Terri Wallace's Blog, page 6

What Twitter, Outlander Fans, and Amanda Palmer Taught Me about “Asking”

Like most horrific days, it started out quite ordinary.�� The only odd thing about it at all was that I was unnaturally organized.�� For some reason, I felt inclined to pack extra snacks and sinus medicine.�� I elected to leave my laptop at home, although I normally took it with me to write over my lunch hour.�� For some reason, I didn’t feel that there would be time.�� I thought that, perhaps, I should take��my phone charger, but I dismissed that notion since my phone was fully charged.�� The weatherman promised some sleety/snowy mess, and I was preoccupied with making arrangements for the kids, who were enjoying yet another snow day at my mother-in-law’s house down the road.�� The morning had the kind of low-level stress that comes from having to make last-minute adjustments to plans.

Some days feel like they are held together with string, and all you can do is hope no one tugs too hard.

— Terri Wallace (@wordpeddler) March 4, 2015

The foul weather was still holding off when I made it to work, but something worse was brewing.

The thing about Bad Things, is that you rarely associate them with yourself.�� Bad Things happen to Other People.��*knocks on wood*�� But of course this isn’t true.�� Bad Things happen to everyone.�� Car wrecks happen.�� Cancer happens.�� Heart attacks happen…and one did happen.�� It happened to my��husband.

The thread unravelled. At hospital. Husband had heart attack. The Widow Maker. Prayers & good thoughts appreciated.

— Terri Wallace (@wordpeddler) March 5, 2015

Bad Things happen.�� They happen every day.�� But the good news is…Good Things happen, too.�� And they happened that day, and the days that followed, and… It. Was. Humbling.

Since it was a snow day, my husband was not out directing traffic like he would normally have been doing.�� Good Thing Number One.�� His sergeant was attentive and noticed that something wasn’t right.�� Good Thing Number Two.�� My children were safe and sound at my in-law’s house rather than at school.�� Good Thing Number Three.

And the Good Things Continued…

One of my beloved twitter friends quickly emailed me an Amazon gift card so that I could download books to read to pass those long, lonely days in the hospital.

A wonderful group of Outlander fans sat virtual vigil with me and tweeted quotes from Outlander, sent well wishes, and provided countless hours of moral support.�� I asked for distraction during those unbearable hours, and they shared their time, their energy, and their love.

Some of my co-workers donated some of their vacation days so that I could stay with my husband during his hospitalization and transition back home.�� They also put together a beautiful care package with toothbrushes, toothpaste, quarters for the vending machines, tea, snacks, magazines, and even a beautiful, luxurious blanket to ward off the chill that seems to seep through hospitals.

One of my dearest friends, a fellow writer, brought me tea, a real non-Styrofoam tea mug, a shamrock plant (for luck!), and even brought me lunch because she knew I wouldn’t leave his side.

Shamrocks. ���� my friends and my #outlander fanmily have been SUCH a blessing. pic.twitter.com/EOFuFdgkxS

— Terri Wallace (@wordpeddler) March 6, 2015

A couple of his co-workers came to see us and brought snacks and bottled water.�� They also brought a distraction from the monotony.�� They brought banter.

At some point, my phone battery was dwindling dangerously low.�� I posted��a plea for a charger��within the hour a neighbor had driven through the foul weather to bring it to me.

My neighbor drove though the ice to bring a phone charger to the hospital. Best neighbor ever. Keeping me in Twitter & Ebooks.

— Terri Wallace (@wordpeddler) March 5, 2015

At night, I listened to the machines beep and bing, trying not to panic as alarms went off and nurses came scrambling.

The dingy machine is dinging more than usual. The dingy machine scares me.

— Terri Wallace (@wordpeddler) March 5, 2015

My husband joked that he had the heart attack and I got the gifts but, really, he was amazed, too, at the unimaginable outpouring of love and generosity.

I faltered between feeling happy-weepy and sad-weepy.�� Apparently drama makes me a bit more profound and also slightly more sloppy-drunk sounding.

Tears are the thing I do when no one is looking. And I tend to be wired as a glass half full kinda gal.

— Terri Wallace (@wordpeddler) March 5, 2015

I think I just hit a wall. Stupid things are making me teary. Like The Breakfast Club. Really, who cries at The Breakfast Club?

— Terri Wallace (@wordpeddler) March 5, 2015

One day stretched into another…and another…and another.�� The initial panic gave way to an exhausted gratitude.

Grateful that hubs can sleep through anything. Twice as grateful that I can't. Just want to stay awake to hear him breathe.

— Terri Wallace (@wordpeddler) March 5, 2015

After a while, “normal life” things started to matter again.

Never underestimate the restorative power of clean socks and underwear.

— Terri Wallace (@wordpeddler) March 6, 2015

Even after we got home, the well wishes continued.�� The inquiries and offers of support continue.�� I realized (once again) that it is good to ask for help.�� Like so many of the important things in life, it’s a lesson that I have to learn and relearn time and time again.

Fortunately, Amanda Palmer is around to remind us of this Truth…

…and Twitter is here to connect us virtual neighbors eager to help, and listen, and ease the burden.

@Yr_Obt_Svt twitter is like throwing a message in a bottle into the ocean and having the tide bring back a treasure.

