The Write Stuff
Over the weekend, I stumbled upon Jennifer Weiner's blog. I find the trend of established young writers maintaining blogs and websites to be interesting. It makes sense, as it serves as a way to keep fans updated and hopefully a venue to draw in potential readers. I guess I am intrigued by the everyday/personal nature of the author blogs (I found a few) that I visited. I guess I expected that they'd be more focused on bigger efforts (such as the ones that people actually pay to read), rather than the seemingly mundane stuff that everyone else and her mother is blogging about. It's kind of cool. I think both her blog and her website are rather entertaining, even though I've never read Jennifer Weiner's books. (I have seen In Her Shoes, though, and I think it's a lovely little film.) Her writing style is conversational, cute, and quirky. I appreciate her self-deprecating sense of humor and enthusiasm for reality television.
A few years ago, I was encouraged to read her first novel, Good in Bed, by multiple friends. Apparently, my pseudo-pretentious little brat persona shone through, and I refused, as I dismissively informed them that chick lit was not my style. The funniest thing is, I subsequently purchased and read Hungerpoint, which definitely deserves the same classification. The glossy, hot pink cover and slightly chubby, "lookin for lovin" protagonist both serve as dead giveaways. So, I nullified my entire argument with my spring break reading selection. If I were my friends, I would have laughed at me. Maybe I was adamantly opposed to reading Good in Bed because, judging by the title, I figured I wouldn't find the heroine relatable. Maybe I was just a moody snot, and the invitations to read the book fell consistently on bad days. Whatever the case, three years later, I am feeling a bit foolish.
While surfing around her site, I happened upon a page with tips for wannabe writers. It's practical, humorous, and refreshing. I especially enjoy step # 3: "Major in Liberal Arts (but not necessarily creative writing)." I am too often confronted with judgmentally posed questions/statements such as, "Why would you ever decide to major in just English?" or "What kind of decent job will you ever pick up with a degree in that?" and the oh so encouraging, "Well, that seems like a waste of money. My kid knows he/she better pick a serious major." And even when it's not directly stated, it's implied quite often. My response usually begins with me rambling in my haughty tone about how there are two different schools of thoughts concerning college majors; some prefer pre-professional routes and some favor the liberal arts. I tell them that many intellectuals prefer the latter, as it doesn't pigeonhole students, encourages them to think and reflect, and allows them to pursue a variety of worthy interests, blah, blah. Then I usually become defensive and explain that I intended to graduate with secondary ed certification, but spending an extra semester at a private college wasn't the most practical plan. (As if to say, "see, plain old English majors are sometimes practical, too!") I tell them that I would have had to attain a master's degree within a few years, anyway, and it is fairly easy to pick up certification at the same time. That was once the plan . . . Then I remember that it's almost two years post-graduation, and I'm nowhere near decisive enough or financially able to pursue my master's. And I'm not sure that I even want to teach and the thought of taking another slew of education classes is about as appealing as having my eyes gouged out. So then I start to wonder if maybe the critical parties' points hold some validity, and I feel defeated and panicky. At this point I shut my mouth, letting the mean people win.
Now, they will win no more. I will simple say in response to their inquisitions, "Kindly refer to www.jennfierweiner.com/forthewriters.htm. It is all a part of my long established master plan for penning books. Having already mastered many of her suggestions, all I need to do is care for a dog, go through a few nasty break-ups, and peruse some cereal box labels and Harlequin novels. I'm well on my way. Thanks for your concern. If you're nice, maybe I'll autograph a copy of my first publication for you." In all seriousness, I do think Jennifer presents an adequate and concise argument for liberal arts education. And I just might print it out and carry it with me, just in case. (And, no, I don't hold any real delusions of grandeur or expectations of supporting myself through writing. I'm average, at best, and much more skilled at writing about other people's writing than coming up with my own material. Plus, it is too often an arduous and draining process for me. It would be nice, though.)
A few years ago, I was encouraged to read her first novel, Good in Bed, by multiple friends. Apparently, my pseudo-pretentious little brat persona shone through, and I refused, as I dismissively informed them that chick lit was not my style. The funniest thing is, I subsequently purchased and read Hungerpoint, which definitely deserves the same classification. The glossy, hot pink cover and slightly chubby, "lookin for lovin" protagonist both serve as dead giveaways. So, I nullified my entire argument with my spring break reading selection. If I were my friends, I would have laughed at me. Maybe I was adamantly opposed to reading Good in Bed because, judging by the title, I figured I wouldn't find the heroine relatable. Maybe I was just a moody snot, and the invitations to read the book fell consistently on bad days. Whatever the case, three years later, I am feeling a bit foolish.
While surfing around her site, I happened upon a page with tips for wannabe writers. It's practical, humorous, and refreshing. I especially enjoy step # 3: "Major in Liberal Arts (but not necessarily creative writing)." I am too often confronted with judgmentally posed questions/statements such as, "Why would you ever decide to major in just English?" or "What kind of decent job will you ever pick up with a degree in that?" and the oh so encouraging, "Well, that seems like a waste of money. My kid knows he/she better pick a serious major." And even when it's not directly stated, it's implied quite often. My response usually begins with me rambling in my haughty tone about how there are two different schools of thoughts concerning college majors; some prefer pre-professional routes and some favor the liberal arts. I tell them that many intellectuals prefer the latter, as it doesn't pigeonhole students, encourages them to think and reflect, and allows them to pursue a variety of worthy interests, blah, blah. Then I usually become defensive and explain that I intended to graduate with secondary ed certification, but spending an extra semester at a private college wasn't the most practical plan. (As if to say, "see, plain old English majors are sometimes practical, too!") I tell them that I would have had to attain a master's degree within a few years, anyway, and it is fairly easy to pick up certification at the same time. That was once the plan . . . Then I remember that it's almost two years post-graduation, and I'm nowhere near decisive enough or financially able to pursue my master's. And I'm not sure that I even want to teach and the thought of taking another slew of education classes is about as appealing as having my eyes gouged out. So then I start to wonder if maybe the critical parties' points hold some validity, and I feel defeated and panicky. At this point I shut my mouth, letting the mean people win.
Now, they will win no more. I will simple say in response to their inquisitions, "Kindly refer to www.jennfierweiner.com/forthewriters.htm. It is all a part of my long established master plan for penning books. Having already mastered many of her suggestions, all I need to do is care for a dog, go through a few nasty break-ups, and peruse some cereal box labels and Harlequin novels. I'm well on my way. Thanks for your concern. If you're nice, maybe I'll autograph a copy of my first publication for you." In all seriousness, I do think Jennifer presents an adequate and concise argument for liberal arts education. And I just might print it out and carry it with me, just in case. (And, no, I don't hold any real delusions of grandeur or expectations of supporting myself through writing. I'm average, at best, and much more skilled at writing about other people's writing than coming up with my own material. Plus, it is too often an arduous and draining process for me. It would be nice, though.)
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