Aaaaaand SCENE!

Here's a little secret about me, guys. . . I keep everything. Some things kept are highly unnecessary, others are fun to come back across. Among items that are fun to look back over are writing prompts from previous creative writing classes I've taken. I'm going to share one with you. . . The prompt was simply to write about a room- there were no other points of criteria, so naturally I took it to an inappropriate level . . . I think I could potentially have a run at raunchy romance novels. . . Look out, Danielle Steel!

Here's a room I'd love to walk into:

I was meandering down the hall and saw the door barely cracked. There was a "do not disturb" sign hanging from the ornate, gold handle. Was someone in there? Were they okay?

I walked up to the door and listened- French music- slow and seductive- played from within. I tapped lightly with the knuckle of my index finger; no answer. I knocked a bit harder. . . still, no answer.

My pulse quickened- what if someone had swallowed too many white tablets from an old, orange bottle? I slowly eased the door open-
"He-hello?" I whispered.
I put my body in the room. . . I saw that the music was coming from a CD player in the corner.

There was a soft, billowing haze that hovered and permeated the room that was likely the result of the two lit cigarettes in each ash tray on either nightstand. I stepped over clothing and took a drag off the cool, menthol Marlboro.

The bed smelled of lust, of sweat. The room was swampy with humidity. The sheets of the bed were rumpled and pulled off the corners.

I stepped into the bathroom. Nothing there but a tube of red lipstick and the white, collared, dress shirt it stained.

The French music played on, the cigarettes ceaselessly burned. I stepped back out of the room, brought the door to a near close.

I touched the cheap, plastic sign. . . Do Not Disturb, indeed.

What kind of room would you meander into, if you could?

-Stephi D.

There's Something About a Woman. . .

As an aspiring writer there are many things I enjoy about reading a good book, becoming educated by an article, coming across a single quote. . . one of the greatest enjoyments I get out of reading is the ways in which characters, women specifically, are described. Words are extremely powerful and have a way of moving me in a way that actions sometimes lack. The quote below moved me in an indescribable way. . . to tears, to an increased pulse, to aspire to write better:

“So I walked back to my room and collapsed on the bottom bunk, thinking that if people were rain, I was drizzle and she was a hurricane.” -John Green Looking for Alaska

So, here's my question- if you could be written- your character, your looks, your actions, what you mean to people- how would you want to be written?
In a perfect world, this is how someone would write me. . . in a perfect world, this is how you would see me, perceive me, write me:

She sits with her back to me. The chair in which she is perched is heavy, gold and bronze, and with thick padded straw pieces making up the cushion for the bottom. She is curled up within herself; one leg under her butt and the other folded as she delicately rests the chin of her heart-shaped face on her knee.
Her hair is an exquisite mess; piled high on top her head in what looks to be an effortless masterpiece. What makes it so lovely is that her hair is far too short, so although there are brown and black bobby pins sporadically placed throughout, her silky, shiny hair falls in delicate tendrils all about her face.
She stares at the white screen, the cursor blinks- taunting, bullying. She shifts herself, raises her hands above her head, revealing skin that begs to be traced,  then reaches for the sweating glass of iced tea on the desk; She brings the tall glass to her full, parted lips and takes a swallow of the refreshing brew.
She softly hums and drums the chipped, red polished fingernails upon the arm of the chair. I don't know what the tune is, but it is so sweet a tune she deserves a harpist in accompaniment.
I watch as she turns her neck, her eyes meet mine- a gift in the form of a smile. . .
She returns to face the daunting task of a game of concentration against that God forsaken cursor. . . A long lock of hair falls swiftly from the arrayed birds' nest atop her head.
Her hands move to the keyboard. . . A life is born.

Would you be sexy? Would you be sweet? Would your author write you as untouchable? As irresistible? As irreplaceable?