— Terri Wallace (@wordpeddler) March 6, 2015

#BoysReadGirls and the Myth of Book Genitalia

#BoysReadGirls was the hashtag that greeted me on Twitter this��morning.�� I had seen the rumblings for several days.�� Some schools are inviting authors to speak, but if the protagonist is female, the male student body is often given a pass and doesn’t attend because, ya’ know, that’s a “Girl Book.”*�� Unless it is the book is Hunger Games, because, well, Katniss.��*knowing nod*�� Or,��Divergent.�� Yeah, boys might read Divergent.

This happened recently to author Shannon Hale.�� You can read her account of events here.

Apparently,��The Powers that Be assume that��boys are okay with reading about bad ass chicks who blow stuff up, but if they are forced to read about “normal” girls, it might somehow mess with their chromosomes and make them less manly.�� Or grow breasts.�� Or start crying at chick flicks.�� Or something.

Nevermind that girls read all��kinds of books with��male protagonists without suddenly sprouting a penis, or��having their voice deepen, or even simply having their eyes glaze over��with��boredom or the inability to relate…or comprehend…or��empathize.�� Because, well, it’s different for boys.�� *Grunt*�� *Fist bump*

I grew up reading The Great Brain books, because the child detective was wicked smart.�� The fact that he was male did not detract from the story for me.�� And I read Harry Potter and, while admittedly fond of Ron Weasley’s ginger hair, I did not become bogged down��with the fact that he was equipped with a…��erm…wand.

I also read The Diary of Anne��Frank, and although breasts were mentioned in the book (although this tiny portion was removed from some editions of the book, since preteens are clearly not equipped to encounter brief references to the female anatomy in a book!) it was hardly the focus of my attention.�� No, I was��mesmerized by my breathless fear for the family…not��references to gender or burgeoning sexual curiosity.

I read a lot.�� No, seriously, A. LOT.�� And never once, in all of my 42 years, have I thrown across the room and thought, “Pfft, I can’t read this $*&%$, clearly the writer had a penis.�� Hand me a book written by someone with a vagina so I can relate!”�� Nope, not even once.

Nor have I ever passed on a beloved book to a fellow reader with the recommendation, “I just know you will��love it!�� You can almost feel the femininity of the author.�� The book simply oozes estrogen!”�� *swoon!*

Nope.�� Not ever.

Now, I have recommended a book due to an incredible strong protagonists, or unique plot, or amazing dialogue, or disturbing premise, or amazing imagery.�� But never due to the protagonist’s private bits, and never due to the author’s gender.

My son has read The Hunger Games trilogy, and the Divergent trilogy.�� He��has also read The Fault in Our Stars and Coraline.�� He read them before they were movies.�� He read them because they were good stories;��they were stories that spoke to him.�� They were books that made him want to read.�� And really, isn’t that what we want for our children?�� To find books that speak to them and make them want to read?

So, while I don’t plan on stockpiling a hoard of books by female authors to spoon feed my son, I do plan on providing him with a steady diet of good stories.�� I plan to continue to expose him to all kinds of books by all kinds of authors.�� Because a good story is good no matter what the gender of the protagonist, or the author…or the reader.

_________________

* The concept of “Boy Books” and “Girl Books” is a myth.�� I have read a lot of books, and I have yet to encounter a book that has sexual genitalia.�� So let’s quit trying to assign gender to books, shall we?

The Soul of a Character: “Representation” and Emulation

I have been listening to all the discussion about “representation” in literature, and it has made me reflect quite a bit about my own reading habits–both now and when I was younger.�� I’ve been trying to figure out what character in literature I most identify with…which one “represents” me, and I am finding it more difficult than I had originally thought it would be.

When I was a young reader (way, WAY back when) there weren’t a lot of pale young girls with glasses and braces who liked to read away entire summers.�� So, rather than finding a character I could identify with, I ended up reading stories with characters whom I hoped to be more like.

I read the Little House on the Prairie books, because I liked history, and because I was fascinated by Laura Ingalls Wilder.�� She was smart and spunky.�� I also devoured a series called “The Great Brain” about a really smart kid because, even then, I knew that intellect lasted longer than looks.�� I didn’t necessarily see myself in these characters, but I saw the person I hoped to become.

When I read now, I rarely see much of myself in the protagonist.�� Because really, who writes stories about moms with three kids who is compulsively cheap and writes on her lunch hours?�� Even if they did write them, I don’t think I’d bother reading them; no one wants to read about someone who cuts her own hair at 11:00 on a Friday night because that is the only time no one else wants the bathroom.�� So, instead, I read books about the kind of woman I hope to become–you know, some day–when I grow up.

I read a lot of history…because I was fortunate enough to grow up with a great-grandmother who loved to tell me stories and who shared her history with me.�� I have her old postcards and love letters and gifts from beaus.�� (She lived in Prague, Oklahoma before the land run, and she dated Jim Thorpe for a while.�� I still have some of their correspondence.�� In one, he swooned that she was “fat as a pigeon,” which apparently was quite a compliment back then).

I also read (and re-read) Outlander because it has I love all things Scottish and because, duh, history (or at least historical fiction).����The series��also taps into��the very visceral need I have to connect with my own heritage.�� I married a Wallace…and my own family boasts��the blood of generations of MacDh��mhnaills and Wallaces and Lynns.�� And, I’ll admit, I still feel a spark of pride when I read about Jamie’s red hair and his Catholic faith.�� Despite the obvious gender difference, I immediately identified with him.

I also identified with another literary ginger.�� Ron Weasley is a favorite of mine.�� I admired his steadfastness.�� While I could definitely relate to Hermione’s love of books and obsessive desire for knowledge, it was Ron that suffered the constant comparison’s to Harry, and it was Ron who quelled his own self-doubt and jealousy and stood by Harry’s side.�� (I know, I know, he wavered, but give the guy a break…he still did better than I would have!)

