it done within the hour. (Please note the exaggeration.)

It all comes down to the story being told, basically. If I like the story, I'll go through it quickly. If I don't like it as much, it'll take me a million times longer (if I don't give up on it entirely).

I mean, why take your time with an amazing piece of work when you can speed through it in a day and cry when it's done? (That should be my motto.)

Until later,

- Justyne

People (WFMAD Day 23)

I torture my characters a lot. I kill their parents, put their closest friends and loved ones in utter peril, and just put them through extreme emotional termoil in general. It may be cruel, but it's part of my job description.

Characters are the most important part of the story, I think. Part of it is because, without them, there wouldn't be a story to tell--it'd basically be a painting. (Except with, y'know, words.) 

The other part of it--the bigger part--is that the characters create a portal, through which we can access these stories. Crafting characters when writing is incredibly hard, because the characters are the ones we're supposed to relate to. We're supposed to sympathize with them, understand their situation, and root for them as they move through the plot. In order for there to be a plot, things have to happen. It just so happens that that most exciting things are also the most tragic.

Think about it: a story about a character, whose life is nice and pleasant and enjoyable. Nothing bad ever happens; it always works out. Doesn't seem very interesting, does it?

Let's face it: if everything worked out all the time, if nothing actually conflicted with our characters to make them act out against it, our stories would be bland. Boring. Absolutely agonizing to sit through. We need our characters to experience the bad, the terrible, the heartbreaking. It's hard to sympathize with someone whose life is seemingly perfect; how many of us can actually say the same of our own lives?

(Put your hand down, you are full of crap and you know it.)

More often than not, the main character is forced to learn something; about themselves, and the world around them. If they learn nothing, or if there's nothing for them to learn, then their role as a character isn't given room for growth and change. Character development is key; it works with the conflict, with the everlasting tragedy that is the character's. The conflict challenges the character, paving the way for the story to take off. The development makes the story worthwhile; like something bigger than the original goal has been accomplished.

And without the characters, none of this is possible. It is those characters, with all of their quirks and traits, that truly makes a good story.

Until later,

- Justyne

Video Games (WFMAD Day 21)

As you may have already noticed, I am a huge nerd. (Or a geek. I've never been too sure on the difference, to be completely honest.) Part of my qualifications for being a nerd (/geek) is that I love video games.

I've never really been a hardcore gamer, per say. I never played first-person shooters like Halo or Call of Duty or God knows what else is out there. I never played online multiplayer games, or really any of the more popular video games. Most--if not all--of the games I got into playing were from the Nintendo franchise.

I love Nintendo. Legend of Zelda, Pokemon, Mario...I grew up with these games, and playing any other system--like PlayStation or XBox--just feels weird. I had a PSP at one point--it lasted for all about two seconds because I quickly discovered that I couldn't play my favourite games.

My favourite video game series, I would say, is the Legend of Zelda series. (Okay, so maybe it's also tied with Sims, but I digress.) I have been in love with these games for years; ever since I used to play A Link to the Past on our Super Nintendo.

Ocarina of Time is especially a favourite of mine. Not only is its story one of my personal favourites, but it's also the first Zelda game I actually completed, entirely (okay, almost entirely) by myself; so it has a special place in my heart.

My favourite thing about video games is the way they tell their stories. They don't just tell you what's happening; you experience it. You're the one who rescues the princess, defeats the bad guy, saves the world. It's not just a story anymore; it's your story.

Until later,

- Justyne

Getting Lost (WFMAD Day 20)

"Life is a journey, not a destination."

- Ralph Waldo Emerson

There are a few things you can count on when my friend Kristen and I get into a car together:

1. She will be the one driving

2. I will be riding shotgun

3. We will probably get lost

And that is where we found ourselves tonight, at 9:30, after dropping off a friend at home. Lost.

We drove into the city today, to go shopping and visit a few friends. After hours and hours of fun, we decided to run through a McDonald's drive-thru before heading home.

That was our first mistake. McDonald's.

In our defense, neither of us had ever really been to that part of the city before. Our friend directed us as to how to get back on the main--and more familiar--road before we parted ways, but that didn't really help us when we came out the drive-thru into a massive parking lot with virtually no sense of direction whatsoever.

Leave it to us to get lost in a parking lot. 

