Eric Devine's Blog, page 22

The Power of Narrative

“Let me tell you a story.”

I love those words. I can remember as a child waiting eagerly for whatever followed, because I grew up with relatives and teachers who used narrative as a primary tool. They told stories. And there’s a power in that, one with the ability to produce such resonance or dissonance that the world can be forever changed. That is why this time of year it is of particular importance to be mindful of the stories we tell ourselves.

I have had the concept of “narrative” on my mind recently because of the Common Core State Standards. There is a push to minimize literature in our curriculum and focus on Informational texts. Here’s the rub, every text is an informational text. Every article, graph, excerpt from an autobiography, they tell a story. They aren’t always in the structure of our standard narrative with the fixed setting, characters and conflict, but they are stories, nonetheless. Heck, even a math problem can be a narrative. If you don’t believe me, find a second grader and ask to assist with her math homework. Trust me, you’ll be telling stories.

Beyond the significance of this point for my teaching colleagues and I, lies the importance of narratives in our own lives, especially this time of year. It is typically stressful to begin with, but add our Nation’s recent tragedy and we find ourselves gripped by one particular story: evil and the loss of innocence. It’s a tragic, but common feature appearing since the beginning of oral storytelling. But so is the advent of the hero, the virgin birth, the everyday miracle. Yes, there are narratives to choose from, and that is vital.

I don’t write light and uplifting stories, so this may sound strange coming from me, but we should focus on a positive slant concerning the stories in our lives. That’s not to say throw on the proverbial “rosy sunglasses” and prance around like everything is fine. Because that’s ridiculous, because it is not. But that also doesn’t mean we should dwell in the darkness.

How you see your holidays unfolding, the story you tell about the travel or the interactions with your family will affect how you conduct yourself. The ol’ self-fulfilling prophecy. I’m as guilty of it as the next person. On the surface, it’s a simple mistake of judgment, but when it is repeated it becomes a belief. And belief can distort everything, for good or bad. And once you filter all stories through the only one you have available, nothing is as it seems.

Therefore, believe in letting the story unfold. Watch the characters develop. Don’t mentally “read ahead” and try to outwit the writer. Enjoy the setting and the conflicts. Neither are typically permanent and often the resolution of the latter is the most rewarding piece of all. Let the story breathe and throw away your preconceived notions of how it should be.

The Holidays are a time filled with the unexpected. And in the ensuing week I wager that acts of kindness will make a return. The world seeks balance, and its story is constantly righting from the last dip. So let us help by not minimizing, but in honoring, and in telling ourselves what we know is true, and that everything else will eventually be revealed.

Happy Holidays.

A Christmastime suggestion from The Art of Manliness

It may be cheesy or cliched, but It’s A Wonderful Life is my favorite holiday movie. George Bailey’s character resonates with me on so many levels, at times it’s almost difficult to watch his anguish and suffering. But, of course, there’s the beauty of the end, the friendship, the message of the importance of every person’s life. Yeah, I get teared up. And so should you

I intended to write a post about this movie, my experience with it, the twenty some odd times I’ve watched it, the tradition my wife and I now have with it, and on and on. But I’m not writing that post.

I’m in the middle of edits for my next novel and they are eating up all my time. I did not want to throw together a shoddy post just because my brain is fried, and was, therefore, delighted to come across this post from The Art of Manliness.

“The George Bailey Technique: Mentally Erase Your Blessings for Greater Joy and Optimism” is  some very good advice. If you are looking for how to gain some perspective in this busy time of year, be it because of life stress or an inability to find that holiday spirit, follow the link.

I will be crafting my next novel into the best piece it can be, and promise to report back once I’ve survived.

And If you get the chance, watch It’s A Wonderful Life. If you don’t have time for the entire movie, here’s my favorite scene:

The Devine Family Tree

Christmas trees are like visiting relatives, sometimes they reveal a little too much; often they retell the most embarrassing stories; seldom are you worse for their visit Therefore, since a tree has been ushered into my home as a symbol of the season, I thought I’d share a little like the relatives. First piece, that tree above fell to the floor last night, spraying water everywhere and sending my daughters into giggles. Today a dumbbell and a bungee cord are supplying necessary support.

I was born almost two months premature. My mother made it her mission to make up for my undercooking by packing the weight on. I went from skinny to plump as an infant, and then maintained a “hefty” frame as a toddler. But the best part of this ornament is my grin. Holy, God was I happy. Disclaimer: my daughters thought I was a girl.