I have read a lot recently about under represented cultures, genders, body types, etc.�� But for me, I didn’t see myself so much in the appearance of a character, but in his/her soul.�� Even as a child, when a character I had grown to love hurt, or had doubts…I felt his doubt and pain; it didn’t matter that the doubt and pain was housed in a male body.�� Even now, I feel a kinship with James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser because of his faith, and his sense of honor, and his desire to protect those he loved no matter what the cost.�� It was of no consequence that such loyalty came in a masculine form.

That is��not to say that we shouldn’t have characters of all sizes, shapes, colors, creeds, et al.�� It just means that, for me at least, I take my heroes where I can find them.�� And, as a writer, I write the characters as they come to me.�� I never set out to make a character a certain height, or color, or nationality…that is just how they come to me–just as I never set out to have a son with ginger hair, or a daughter with a mass of unruly curls, or another daughter with locks the color of Scottish honey.�� I just hope that my children find characters that they can look up to, no matter what their gender, race, or religion.

 

 

The Soul of a Character

I have been listening to all the discussion about “representation” in literature, and it has made me reflect quite a bit about my own reading habits–both now and when I was younger.�� I’ve been trying to figure out what character in literature I most identify with…which one “represents” me, and I am finding it more difficult than I had originally thought it would be.

When I was a young reader (way, WAY back when) there weren’t a lot of pale young girls with glasses and braces who liked to read away entire summers.�� So, rather than finding a character I could identify with, I ended up reading stories with characters whom I hoped to be more like.

I read the Little House on the Prairie books, because I liked history, and because I was fascinated by Laura Ingalls Wilder.�� She was smart and spunky.�� I also devoured a series called “The Great Brain” about a really smart kid because, even then, I knew that intellect lasted longer than looks.�� I didn’t necessarily see myself in these characters, but I saw the person I hoped to become.

When I read now, I rarely see much of myself in the protagonist.�� Because really, who writes stories about moms with three kids who is compulsively cheap and writes on her lunch hours?�� Even if they did write them, I don’t think I’d bother reading them; no one wants to read about someone who cuts her own hair at 11:00 on a Friday night because that is the only time no one else wants the bathroom.�� So, instead, I read books about the kind of woman I hope to become–you know, some day–when I grow up.

I read a lot of history…because I was fortunate enough to grow up with a great-grandmother who loved to tell me stories and who shared her history with me.�� I have her old postcards and love letters and gifts from beaus.�� (She lived in Prague, Oklahoma before the land run, and she dated Jim Thorpe for a while.�� I still have some of their correspondence.�� In one, he swooned that she was “fat as a pigeon,” which apparently was quite a compliment back then).

I also read (and re-read) Outlander because it has I love all things Scottish and because, duh, history (or at least historical fiction).����The series��also taps into��the very visceral need I have to connect with my own heritage.�� I married a Wallace…and my own family boasts��the blood of generations of MacDh��mhnaills and Wallaces and Lynns.�� And, I’ll admit, I still feel a spark of pride when I read about Jamie’s red hair and his Catholic faith.�� Despite the obvious gender difference, I immediately identified with him.

I also identified with another literary ginger.�� Ron Weasley is a favorite of mine.�� I admired his steadfastness.�� While I could definitely relate to Hermione’s love of books and obsessive desire for knowledge, it was Ron that suffered the constant comparison’s to Harry, and it was Ron who quelled his own self-doubt and jealousy and stood by Harry’s side.�� (I know, I know, he wavered, but give the guy a break…he still did better than I would have!)

I have read a lot recently about under represented cultures, genders, body types, etc.�� But for me, I didn’t see myself so much in the appearance of a character, but in his/her soul.�� Even as a child, when a character I had grown to love hurt, or had doubts…I felt his doubt and pain; it didn’t matter that the doubt and pain was housed in a male body.�� Even now, I feel a kinship with James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser because of his faith, and his sense of honor, and his desire to protect those he loved no matter what the cost.�� It was of no consequence that such loyalty came in a masculine form.

That is��not to say that we shouldn’t have characters of all sizes, shapes, colors, creeds, et al.�� It just means that, for me at least, I take my heroes where I can find them.�� And, as a writer, I write the characters as they come to me.�� I never set out to make a character a certain height, or color, or nationality…that is just how they come to me–just as I never set out to have a son with ginger hair, or a daughter with a mass of unruly curls, or another daughter with locks the color of Scottish honey.�� I just hope that my children find characters that they can look up to, no matter what their gender, race, or religion.

 

 

More Character Crushes (Includes an Outlander Trifecta)

I was recently tagged on a blog hop (see said ���call out��� here), and it immediately got me thinking.�� So, I quickly jotted down characters that I loved from books, movies, and televisions; and I made notes and I brainstormed, and then I started to notice certain���uh, patterns.�� Which, me being me, I desperately want to talk about and analyze and pore over���.�� And, since this is my blog and I get to indulge my whims here, I will analyze the $#*%*#( out of this. ��But first, the characters (in no particulate order):

��1.���� James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser��

This one is a no-brainer.�� I have already waxed poetic about my character crush��on Himself.�� He is loyal and honorable.�� He is also incredibly funny.�� (Funny is the new sexy.)�� And, as he is quick to point out, he is an ���educated man.����� (Smart is the new funny.)�� He accepts those he loves and does not try to change them.�� (See, that���s more of his smarts right there!)�� He can be heartbreakingly romantic and also fiercely pragmatic.�� While Laoghaire may need to be needed, I am a sucker for someone who can think for himself, who can DO for himself, who can cope just fine without me���but who simply prefers to cope with things with me by his side.