Instead of panicking, though, or debating routes and looking up the directions to where we wanted to go, we started laughing. And by laughing, I mean tears-in-your-eyes, exploding-bladder-inducing, breathless-and-shaking laughing.

That is by far my favourite kind of laughter. It's the kind of laughter that lingers; that still has you giggling to yourself a good half hour later (as we were).

Moments like these are definitely embarrassing, but they make for good stories to tell.

They also give me something to blog about.

Until later,

- Justyne

Two Adventures with my Driving Buddy (WFMAD Day 19)

So earlier today, I asked my driving buddy (AKA my close friend Allison) what I should blog about. Her suggestions weren't exactly helpful, so instead I'm just going to share stories of a few of my favourite adventures with her.

1. Something you should really know about my driving buddy and I is that we go to Wal-Mart. A lot. Not quite sure why, to be honest; it's just our thing.

Anyway, last month we were on one of our many Wal-Mart adventures. We were sitting in her car, just down the street from the store, and there was this car driving in front of us. The car goes to turn left--a good meter or two before the actual curb. You'd think they'd stop, or swerve to avoid the curb (and the sign sitting on top of it), right?

Nope.

So the two of us watch, rattled, as whoever was driving the car honest-to-God MOWS OVER THE FREAKING CURB, driving over it AND the sign sitting on it like nobody's business, and calmly pulled to a stop in the parking lot across the street. The sign that had been placed legit bounced right back up after they passed over it. 

In retrospect, we probably should have stopped to check if the driver was okay--and God knows they wrecked their car doing that utterly pointless stunt--but we just kinda kept going and pulled into the parking lot, all the while laughing and freaking out over what we had just seen.

2. This next one dates back to our good 'ol middle school days, before we (read: her) could actually drive, therefore before we were actually driving buddies.

We were famous (read: not famous at all) for going on bike-and-scooter combo rides. Basically, she would ride her scooter, and I would ride my bike, because I was lame and didn't have a scooter.

For whatever reason, she had just recently developed an irrational fear of trains. Not exactly sure why, but either way she was terrified that some evil mastermind would drop a penny onto the train tracks and said penny would cause an incoming train to flip out and derail itself. Or something. \

So one day, we just happened to be down by the train tracks near our houses when we hear the whistle of an incoming train. Allison, freaking out, desperately tries to push her scooter away. Unfortunately, we were (for whatever reason) sitting in gravel / rocks, so her scooter would not push through them.

So instead, she lifts her scooter up over her head, and goes running down to the smooth pavement, screaming all the way.

Meanwhile, I am left standing in the dust, unable to get back on my almost-too-big bike and almost peeing myself because I was laughing so hard.

This remains my favourite story, like, in the history of stories.

Well, I hope you enjoyed these random stories of mine.

Until later,

- Justyne

Happily Ever After (WFMAD Day 9)

I love happy endings.

Maybe it's my love of Disney movies, my hopelessly romantic heart, or the fact that sad endings make me...well, sad. Either way, I have always loved happy endings; both in the stories I'm reading, and writing myself.

Developing the perfect happy ending, however, can be tricky sometimes. Obviously nothing is absolutely perfect; there will always be one person who doesn't like the way things turned out, or who finds holes to poke in your happily ever after. For some people, a happy ending is ideal; for others, they need a more realistic, real-world-esque finale.

I love reading about happy endings. I love when the guy gets the girl; when the hero saves the world. I just love it when everything works out. When it comes to writing, though, things are a little different.

Generally, when I come up with a new idea for a story, three things come to mind: the initial conflict or plot concept, the climax, and the ending. I generally know right from the get-go how a story is going to end, but honestly, that ending isn't always completely happy.

Normally it is, don't get me wrong. Most of my stories have fairly happy endings; even if everything doesn't work out perfectly, enough falls into place for it to be a satisfying finish (to me, anyway). But every now and then, the story takes a more depressing turn, and the ending isn't quite as happy as I'd like it to be. It's not my personal preference; it's my writer's intuition, so to speak.

Like any aspect of a story, the ending has to feel right. I could make an ending as perfect and as happy as I'd like it to be while reading it, and it wouldn't mean anything if I didn't feel in my heart that it was right.