I am a firm believer in the written word, clearly, and I can assure you that every author in existence has fallen in love and written that love in a story. . . at least once. I can also assure you that a woman's curves, the luxurious purr of her voice, the way her tongue might feel inside your mouth- it's going to be softer, sexier, and more erotic on a page than spoken across telephone wires. The way you're shaken to the core with adoration for your beloved? More lovely written on college ruled notebook paper than whispered in an ear.

Words are powerful, meaningful, forever. So- shake some one's core- write them a love letter. Quicken a pulse- write about what you want to do to your lover tomorrow night. Make an impression- create a journal out of fragments of moments that took your breath away, out of the plethora of dimensions that are in the iris of her eye, out of the simple things that that person does to make your toes curl, heighten your senses, make them that person.

In a perfect world, when someone would write me, this is what the reader would learn about me: I'm a writer, I'm special, I am unforgettable, irreplaceable, a core shaker.

Your turn . . .

-Stephi D.

The Little Princesses

I was watching a Christmas version of Beauty and the Beast earlier with Braden and he said, "there are two Belles, Stephi, one is a princess and one is my sister" and I said, "B, your sister is a princess, too.. all girls are" He looked at me, smiled and said. . . "you're right, Stephi." I really wish it was this easy to convince everyone, especially other girls that all girls are princesses.

When I was in elementary school I thought I had myself a tied and true best friend. We did everything together and I just knew we would be friends forever. I was wrong. There came a time when she just completely stopped speaking to me for no clear reason and I was devastated. I remember going home to my mom and crying and begging for her to tell me what I possibly could have done wrong. She never had the answer to that question, but she always made me feel totally loved, totally wanted, and totally like a princess. I was very fortunate to have made wonderful friends at a reasonably young age and am still able to call them friends. Some I don't talk to weekly, or even monthly, and some I am lucky to see every six months, but I know they are my friends and they are true ones at that.

As a nanny I get to watch two beautiful kids grow and come more into themselves, I get to watch them play and maintain a freedom I have come to envy, but I also get to watch a precious little girl get off the bus and, on some days, it is not with as big of a smile as she possesses. I know from conversation and simply watching interaction that she is experiencing some of the disappointment I remember with a fondness that is lacking.

Looking back on those memories, watching a little girl grow, and knowing what I know at 24, I maintain, without a doubt, that there are few things harder than being a little girl growing wings, a young adult coming into puberty, or a young woman getting comfortable in her own skin. I was lucky enough to have a mom that told me how fabulous I was every time I needed to hear it and Belle is lucky to have a mom that does the same for her, but as many of you know, sometimes that just isn't enough. It is a hard thing to go to school and not be sure of whom you will be sitting with in the cafeteria, it is a hard thing not knowing if you will be invited to a slumber party/birthday celebration that everyone is anticipating, it is a hard thing to be a little girl.

I am not a mom, but I love Belle like a little sister. So when I get the sense that she is experiencing pain, when I hear stories of school friends being unfair, when I know exactly how it feels to feel left out I want to hold her, I want to protect her, and I want to make sure she knows that as long as she keeps smiling and letting her pretty, blue eyes light up- she will meet the girls that will prove their loyalty to her, she will meet the girls who will stand behind her when she's being mistreated, she will meet the girls who will likely end up in her wedding 20 years from now.

I am not a mom, but I am a girl. I am a girl who was once a smaller version of who you know now; I am a girl who thought she found a friend for life in that first grade class but ended up being disappointed; I am a girl who was told everyday how special she was, how priceless she was, and how loved she was. And I'm still that girl- the girl who is self-conscious around new people, the girl who is shy until you get to know me, the girl who wants to do everything but disappoint the people around me. I am the girl who still gets told everyday how special I am, how priceless I am, how loved I am. Some of you may not hear this everyday, and I am sorry. Know that there are parts of you that can never be duplicated, never be replaced, never be forgotten.