2.�� Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp Randall Fraser

If ever I had a girl crush, it was certainly on Claire.�� Claire is just as able-bodied, just as stubborn, and just as ���take life as it comes��� as Jamie.�� They are a good match.�� Maybe that is why I tend to like her more when she is with Jamie.�� I like what he brings out in her.�� When Claire is with Frank, she is not as���as���well, as guess not as Claire as she is when she is with Jamie.�� Frank���s Claire tolerates his infidelity.�� Jamie���s Claire nearly tears him to pieces when she finds out about his by-then-defunct-relationship with Laoghaire.�� Perhaps Frank���s Claire cared enough to be hurt, to be angry, but not enough to unleash fury.�� (And certainly not enough to fight to try to get Frank back.)�� Also, while some decry Claire���s decision to leave Brianna as some lack of maternal warmth, I see plenty of evidence of Claire being prime Mom Material.�� Like many a mom before her, Claire set aside her own needs, desires, and happiness until it would be less problematic for those before her.�� While she does not belabor how much she misses Bree once she returns to Jamie, we do see it nag at her like a festering wound.�� We also see her maternal side in how she treats the family that Jamie constructs for them over the years:�� Fergus, Young Ian, even Marsali, and William become part of their brood.�� Heck, Claire becomes a mother figure to the better part of Fraser���s Ridge���s occupants.�� And the woman STILL has time to doctor the fine folk around her and bed Jamie (both full time jobs, right there!).

3.����Murtagh Fitzgibbons Fraser

And finishing out the Outlander Trifecta is Murtagh.�� I have a soft spot for this wee canty man.�� His loyalty to both Ellen and her offspring makes me weak in the knees.�� His devotion knows no bounds.�� He is perfectly aware that his loyalty may well be the death of him, yet he does not flinch in the face of his own mortality.�� He has the voice of an angel, the soul of a poet, and the kind of unflagging fidelity that makes me kind of love him, for all of his snarly and snarky ways.

4.�� Ragnar Lothbrok

While my love of highlanders is well known, I also love me some Vikings.�� It���s true.�� I have a thing for norsemen.�� So, besides Outlander, Vikings is another one of my guilty pleasures.�� Ragnar has a certain cocky confidence that might be off putting if not balanced by his own strange brand of innocence and honor.�� Ok, ok, before you start pointing out that Ragnar got that annoying Princess I See Strange Stuff knocked up when he was married to Lagertha, let me remind you that there are different kinds of honor.�� Whatever his spousal shortcomings, Ragnar is a leader and, as such, he has certain responsibilities to his people.�� Among his people, there is Floki, who is kinda crazy but–when he isn���t creeping me out and making me wonder if he is going to kill Ragnar���s son or betray Ragnar���he grows on you.�� And there is Athestan, the priest/pagan whom Ragnar elevates from slave to second-brother.�� Despite their failed marriage, Lagertha doesn���t hold a grudge���and maybe that is part of the reason why I don���t, begrudge him his Poor Choice in Other Women either.�� While I long ago gave up on chasing the bad-boy-with-a-heart-of-gold, I can still appreciate him from afar.�� Far, far, afar please.

5.�� Lagertha Lothbrok

I have nothing but respect for a woman who knows when to fight and when to cut her loses.�� This shield maiden stands shoulder to shoulder with Ragnar Lothbrok.�� She has mad fighting skills, is cunning and loyal, but when faced with a freckled adversary with a baby bump offering to share her husband, the lady has enough self-respect and class to move on.�� No bitch fight, no drama.�� Even better���after she leaves, she doesn���t stoop to trying to indoctrinate their son with hate.�� She doesn���t resort to snide comments or the airing of dirty laundry.�� No.�� Lagertha tells their son that he should be proud.�� After all, he is the son of Ragnar Lothbrok.�� Even betterer (yes, I know that���s not a word, again, my blog my rules) when Ragnar has need of assistance, Lagertha comes to his aid.�� Not in a ���Oh, maybe I can get him back��� kind of way, and not in a ���Dude, you friggin��� owe me, now!��� kind of way, but in the way of a friend who has your back.�� That���s some Real Woman is what that is.

6.�� Molly Weasley

My favorite literary mom may well be Molly Weasley.�� (Yes, I said literary mom.�� While I like the Movie Molly just fine, you have to admit that she lacks the layers and complexity of Book Molly.�� Book Molly sings sentimental songs.�� Book Molly gets in catty arguments with Sirius.�� Book Molly is Arthur���s ���Molly Wobbles.����� Va-va-voom.)�� She may be a mom, but she still has what it takes to rock Mr. Weasley���s world.�� She deals with the stress of raising a family, and having money troubles, and wanting her husband to be fulfilled even if his chosen profession means they buy second hand books.�� She understands people.�� And herself.�� Molly Weasley yells.�� Oh, Lord how she yells.�� And she has been known to utter a profanity, when the situation calls for it.�� (Not my daughter, you bitch!)�� Yep, this is a character I can identify with!