The Pac Man ornament is one of my most prized, so much so that when my mother gave my wife the original, I recreated it so that the replica still hangs on their tree. Yes, there are two of these. Eat your heart out Etsy. I don’t know why I like it so much, but I distinctly remember making it in second or third grade. The entire scene is lodged in my memory, the Christmas music in the background, the smell of the paint, the laughter from the class. Fortunately styrofoam packs well, because I plan on taking this bad boy to the grave.

From the time I was a senior in high school until two years ago, I owned a one-eyed dog, Chloe. I idiotically got her as a gift for my wife (yes, I married my high school sweetheart), and through the act of a vicious cat, she ended up half blind. But what she lacked in sight, she made up for in personality. She was simply awesome. Loyal, and keen in that way only a dog can be. This ornament is one of my daughters’ favorite, which makes my heart swell, because Chloe’s was the first death they experienced, and appropriately, they remember her fondly.

The ornament above does not say “bad”. Seriously, read it again. Ridiculous, I know. It does spell bad, but the irony is that it was purchased by my daughter from her school. It was supposed to read “Dad”. And the irony is only made sweeter by knowing me. This ornament may be the most perfect on the tree.

I love the Dough Boy, which is odd, because as someone with diabetes, I don’t devour many of his products. But there’s just something about his playful, innocent nature that I adore. I giggle every time I hear that belly-squirming laugh of his, and the older my children become, the more I want to hold onto that sound.

I couldn’t think of a more appropriate ornament to end with. This is from a colleague upon her retirement mid-year. Yes, it’s from Romeo and Juliet for those of you quizzing yourselves. I love the simplicity and the sentiment. “Parting is such sweet sorrow…” And that is how is feels as each holiday slides away. But we’re not there yet. We’re in the midst of shopping and crafting and stressing. So it goes. But take a moment, and consider your ornaments, or whatever holiday decorations you adorn your home with. They all tell a story. And like those relatives, it’s important that we listen.

Merry Christmas, and a Happy Holidays.

Last Signing of 2012

One week from today I will be at Barnes and Noble in Saratoga Springs, NY, my last signing of 2012. The signing serves a dual purpose as my school is holding a Bookfair that day. Therefore, if you would like a signed copy of Tap Out as a Chanukkah, Christmas or Holiday gift, this is your last chance.

And if you already have a copy, no worries, come on out, say hey, and pick up another item form B&N, as proceeds form the day’s sales help the freshman class.

I hope to see you. And be careful shopping out there.

Motivation

My eldest daughter turns eight today. A little less than nine years ago my world came to a grinding halt when my wife asked me to stop at the pharmacy. I was twenty-five, recently married and searching for a house. And, of course, I was working on becoming a writer.

I distinctly remember a conversation my wife and I had about a month after the realization that we were going to be parents had settled in. We talked about the changes coming, our lack of preparedness, and our overall thrill. And then my wife said, about my writing, “I know this will change everything for you, the amount of time you will have, and I’m sorry for that.”

I was crushed. Not only because she was right, but because I was so transparent. I was, indeed, scrambling to figure out how I was going to be a father, husband, homeowner, teacher, AND writer. More than that, her words hurt, because being sorry wasn’t anywhere near what I wanted her to be feeling. The conversation altered my perspective, because I knew right then that for my marriage to work, and for me to be the best father possible, I needed to straighten out my priorities. Writing mattered, but not nearly as much as family.

Somehow we made it through those zombie days of infancy, and through it all, I kept writing. My schedule shifted to early mornings, because it was a race to see if I could write before the morning feeding. Once our daughter was old enough, and slept through, I’d become accustomed to the hours and kept them. They served me well as three years later, we had our second daughter and two years after that This Side of Normal was published.

However, being a parent to an infant is difficult, but being a father to two toddler girls is wonderful and all-encompassing. My wife and I are both educators. We understood the importance of those early years, how vital they are to building the foundation of personality and intelligence and security. To say I struggled balancing that demand and my writing is an understatement, yet one very important element crystallized: my motivation.

I was tempted to quit writing after This Side of Normal. My next work didn’t sell, the publishing industry was changing and I wasn’t sure if I had what it takes to succeed in this business. But both of my daughters, when the saw the cover of TSON, would say, “That’s daddy’s book. Daddy’s a writer.” How in the world could I ever say to them, “Well, I used to be.”

And so I forged ahead, not solely for me, but because of how I felt after that initial conversation with my wife, after the grind of writing while half-awake, the excitement of seeing my work in print, and for my daughters.

This kind of story is not unique. People work hellacious hours at jobs they despise for the sake of their children. Some work two or three jobs to provide. I have to believe that they feel as I do, that this work is not about me anymore. It is much bigger. It is about us.