I guess what I want out of this blog post most of all is for all the girls out there to realize a few things. . .
*We set the tone for how our peers will treat us- be kind and smile- even in the scariest faces of adversity because, although it may not seem it now, it will pay off for you in the end.
*Be aware of what others may be going through. Life is rough for everyone. . . just in different ways. A smile from you can change someone's entire outlook.
*Everyone needs a friend.
*You are a princess, I am a princess, we are all princesses. From our hair to our toes, inside and out, front to back. And if you are reading this and this concept hasn't occurred to you then soak it up, take it in, meditate on it. Because every little girl deserves to be told she's wonderful, every little girl deserves to come out of adolescence as unscathed as possible, every little girl deserves to grow up and be a woman who knows her worth, who understands the effects she has on others, and who raises little princesses of her own.

So, tell the next girl you see she's precious, stick a Post-It on your bathroom mirror to remind yourself you're beautiful, be aware that being a princess is so much more than 'Happily Ever After' and great hair, and make sure the little eyes and ears around you know that kind words will change lives, real friends are forever, and everyone deserves to know they are someone.

Treat yourself to a princess day, today. . . and everyday.

-Stephi D.

My Fair Lady. . . Or Yours, If You're Lucky

So, here's the deal, lovers- I am far from perfect in the relationship department. . . in fact I have a few failures under my belt, but as some of you know I am opinionated. . . a little. And there has been something on my mind for a while now. . . and I believe it's time to share it with the world. . . also known as my "friends list" on Facebook.


It is 2011 and I am 24 years of age, but over the last year I feel as if I have reversed the years by many and increased my age by plenty. Why, you ask? Let me give you a little back story. . .


Until two years ago I was in a relationship that lasted four years. It began in my Senior year of high school and he was three years younger than me. When the time came and we parted ways, I found myself in my twenties having never actually dated a boy in his twenties. . . and this realization hit me like a mack truck; it left me breathless; it fucking terrified me. So what did I do? I set out to date a boy in his twenties. . . it was not a pretty time, folks. The air was thick and saucy with desperation. I would think a guy was cute and commence into full throttle Facebook stalk-age, trying to figure out if he was in a relationship, and clearly, it all led nowhere because I was being ridiculous and clingy and weird. In the event of a guy actually taking an interest in me and giving me his number, I would find reasons to text him on a regular basis- trying to find out what he was doing, whom he was with, and how late he would be out. It never ended well, I never got asked out on dates, and eventually they would end up not answering my text messages. I, ladies and gentlemen, was a hot, scary, terrified mess.


In the last year, over many pep talks, prayers to Jesus, and therapeutic writing on this blog, I realized that I need not Facebook stalk or cell phone creep. . . because I am worth more than chasing some dude around. Can I get a hell yea?


Ladies, it is 2011 and guys. . .well some of them have gotten lazy (sorry, fellas. . . bear with me, please.) Just because our T.V.s are in color now, and not black and white, just because girls wear jeans, and not corsets with fine, lacy dresses, just because it's the modern day and texting is the new communication norm, girls are ballsier than ever, and flowers are not a first date must, it does not mean that guys get to say "let's kick it sometime" and then wait on you to set up the plans. I have experienced this very situation recently and I am here to tell you, and him if he's reading, I am sticking to my guns, baby.


It is 2011 and here are my new rules when it comes to dating: If you are interested in me, make sure to "friend" me on the Internet, make sure we have each other's numbers, but never specifically set up a time to take me to dinner, call me to talk, or look at me outside of a club- you will continue to be interested in me and not take me to dinner, call me to talk, or look at me outside of a club. Because I am a lady; I may say fuck more times than your dirty uncle Leonard, I might flirt with you openly, in public, after a couple beers, and I may text you from time to time to say, and I quote, "I hope you're having a good week!" but I am a lady. I want you to work for my time, I want you to call me and get to know me, I want you to take the time to set up an afternoon or evening in which we can communicate when there is not LMFAO singing "I'm sexy and I know it" in the background, when there is not liquor being dumped down my back, when there is not alcohol present to make us both "braver."