7.�� Ron Weasley

Speaking of Weasleys, let���s not forget Ron.�� You know:�� Harry���s Best Friend���Hermione���s Foil and Future Husband���One of the Many Weasleys.�� It seems that poor Ron is frequently identified only by his relation to others.�� Geez.�� No wonder the poor guy got a bit irked back in Book Five.�� Who wouldn���t get a bit annoyed always been the cool kid���s red-headed sidekick?�� In fact, we learn the depth of his insecurities in Deathly Hallows.�� Did Hermione actually prefer Harry?�� Merlin���s Trousers!�� Did his own mother prefer Harry?�� And yet, he stayed.�� Erm, or at least he always came back.�� And in the face of fear, insecurity, inadequacy, and jealousy, it says a lot about someone that they can fight those demons and still love the person who (however innocently���however unintentionally) spawned them. ��Yep, I am a sucker for the tortured soul.

8.�� Rick Grimes

[Disclaimer:�� I have not yet read the graphic novels, so the Rick Grimes referenced herein refers only to the television Rick.]�� I think that Rick made this list in large part because he grows into his roll.�� Sure he was Sheriff Grimes long before he was That Bad Ass Guy Who Keeps the Walkers at Bay, but he was also soft in the way that First World Characters get to be.�� When he finally wakes up (both literally and metaphorically) the world has gone to hell and he has to either become an avenging angel or succumb to the flames.�� Sure, there are some dark times in the series, and more than once he might have gotten a wing singed but, when push comes to shove, the dude BRINGS the avenging angel.�� He is a filthy, bearded, bad-ass avenger.�� And he does it all with little Judith perched on his hip.

9.�� Arya Stark

There are not enough words for Arya Stark.�� She is the heroine that all literature that came before A Song of Fire and Ice was lacking. ��She is young, but with an old soul.�� She is a Lady, but with a warrior���s mind.�� She learns.�� She adapts.�� She calculates.�� She.�� Does.�� Not.�� Succumb.�� There is no time for fretting or fawning or flailing or any of those other Perfectly Ladylike responses to high drama.�� The girl KNOWS winter is coming.�� She feels it.�� She (perhaps unknowingly) starts to prepare for it.�� Screw embroidery, give me a sword.�� While I love dragons, and I have a soft spot for dwarves, my money is on the girl.

10.�� Cathcliff

Yes.�� I know there is no such person as Cathcliff.�� But I decided that I wanted to give some props to Wuthering Heights (partly because I love it, and partly because this list was a little pop-culture heavy and needed a little Lit Love).�� Now, before you complain that Cathy and Heathcliff can���t both be on this list because there is not enough room, hear me out.�� I contend that, if you stop and think about it, Cathy and Heathcliff are really two parts of a whole.�� Even, Cathy said so.�� *dramatic pause*�� I am Heathcliff.�� *even more dramatic music*�� Their love is the love of my seventeen year old self.�� It���s the kind of love where everything is Just. So. Dramatic.�� Their relationship is Oh. So. Complicated.�� There is no wonder that I loved this book back in high school.�� Heathcliff felt angry, unworthy, misunderstood, and inadequate.�� And whatever Cathy really felt, she was too caught up in what people thought.�� So much jealousy.�� So much revenge.�� So much windswept moors.�� You get the picture.�� My seventeen year old self was a bit like Cathy, and by God I was looking for my Heathcliff.�� Thankfully not every wish is granted.�� Eventually I learned that Heathcliffs are not my thing.

Ok, so if Heathcliff doesn���t quite do it for me anymore, then what does?�� Well, when I was driving to work this morning and thinking about which characters I wanted to write about, it hit me.�� Oh, my God, I have a ���character type.����� I am clearly drawn to certain types of characters.�� Fortunately, ���my type��� has changed over the years.�� I have veered away from Bad Boys and now seek out the Laird, the Protector, and the Leader.�� I also have a soft spot for the Loyal Friend, the Devoted Mother, and the Oath Keeper.

While the seventeen year old me would definitely have chosen Draco Malfoy, the forty-two year old me chooses Ron Weasley.�� And while my-seventeen-year-old-soul yearned for my own personal Heathcliff, I now realize that there is more to life, or the afterlife for that matter, than haunting the moors.�� So, in this story of my life, please God, make me a shield maiden, or a protective mother, or a healer.�� But, for the love of all that is holy, make me strong.

Check out the other bloggers who were called��out to name their favorite characters:

Jen@OutlanderMusings, http://outlandermusings.wordpress.com

Norma D, http://thechurchofheughanology.wordpress.com

Vintage Chick/Melissa, http://melissasobservations.wordpress.com

Richard B, @OutmanderArtist

Alisa, http://findyoursparkle.org

Heughliots of AB, http://heughliots.wordpress.com

Julie, http://cookingjulesstyle.blogspot.com

Diane, http://outlanderdreaming.wordpress.com

Jenny Jeffries, http://outrageousoutlander.wordpress.com

And, since I need to throw down the gauntlet and challenge others to explore which characters make the cut, I challenge:

http://melissasobservations.com/

https://rynawolfe.wordpress.com/

https://akfranciswriter.wordpress.com/

Yes, I know I only tagged three people, but (1) I rarely play by the rules, and (2) I prefer words to numbers (except in my bank statement, then I want ALL the numbers)!

So, my Tagged Ones, for this quick, fun blog hop, you just name your 10 favorite characters from movies or TV, and then tag 10 friends to do the same!