I would not have that motivation without my wife and daughters. The roadblock my wife thought children might be has become the best kick in the pants. I love writing. I love my daughters. I cannot imagine a world without either. I get up early and write to the last minute before work, and I think about the craft all the time. And I parent. I am their daddy who writes. This is my life.

So thank you, Carrie, for putting it all into perspective.

And that leads me back to Grace, the birthday girl, to whom I also want to say, thank you. Without you, I would be a shadow of the man I am today. My wish for you is a life that provides insight into just how amazing you are. Enjoy this birthday and every one over the horizon.

Book Giveaway

If you’d like to win a copy of Tap Out, please head over to The Literati Press Blog to enter. The post today includes an excerpt from my novel (Tony’s first time at the gym), and is a great way to capture the attention of any MMA fans you know.

So head on over and give Starr some love. She’s shown me nothing besides. And she is awesome. Thanks.

Happy Thanksgiving

In case you haven’t watched this one in a while…

Be safe, be well, and enjoy.

 

Hollywood proves my point

Over at Teen Librarian’s Toolbox, for a guest post on YA and guys, I wrote the following:

I believe the zombies and romance elements are rooted in the same concern: love. This is a giant untouchable for boys. They don’t talk about love. They don’t talk about feelings much, period (at least in a class). Men don’t either. Not stereotypically or theoretically, but in the majority. So why should boys buck the trend? Because they’re still naive enough, still hopeful enough, and still vulnerable enough to learn.

Zombies are the manifestation of death of the human spirit. They exist, but have no emotion, just pure desire for the ultimate taboo. Romance is on the other end of the spectrum, the pining, the swooning, the tears—all of which gets made fun of during Romeo and Juliet, but in reality hits home when it’s delivered correctly in YA. Boys stumble, are inarticulate, are overwhelmed by hormones. They need a character to be there, too, but somehow still manage to go out with the girl. Not because possession of the girl is the goal, but love is. Feeling. Not being a zombie.


Hollywood has proved my point. Thank you Warm Bodies.

The Darkness comes from within

In Writing Down the Bones, Natalie Goldberg discusses the Artist’s desire to create: “…though she [the artist] expresses vitality, must behind it touch down on quiet peace.”

In On Writing, Stephen King describes how he writes to Metallica. Most recently I read an interview with him and Neil Gaiman, and King discussed how he writes in his Florida home with his desk facing the wall, away from the distracting windows.

Goldberg and King are both touching on the importance of the process and how we keep it from managing us. Ever since Tap Out hit readers’ hands, I’ve had questions about my process and the environment in which I write. Most assume because of the pervasive darkness in my novel that I will lean toward King’s image: sitting alone in a dark room, cranking heavy tunes and hammering away on the keyboard.

This couldn’t be further from the truth.

But first, let me explain how my office came to be.

We bought our home while my wife was pregnant with our first daughter and we had no cash; of course during the real estate bubble. Therefore, we grabbed up a two-bedroom ranch with a large enough yard for a future addition. The “spare” room became the nursery, and my wife did not want a traditional theme. She wanted something unisex and something that would last for our second child (we didn’t know the gender of either child until delivery). Also, since my wife is 100% Irish, she wanted the room to reflect that, and so why not paint the room like the hills of Ireland with cute little sheep and a rainbow, etc? And while at it, why not make it panoramic, painting the popcorn ceiling with a multi-toned sky and puffy white clouds?

Exactly.

Of course I said yes, because that’s what you do for your wife in your new home with your first baby on the way. Fortunately, our friend’s sister is a talented artist. She came and sketched and then painted, and within a week the nursery was complete. And it was perfect once our daughter was snuggled inside.

Fast forward three years, the addition has been built, and we now have four bedrooms, two daughters and I get an office. The new “bedroom” in the addition was perfect. Spartan like King’s, painted a peaceful blue, ala Goldberg. Only there was one problem: the windows in the nursery had become excessively drafty. We didn’t have the money to replace both, so a decision was made–paint the office pink, add a cutsie theme and convert it into the new nursery. As for the old? It became my office, complete with a space heater to combat the cold, with the hills of Ireland over my head.

So when I write, I guess I implore both the wisdom of Goldberg and King. The room is incredibly peaceful. When I look up while writing a scene, lost with where I want to go or what I want a character to say, I’m faced with serenity, not insanity. And I believe that is what keeps me from getting pulled too far into the darkness within. Because I crank away at my work with a fevered pitch as if Metallica–or more likely Slipknot–is roaring in my ears, but I am surrounded by peace. That balance keeps me sane and maintains the humanity within my work. It is impossible not to. I sit and write in the room in which my firstborn dreamed.