I am confident that this will work out for the both of us, in the end, because how many guys really want  a girl who is always right there, always texting him to say what's up, always chasing after him instead of looking over her shoulder with a look that says 'come hither' ? Clearly not that many because last year I was that girl. . . and it was lonely. I am confident that if I enter into a relationship making sure you know that, at my core, I am a girl who wants to feel like a princess, I am a girl who wants to be swept off her feet, I am a girl who is aware that it is 2011, but sees no issue with you opening my car doors, showing up with a flower from time to time, and you know. . . acting like you actually enjoy pursuing me, getting to know me, making some plans - a very solid relationship has the capability of growing.


I realize that every girl reading this is not going to agree with me. I am sure there are some girls out there who can walk into a room, point at a guy, and it all be done, unfortunately God did not think it would be fair to give me the eyelashes I have and this trait. . . so I simply have good eyelashes- therefore I do not have the option of walking into a room and owning it in any way I see fit. I realize that some ladies like being the ones to take charge, set up plans, and make the moves. . . and on the real, more power to you. . . rock on- I value the ways in which you work. I just wish guys realized that there is absolutely nothing wrong with romancing a girl from time to time.


I take no issue, once I'm in a relationship, at calling first or suggesting a date night, but right now? Before you know my favorite color, that my eyes are green most of the time, but all the time, that Drops of Jupiter is my all time favorite song, but I can rap with Wayne like I'm Nicki Minaj- you should be the one to set up a date night and call me first. . . because I want to be the old married lady with a husband that still thinks I'm a rock star after 50 years, I want to be the girl who has a guy that adores her and wants everyone to know it, I want to be courted. And I don't think what year it is has a god damn thing to do with it.


It is 2011 and I am 24 years of age. I am also single, but because I am standing my ground, telling you what I want, and knowing what I deserve- I won't be single forever, and when I'm no longer single. . . it'll be just right.


Ladies- make sure he knows he's damn lucky to have you on his arm, make sure he knows how a real man treats a real lady, and make sure you're both aware of how priceless your heart is.


Gents- make sure she knows you want to be a part of her life, make sure she knows you know you're lucky to be there, and for heaven's sake- open her car door, tell her she smells good, and buy her a friggin rose from time to time!


Whether you are a girl who loves to chase or a girl who wants to be chased; whether you are a guy who likes a forward girl or a guy who likes to make the moves- make sure you know what you each deserve and realize that, even though it's 2011, a girl always hopes for a little fairy-tale. . . and she deserves that, too.


-Stephi D.

So This is Love. . .

Let's talk about this. . . When did you realize you truly knew and understood the concept of love, as it is described above? I don't know that this is the definition by which everyone else operates under for the meaning of love, but this is truly, quite, almost, exactly what I believe love to be.

When I was in 6th grade, I thought I knew what love was. In 6th grade love was me thinking a boy was cute, going to the movies with him on the weekends, and letting him kiss me in the back seat of my mom's car. I also happened to think that love meant being insanely jealous, controlling, and mean to get your way. It is very sad, at 24, to look back and think that for so many years, that was the idea I had about love. When exactly did I stop believing in the prince that swept me off my feet with adoration and start to believe in a guy who would threaten to "kick the ass" of any other guy who looked or spoke to me in a way that he saw unfit?

When I was a freshman, I thought love was staying with a guy, whether I was truly happy or not, because he told me he loved me, he called me beautiful, and he bought me a "promise ring." I also happened to think that when a guy was there through one of the single most difficult times of your life, he deserved to have my whole heart, no matter what I was neglecting in myself in the meantime. It is difficult to look back on that time in my life and realize that I had so effortlessly convinced myself that because someone withstood the pain and sadness I was going through, I didn't deserve any better but him. When did I stop believing in a unified happiness between two people and start to believe that not hurting  someone else was more important than me being happy, period?