Ash Wednesday, Words, and Droch Cainnt

And pray to God to have mercy upon us

And pray that I may forget

These matters that with myself

I too much discuss

Too much explain

Because I do not hope to turn again

Let these words answer

For what is done, not to be done again

May the judgment not be too heavy upon us.

From Ash Wednesday, by T. S. Eliot

Words often get in my head and clamor around until I write them away.�� Maybe that is why I always loved that bit of Ash Wednesday.�� These matters that with myself /��I too much discuss / Too much explain… It is familiar.�� Words have a way of doing that���of getting under my skin.�� Words have meaning and power.�� Words hold sway over us.�� That is why it is so hard for me to give them up…any of them���words I mean.�� I like having all of the words at my disposal, because words all have different connotations, different baggage that they bring with them.�� Words have history and they carry that history with them.�� Words said in anger, in love, or in doubt retain that shadow when uttered again.

For Lent, I will give up some of my words.�� Not all of them, mind you���I am a writer, after all.�� But I will give up the more irreverent words* that seem to pepper my conversations (especially my conversations with computers and office equipment that is not cooperating).�� I plan to give up the curses that seem to form on my lips before I am even aware that I have formed the intent to utter them.�� Oh, yes, though the speech itself may be coarse, it drips from my lips like honey.

You see, while my parents have pristine speech, my DNA harkens back to a people for whom curses were an art form.�� And, truth be told, I find it rather comforting to be resurrecting verbal filth once feasibly uttered by my ancestors.

Curse words can provide a certain visceral relief in times of stress.�� (Trust me; it is immensely satisfying to find precisely the right curse for a given occasion.)�� Profanity can also act as a verbal intensifier and sometimes, just sometimes, curses can be a thing of beauty; the right words (however coarse) in the right language can be almost poetic.

So, yes, in giving up my ability to communicate and articulate freely, I chose to give up something quite dear to me for Lent.�� For me, it is much more of a sacrifice than giving up meat, or sweets, or social media.�� So, scoff if you like; but, if you do, be aware that you might well get an earful���just not in English.

*To clarify, because I am not a saint and I would rather not set myself up for utter failure, I will allow myself a few colorful utterances with the caveat that they must be uttered in a foreign tongue.

The Art of Conversation (a/k/a When to Stop and Listen)

Sometimes you strike a nerve.�� It is easy to spot when this happens because the reaction is swift, defensive, and (often) dripping with vitriol.�� I found that out when I dared to talk about The Objectification of Sam Heughan.�� I was just thinking aloud���or on the screen���or, well, you know what I mean.�� But apparently some took it as a personal attack���and they attacked in kind.�� *insert catty snarl*

Fortunately, I am 42 years old.�� And while my skin may be the approximate color of paper, it is not nearly so thin.�� I can handle snark.�� But not everyone can.

Since that post, many have shared their thoughts and opinions (Yay!�� Discussion!), and some have forwarded me links to other blogs that have explored the topic (Yay!�� More discussion!).�� A few have warned me about some seriously snarky blog posts, FB comments, tweets, etc.�� (Ya–�� Oh,��wait…)�� *Shrugs*�� Just another day on the internet.�� Right?

But it also made me think long and hard about the fact that, despite the fact that I can instantly talk with people all over the world (Thank you, Twitter!), it has become harder and harder to have an ���actual conversation.����� Discussions have grown less civilized.�� Perhaps it is the anonymity of the internet (you know, the fact that you don���t have to look someone in the face while you stick a knife in their heart).�� But��whatever the cause,��the effect��is the same–the give and take of conversation seems to be breaking down.

The idea of ���agreeing to disagree��� is seen as selling-out rather than respecting another���s point of view.�� It appears that the endgame is to make your opponent agree with you.�� Discussion is a lost art, long forgotten, and has been replaced with an increasingly loud discourse in which the only way to ���win��� is to out-shout the other.�� The concept that someone else might have legitimate points and that, even if you don’t agree, you can both still take something away from the discussion seems to be lost somehow.

Newsflash:�� Conversations do not have ���winners��� and ���losers.����� Conversations have participants.�� And the participants do not, at any time, have to agree with one another.�� They can disagree ad nauseam–and they can do so with courtesy, and respect, and without threats or name-calling.

You can be heard without silencing others.����

But not everyone understands this.�� As a result, sometimes an unguarded comment can awaken The Trolls���

Every morning, I drive my kiddos to the school bus stop and I tell them stories while we wait.�� Over time, more and more of their friends have started joining us.�� The kids get out of the cold, and they get a story in the bargain.����Win!

Last week, while we waited for the rest of the reading posse to arrive before getting starting the story, one of the girls mentioned that she had posted on social media that she felt depressed.�� (My “mom ears” immediately perked up.)�� Maybe she hoped that someone online would offer her sympathy or consolation.�� Instead, she was told ���Yeah, because you���re a piece of shit��� and ���Then why not go ahead and kill yourself?�������My heart sank.

We didn���t read that day.

Instead, we all talked.�� And we listened.�� We listened a lot.�� Because part of having a real conversation is to know when to stop planning what you���re going to say next and to actually listen to what is being said.

It sounds so simple.

Just listen.

Jamie Fraser Farts (…or Why the Best Books Have B.O.)

For me, the best fictional worlds feel just real enough to draw me into them.�� That doesn���t mean that I don���t enjoy the fantastical because, well, Outlander���and Harry Potter���and Lord of the Rings���and Game of Thrones���

Well, you get the idea.

But what really draws me into a story are those little touches with which I can identify.�� The sounds, and smells, those ���been there done that��� bits woven into the tapestry of the story.�� Those moments when I see my own imperfections in the characters I love.