But whenever I write a sad ending, you can bet that there's an alternate version stashed away somewhere; one where the girl gets the boy, the hero saves the world, and everything works out.

It's always nice to have.

Until later,

- Justyne

And now, your Feature Presentation (WFMAD Day 7)

I've always loved movie trailers.

Not sure exactly why, to be honest, but I'd always be secretly disappointed whenever someone skipped over the previews on a DVD or VHS. There was always something exciting about them; "Ooh! A new story to fall in love with!"

Trailers give a brief insight into the story, the characters, the world. They are produced to sell the movie, and as such, the movie is rarely what we expect it to be. (I can't begin to list the number of times a movie was completely different than what I thought it would be.)

In a sense, a movie trailer is its own story. The story contained within them can change, depending on who's watching it. Different interpretations or expectations lead to different tellings of the story.

Sometimes, when I get stuck on a story, I imagine what the movie trailer would be for it (because I'm lame like that). Every trailer needs to be filled with just enough information to get the audience intrigued, but leave out enough to make them actually go see it. Trying to imagine it as a trailer sometimes helps me think of really dramatic / plot-invoking scenes worthy of a movie that I wouldn't have thought of otherwise.



Can you guys tell that I'm running out of things to blog about?

Until later,

- Justyne

The Story (WFMAD Day 6)

This month, I'm participating in a writing challenge called "Write Fifteen Minutes a Day", or WFMAD. To complete this challenge, I will be taking fifteen minutes or more (probably more) to post a new blog post every day in September. If you're tuning in late and would like to catch up, you can find the first blog post here, or skim through the links in the archive to the right.



If I've made anything clear in the six months (yes, six months) since I started this blog, it's that I love, love, love writing. But it occurred to me, earlier today, that I have yet to really explain why I love it so much.

Well, you're about to find out.

Have you ever found a book, or a tv show, or a movie, or virtually any kind of story that had you so sucked in that you weren't even aware of the real world moving around you? Have you ever finished some epic tale, and moved through your life for the following few days as though you were in a dream?

I'll admit, I probably allow myself to get too emotionally invested in these stories. After the Castle season 5 finale back in May, I was literally rolling on the floor because I could not handle the stuff that went down in that episode.

Put simply, I am a fangirl. (Hence why I have a Tumblr account. Tumblr is a hub for fangirls.)

But the most interesting part of all of this is that, despite the fact that these characters, these stories, these events are completely fictional, we can still allow ourselves to care. We allow ourselves to be absorbed into these imagined worlds and universes, to root for the people, to become so overwhelmed with happiness and sadness and anger and love that isn't actually ours to experience.

But that's the thing. It is ours.

I'll be blunt, sometimes reality really sucks. There are bills to pay, classes to attend, a job to excel in...we're expected to balance so many different aspects of our lives that sometimes all we want to do is just crawl in bed and stay there. Life is hard. I won't deny that.

But these stories...they're our escape. Our escape into another reality; sometimes even a more preferred one. They help influence us, and change our lives.

If you're like me, you're sure to have that one book that you've read a million times. That book that you recommend to every single person you encounter; the book that you've memorized just about every word of, and never get tired of cracking it open, just one more time. Sharing that book with others--seeing their faces as they, too, fall in love with the characters--is one of the best feelings in the world.

And for me, writing is like that feeling--only ten times better.

For a period of time, no matter how short, I get to immerse myself into a whole other world of my imagination. I get to BECOME my character; their friends become my friends, their worries are my worries. I get to experience things that I could never once hope to experience before, ever. I get to travel between worlds, fight in a rebellion, fall in love over and over and over again. I get to experience heartbreak, and joy, and overwhelming sadness that eats me up inside. And for a moment--just a single, fleeting moment--I get to forget about everything that happens in my less-than-average life. I get to forget about my homework, and my chores, and my job. I get to accomplish the impossible, to see this world and so many others through another pair of eyes.

I get to escape, and live, without consequence.

Sure, I always come back. I have to. I still have to manage my relationships, answer emails, make money, do laundry. I still have to stay connected to this world, to keep studying and fighting on, even when I would sometimes rather just curl up and ignore everything.

But my world is always waiting for me. Always waiting to comfort me, to allow me to fly, to dream, to experience the happy endings that reality says are impossible.

And that, my dear readers, is why I write.

Until later,

- Justyne