When I was a junior, I thought love was giving myself to someone in a way no one else had experienced me. I also thought love was finding a best friend in someone and convincing myself it was the kind of relationship, the real, true love I'd always dreamed of. It is interesting to look back at this time in my life, at the person I gave myself to, and know that while I will never regret it, I may have been too quick to decide who received me in that way. . . and as a result, try to make some long lasting love out of it. When did I stop believing in the fiery passion that overtook your senses and start to believe that love was something you had to make fiery and passionate?

As a senior, I thought love was starting a relationship with honesty, taking things slow, and getting to know someone on their level. I also thought that after four years with one person, planning the house we would build together, naming our hypothetical children together, deciding the ways in which we would save money together, love was being able to step back and realize that I may not be everything he needs me to be, I may be the cause of more than a few fights between he and his parents, I may be who he think he's supposed to marry because I've been his first and only girlfriend. Love was being able to look myself in the mirror and recognize that I was never going to be athletic like he wanted me to be, I was never going to be patient enough to handle the child he still harboured inside, and I was never going to be able to overlook people that had hurt him in his life that he would one day need to forgive, in order to heal.

As a junior in college I knew love was loving someone enough to know that even though this relationship was far from being over, it needed to end. . . because we were both putting too much of ourselves into the each other when we needed to be putting a lot more of ourselves into ourselves.

At 24 I know that love, real love, is recognizing when someone you love may not be the right person for you. Real love is wanting some one's happiness, whether that happiness is at your hands or someone else's. Real love is knowing when you need to step back, when you need to give someone their freedom, and when  you need to learn to love yourself so that when the right person comes along, you can give them everything and it will be right. 

No one ever said love was easy and I am pretty sure that even when it's right there are going to be times you want out, but I'm willing to bet that the same person that said it wasn't easy also mentioned that love was totally worth it. So whether you're in 6th grade and love means jealousy to you, you're a freshman and love means sticking it out even if it's not exactly where you want to be, you're a junior and love means going where you've never gone before with someone, you're a senior in high school and love means taking it slow and being honest, or you're in college and 24 and love means walking away from someone you thought held your future in their eyes . . . get to know you and before you give yourself to someone, take it slow, or quick, and start planning a future, make sure you're in love with yourself. Because if you aren't happy and in love with you, being happy and in love with someone else will never work.

Please know that real love is faithful, patient, and never jealous. Please know that real love is unforgettable, heart skipping beats, world on fire amazing. Please know that real love starts at home, when you look in the mirror and know exactly what you're worth and what you deserve.

-Stephi D.

Calling all Book Worms!

As a self proclaimed book worm and great lover of the Christmas season I have decided to dedicate today's blog to listing my top ten favorite books that you MUST read, or share as gifts! Here we go:

1. Anne of Green Gables by L.M. Montgomery

 The general synopsis of this book is about two unmarried adult siblings, Marilla and Matthew, that are getting older. They live on Green Gables in Prince Edward Island. They decide to adopt an orphan boy in order to help Matthew with farm work. When Matthew shows up at the train station to pick up the orphan boy he finds a freckled, red headed little girl by the name of Anne Shirley. Her spunk and talkative ways charm Matthew and he talks Marilla into keeping her. This first book in the series recount Anne becoming familiar with Greene Gables, meeting friends, and growing up.
             
I read this book for the first time in the 3rd or 4th grade and have re read it multiple times since then. It is considered a children's book, but I never cease to thoroughly enjoy it. When I am reading this book, I become Anne, I find myself totally enamoured with the White Way of Delight, I am "bosom friends" with Diana, and I thoroughly detest Gilbert Blythe. It is a beautiful coming of age story and remains my most favorite book of all time.