Once of my favorite, snort-laugh-worthy moments in the Outlander series occurs in Dragonfly in Amber.�� Claire had just returned from getting her legs waxed. Jamie was not amused because, well, God Himself put the hair there.�� No, seriously, Jamie had seen it there��just the day before.�� Where the heck did it go?! (and, for the love of all that is holy, WHY did it go?!)�� Sensing his indignation and alarm, Claire tries to mollify him:

“It might have been worse, you know,” I said, sponging the inside of one thigh. “Louise had all her body hair removed.”

That startled him back into English, at least temporarily. “What, she’s taken the hairs off her honeypot?” he said horrified into uncharacteristic vulgarity. ��

It made me laugh so hard I had an asthma attack (yes, apparently laughter induced asthma is A Thing).�� But it wasn���t the fact that it was funny that stuck with me���it was that it addressed an issue that I have:����whenever I read books, I get distracted by wondering how a character���s legs are so smooth if she���s been on a deserted island for six months, and why no female protagonists ever seem to have a menstrual cycle���or stray hairs needing plucking���or acne����� How come they never seem to sweat, or have bad breath, or fart?�� Seriously!�� It���s like they���re not even human!�� Oh, wait, right���

Still, perhaps that���s one of the reason that I love certain books���because we get to see characters with warts (both literal and figurative), and we get to see how they actually cope with being less than Fancy-Shiny-Airbrushed.

While many books have a few elements of the ordinary thrown in to keep us Mere Mortal Readers from totally forgoing our Willing Suspension of Disbelief* and tossing the book aside (along with our well-wept-over fashion magazines), some books really own their characters��� humanity.�� Outlander owns it.

I don���t care how much you character-crush on him:�� James Alexander Malcom MacKenzie Fraser farts.�� He does.�� More than once.�� (It was not just a token fart.)�� Not only that, but his hair sticks up weird sometimes.�� Also, he actually does have body hair, quite a bit of it, in fact (no manscaping here!), and his nose gets snotty when he cries.�� Did I mention he cries?�� Because, yeah, people sometimes do that when they���re sad.

Claire gets snotty when she cries, too.�� She also hip on all the best 18th Century Things With Which To Wipe Your Bum.�� She talks about birth control pre-Pill.�� She talks about orgasms and masturbation and other things that People Really Talk About.

But perhaps the part that makes her unlike a lot of female characters is books is that she doesn���t live in a vacuum; over the years, Claire changes���she ages.�� She talks about her spider veins, and the silver in her hair, and her waning fertility.

She is a bit like the BFF who you���ve known since sixth grade.�� Sure she���s changed���you both have.�� But you live with the changes–day in and day out–so it all seems so gradual that when you look at in the mirror you still see your youthful face staring back from behind the wrinkles.

People gain weight and lose weight.�� They get wrinkles and have scars.�� Also, sometimes, they���well���stink.�� Outlander is a virtual olfactory oasis.�� The reader is regaled with descriptions of odors, both good and bad.�� Men don���t smell like aftershave; they smell like a wood fire (or a peat fire, depending which book you���re reading).�� Jamie frequently carries the tang of sweat or musky maleness about him; while Claire smells of her wee herbs or, if she���d been making a poultice, perhaps the sharp bite of onion.�� But very rarely do we greet them freshly bathed and perfectly coiffed (and when we do, such coiffing seems to be rather against their will���remember Jenny dragging a brush through their tangled hair and tugging out all manner of dried leaves and vegetation?).

So, yeah.�� My favorite books have farting.�� And crying.�� And snotty noses.�� They have tangled hair and make-up sex.�� They have flawed people doing stupid things for good reasons.�� They have fights and misunderstandings and grudges.�� The stories are often messy, and bloody, and unfair.

Just like life.

_____________________

*�� Thanks, Coleridge!��(And thanks Professor Stenson…see, I did listen in class!)

Diana Gabaldon is Not Your Mother

Neil Gaiman once famously informed a reader who complained about George R. R. Martin taking so long to finish a novel, ���George R. R. Martin is not your bitch.����� I think of this whenever Diana Gabaldon gets grief about how she conducts her friendships.

It seems that there is a huge divide over whether or not Diana Gabaldon behaves ���appropriately��� with the actors portraying her characters.�� Actually, let���s be honest, what these people have a beef with is the way she acts with Sam Heughan; specifically, they don���t like her talking to him about his ass.�� And they really don���t like the way that she told Sam that she looked forward to him being raped and tortured.�� (I know, I know, that does sound really bad, but hear me out���)

Now, I would never presume to believe that I know what goes on in Diana Gabaldon���s head, but it seems to me that what she is saying is basically shorthand for describing her excitement for seeing how Sam would bring to life the incredibly traumatic scene that she wrote.�� Or at least that is how I am interpreting it.�� Perhaps I see it this way because I am a writer, and I can imagine how amazing it would be to see something that you had dreamed up come to life right in front of your eyes.

Others seem to take offense with the familiarity that Diana shows Sam on Twitter.�� The thing is, friends get to be familiar.�� That���s one of the perks of being a friend.�� (That and borrowing their books.)�� And from what I have seen of their interactions, I do believe them to be friends.�� They chat, they tease, and they tweet.�� They have inside jokes.�� Some might even be kinda dirty jokes.�� Sounds a lot like friendship to me.�� And friends, well, they get to draw their own boundaries.�� They get to decide what they consider acceptable or unacceptable.�� They don���t need us to draw those lines for them.�� They got it covered.