2. The Help by Kathryn Stockett
   

Be prepared to meet three unforgettable women:
Twenty-two-year-old Skeeter has just returned home after graduating from Ole Miss. She may have a degree, but it is 1962, Mississippi, and her mother will not be happy till Skeeter has a ring on her finger. Skeeter would normally find solace with her beloved maid Constantine, the woman who raised her, but Constantine has disappeared and no one will tell Skeeter where she has gone.
Aibileen is a black maid, a wise, regal woman raising her seventeenth white child. Something has shifted inside her after the loss of her own son, who died while his bosses looked the other way. She is devoted to the little girl she looks after, though she knows both their hearts may be broken.
Minny, Aibileen’s best friend, is short, fat, and perhaps the sassiest woman in Mississippi. She can cook like nobody’s business, but she can’t mind her tongue, so she’s lost yet another job. Minny finally finds a position working for someone too new to town to know her reputation. But her new boss has secrets of her own.
Seemingly as different from one another as can be, these women will nonetheless come together for a clandestine project that will put them all at risk. And why? Because they are suffocating within the lines that define their town and their times. And sometimes lines are made to be crossed.
 In pitch-perfect voices, Kathryn Stockett creates three extraordinary women whose determination to start a movement of their own forever changes a town, and the way women — mothers, daughters, caregivers, friends — view one another. A deeply moving novel filled with poignancy, humor, and hope, The Help is a timeless and universal story about the lines we abide by, and the ones we don't.         

This book blew my mind. I didn't read it as soon as it came out. . . I actually didn't read it until my gran recommended it and I read a review for the movie. The characters are rich with believable antics, voices, and memorable personalities. I find Stockett to be brave beyond belief at writing such a thought provoking, core shaking novel. I couldn't put it down and when I finished, I felt sad. I did see the movie, which was particularly good for a book adaptation, but as always, the screen cannot do justice to the words. This is a book about equality and recognizing that we are all from the same original fabric, no matter our color or social status.

3. Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen

Though he may not speak of them, the memories still dwell inside Jacob Jankowski’s ninety-something-year-old mind. Memories of himself as a young man, tossed by fate onto a rickety train that was home to the Benzini Brothers Most Spectacular Show on Earth. Memories of a world filled with freaks and clowns, with wonder and pain and anger and passion; a world with its own narrow, irrational rules, its own way of life, and its own way of death. The world of the circus: to Jacob it was both salvation and a living hell. Jacob was there because his luck had run out – orphaned and penniless, he had no direction until he landed on this locomotive “ship of fools”. It was the early part of the Great Depression, and everyone in this third-rate circus was lucky to have any job at all. Marlena, the star of the equestrian act, was there because she fell in love with the wrong man, a handsome circus boss with a wide mean streak. And Rosie the elephant was there because she was the great gray hope, the new act that was going to be the salvation of the circus; the only problem was, Rosie didn’t have an act – in fact, she couldn’t even follow instructions. The bond that grew among this unlikely trio was one of love and trust, and ultimately, it was their only hope for survival.         
This book was absolutely incredible. The ending is both astonishing and breath taking and totally unexpected. Although this novel is a love story between a man and a woman it is also a love story between humans and animals. It is a story that makes the reader aware of animal cruelty, human cruelty, and what it takes for hearts of all shapes and sizes to heal. Again, I could not put it down and recommend it to as many people as I can. Do not just see the movie. . . the book is more than worth the time and money.

4. My Sister's Keeper by Jodi Picoult

 Anna is not sick, but she might as well be. By age thirteen, she has undergone countless surgeries, transfusions, and shots so that her older sister, Kate, can somehow fight the leukemia that has plagued her since childhood. The product of preimplantation genetic diagnosis, Anna was conceived as a bone marrow match for Kate - a life and a role that she has never questioned… until now.
 
Like most teenagers, Anna is beginning to question who she truly is. But unlike most teenagers, she has always been defined in terms of her sister - and so Anna makes a decision that for most would be unthinkable… a decision that will tear her family apart and have perhaps fatal consequences for the sister she loves. My Sister's Keeper examines what it means to be a good parent, a good sister, a good person. Is it morally correct to do whatever it takes to save a child's life… even if that means infringing upon the rights of another? Is it worth trying to discover who you really are, if that quest makes you like yourself less?
    
 This was the first book I read by Jodi Picoult, and as many of you know, she is now my favorite author of all friggin time. No one writes quite like Picoult and I've never read stories or characters that resonate with me quite like Picoult's. My Sister's Keeper is the first book that ever truly made me sob. I'm not talking a quiet trickle of tears, I am talking full on, shoulder shaking, breath gasping, sobs. This is a story about the love of siblings and when a young child learns that everything their parents say and do is not, in fact, always right. It is not a happy ending type of book, but I promise you these characters and this story will remain with you long after you turn the last page.

5. Songs of the Humpback Whale by Jodi Picoult
           

  In this novel, Jodi Picoult interweaves five rich narrative voices to tell a story of love, loss, and self-discovery. The voices belong to a mother, her daughter, and three very different men.

Jane had always lived in somebody's shadow. Escaping a childhood of abuse by marrying oceanographer Oliver Jones, she finds herself taking second place to his increasingly successful career. However, when her daughter Rebecca is slighted, Jane's dramatic stand takes them all by surprise.
Leaving Oliver and his whale tapes behind in San Diego, Jane and Rebecca set out to drive across America to Uncle Joley and the sanctuary of the Massachusetts apple orchard where he works. Joley directs Jane across the United States in a series of letters waiting for her in designated post offices. Each letter gives concise directions to the next post office; each letter provides Jane with a chance to reflect on her forgotten past.
Oliver, used to tracking male humpback whales across vast oceans, now has the task of tracking his tantalizingly unpredictable wife across a continent. To do so he must learn to see the world-- and even himself-- through her eyes.
Songs of the Humpback Whale is a powerful and sensitive novel of family life that questions how songs are passed down from male speaker to male speaker, but also examines the female tradition of listening that women unconsciously pass on to their daughters.

Once again, Picoult left me speechless (as many of you know, this is a difficult task) with this heartbreaking novel about relationships between parents and children, first loves, and deciding when enough is enough and when to hold on a little bit longer. Again, this is not a fairy tale ending type of book, but the language took my breath away and there is a scene towards the end of the book in which the protagonist's daughter is described as "trying to rip her heart out" that made me weep and became a line I always come back to.

6. Birds in Fall by Brad Kessler

         

One fall night off the coast of a remote island in Nova Scotia, an airplane plummets to the sea as an innkeeper watches from the shore. Miles away in New York City, ornithologist Ana Gathreaux works in a darkened room full of sparrows, testing their migratory instincts. Soon, Ana will be bound for Trachis Island, along with other relatives of victims who converge on the site of the tragedy. As the search for survivors envelops the island, the mourning families gather at the inn, waiting for news of those they have lost. Here among strangers, and watched over by innkeeper Kevin Gearns, they form an unusual community, struggling for comfort and consolation. A Taiwanese couple sets out fruit for their daughter's ghost. A Bulgarian man plays piano in the dark, sending the music to his lost wife, a cellist. Two Dutch teenagers, a brother and sister, rage against their parents' death. An Iranian exile, mourning his niece, recites the Persian tales that carry the wisdom of centuries.
At the center of "Birds in Fall" lies Ana Gathreaux, whose story Brad Kessler tells with deep compassion: from her days in the field with her husband, observing and banding migratory birds, to her enduring grief and gradual reengagement with life.
Kessler's knowledge of the natural world, music, and myth enriches every page of this hauntingly beautiful and moving novel about solitude, love, losing your way, and finding something like home.

I had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Kessler at Wright State when he did a reading for one of my Creative Writing classes. He did a reading from another book, but while he was reading I felt as though I was experiencing a religion. Kessler is eloquently beautiful with words and I was mesmerized. I received this book as a gift and it remains one of the most delicious pieces of fiction I've ever laid eyes on. It truly is a story about the human condition and the devestation that happens when we are reminded of our human-ness. This is a beautiful book.