Some have asked how the public would respond if George R. R. Martin told Lena Heady that he looked forward to seeing her raped or tortured.�� A reactionary response would sound a lot like this:�� That pig! How dare he? Is he some kind of psychopath?�� Put his head on a pike. How would he freakin��� like that? ��Teach him to kill Ned Stark�� say crap that rubs me the wrong way!��

Perhaps a more measured response would look at the context of this imagined statement (Was he describing an upcoming scene?) and the nature of their relationship (Are they friends?�� Do they normally joke like that? Is SHE okay with what was said?).�� Notice that at no point when considering this exchange did I take into consideration their private bits.�� You know why?�� Because it doesn���t matter whether the speaker has a penis or a vagina.�� What matters is the context of what was said, the relationship with the person it was directed to, and (this is super important) how the person addressed feels about what was said.

You might ask, ���So how come Diana gets to talk to Sam about his ass, and you just scolded me for sending Sam a twitpic of the ass-pillow I made from screen shots from The Wedding episode?����� Well, because you don���t actually��know Sam���you simply don���t have a ���let���s talk about ass pillows��� kind of relationship.

The thing is, it���s good to talk about objectification.�� It is good to know what we, personally, feel to be objectification–to know where we draw the line.�� But it seems that there is a lot of finger pointing going on, and a lot of those fingers seem to be pointing at Diana Gabaldon.�� Some even believe that she ���set the tone��� of the fandom…as if what Diana Gabaldon says to a friend somehow determines how the rest of the world may behave…as if we (as adults) cannot think for ourselves and must��look to her behavior to decide how to act.

Come on.

Claire was famously informed, “You’re a guest of the MacKenzie. We can insult you, but God help any other man that does.”�� Well, the same kind of thing applies to friends. ��There are certain things that you can say to friends (both insults and racy-stuff), but that doesn���t give other people the right to say those things.�� And it isn���t a matter of free speech, it is a matter of good taste���and respect���and having a filter that reminds you that everything that goes through your brain doesn���t have to come out of your mouth.�� This is like when your mother told you ���If you don���t have something nice to say, don���t say anything.����� Which brings me back to Neil Gaiman���

Just as George R. R. Martin is not your bitch.�� Diana Gabaldon is not your mother.

Fans Don’t Let Fans Up-Kilt (a/k/a Respectful Fandoms)

Why even bother?�� When you get called a ���hater��� if you question anything, or ���judgmental��� for trying point out problems within a group, why even include yourself in a fandom?�� My husband is not a fanboy but, when he took me to be his wife, he took on my obsessions, too.�� He has dutifully watched more episodes of Doctor Who (and Outlander, and Game of Thrones, and The Walking Dead, and���) than I can count.�� So, when he asked, I felt like I owed him an answer.

Well, it���s not always like this, I told him.

And that is true.�� In fact, most of the people are really nice and just want to share something they have in common.�� But, really, it is more than that.�� When you find another fan, it���s like recognizing a part of yourself in someone else.�� Whatever other differences you have (race, gender, economic, religious, whatever), you still have THIS in common.�� And because you respect* that person, you listen with an open heart.

Of all the words that I have heard to describe The Best Things About Fandoms, ���respect��� is the word that has come up the most.�� Respect was what made people stay.�� Lack of it had them running for the hills.�� Such a small word to hold so much power.

Respect doesn���t mean I have to agree with you.�� Respect doesn���t mean that I have to approve of your trashing someone���s weight or boobs or wardrobe.�� Respect doesn���t mean that I should fake-applaud if you roll on the floor to look up someone���s kilt**.�� Yeah, not going to fake applaud that.�� Up-kilting is creepy.�� Period.

Respect does mean that I will listen to you.�� We can talk (without name calling), and hopefully find some common ground.�� We can agree to disagree. ��Nothing wrong with that.�� Different opinions are good.�� If we all agreed, the conversation would be pretty short (not to mention boring).

And I have LOVED the conversation���and I have learned a lot.�� The comments have led me to some really respectful fans.�� I found Positively Outlander��over on Facebook, where fans can bond over the books: low drama and high respect.�� If you���ve given up on Facebook groups, check them out***.�� They might make you change your mind.

I was also invited to hang out over at Terry Dresbach���s forum,��and the fans over there were incredibly welcoming.�� They immediately made me comfortable, and within a few minutes I felt perfectly at home.�� Like, seriously at home–there was talk about body hair, and books, about somehow or other we got on the topic of Amanda Palmer (oh, right! niplashes!), and there might have been some fangirl squeeing, and���it was wonderful.

At its best, fandom IS wonderful.�� People come together to discuss things, to change things, to raise money for charities, and to support each other.�� People find things in common and build on that, and that is why we bother.

Being a fan is bigger than just finding someone else who thinks that Graham McTavish rocks the felted bonnet, or that Sam Heughan’s��should be the voice of the next iPhone (seriously, so much better than Siri), it is about finding new people.�� People who make you think and who expose you to new things.�� Your people.

_____________

*See that word there? Hang on to it. It changes everything.

**I heard about this incident in the comments on the Objectification post.�� This is the kind of crap that gives fandoms a bad name.�� If a man did that to a female actress, he would have been (rightfully) arrested.�� Don���t be THAT fan.

***I am sure there are plenty more respectful Facebook groups, and you are more than welcome to list them in the comments!