7. Keeping the Moon by Sarah Dessen

Colie expects the worst when she’s sent to spend the summer with her eccentric aunt Mira while her mother, queen of the television infomercial, tours Europe. Always an outcast — first for being fat and then for being “easy” — Colie has no friends at home and doesn’t expect to find any in Colby, North Carolina. But then she lands a job at the Last Chance Cafe and meets fellow waitresses Morgan and Isabel, best friends with a loving yet volatile relationship. Wacky yet wise, Morgan and Isabel help Colie see herself in a new way and realize the potential that has been there all along.

Sarah Dessen is my favorite YA author. She writes both humor and emotion with astute clarity and every character and story that has her name on it is believable and relative. I think this is my most favorite Dessen novel because it is all about coming into your own skin and liking what you see and feel. Colie gives voice to every young girl's insecurities and to their wishes and desires.

8. Such a Pretty Fat: One Narcissist's Quest to Discover if Her Life Makes Her Ass Look Big; or, Why Pie is Not the Answer by Jen Lancaster
  
       
 Are you tired of books where the self-loathing heroine is teased to the point where she starves herself tiny in hopes of a fabulous new life?  Do you hate the message that we women can't possibly be happy until we fit into our skinny jeans? 
Yeah?  Well, Jen Lancaster is, too. 
 Jen doesn't find stories like this uplifting; rather, they make her want to hug these women and take them out for fizzy champagne drinks and cheesecake and explain to them that until they figure out their insides, their outsides don't matter.
Unfortunately, being overweight isn't simply a societal issue that can be fixed with a dose of positive self-esteem. 
 It's a health matter, so on the eve of Jen's 40th birthday she decides to make changes so she doesn't, you know, die.  Because what good is finally being able to afford a pedicure if she loses a foot to adult onset diabetes?

 This book. . . is batshit crazy funny. I laughed so hard I had tears running down my face. She is everything I love: sarcastic, negative, loves food, and hell bent on being heard. I love this book, I love this author. Go get it. NOW.

9. The Sky is Everywhere by Jandy Nelson

Seventeen-year-old Lennie Walker, bookworm and band geek, plays second clarinet and spends her time tucked safely and happily in the shadow of her fiery older sister, Bailey.
But when Bailey dies abruptly, Lennie is catapulted to center stage of her own life—and, despite her nonexistent history with boys, suddenly finds herself struggling to balance two. Toby was Bailey's boyfriend; his grief mirrors Lennie's own. Joe is the new boy in town, a transplant from Paris whose nearly magical grin is matched only by his musical talent. For Lennie, they're the sun and the moon; one boy takes her out of her sorrow, the other comforts her in it. But just like their celestial counterparts, they can't collide without the whole wide world exploding.
 Just as much a celebration of love as it is a portrait of loss, Lennie's struggle to sort her own melody out of the noise around her is always honest, often hilarious, and ultimately unforgettable.

I totally stumbled upon this book by accident at Wal-Mart and I am so incredibly bad I did. This novel is beyond amazing as it follows a young woman during two of the most important and unforgettable times in a person's life: your first love and your first loss. I could not put this book down and I cannot wait for Jandy Nelson to write something else. This book is about growing up, growing into your skin, and learning to love it there.

10. Here on Earth  by Alice Hoffman

     
After nearly twenty years of living in California, March Murray, along with her fifteen-year-old daughter, Gwen, returns to the sleepy Massachusetts town where she grew up to attend the funeral of Judith Dale, the beloved housekeeper who raised her. Yet returning to her hometown also brings her back to Hollis, March's former soul mate and lover. March's father had taken the teenaged Hollis, an abandoned child, and the product of a series of detention homes, into his house as a boarder, and treated him like a son. Yet March and Hollis's passionate love was hardly a normal sibling relationship. When Hollis left her after a petty fight, March waited for him three long years, wondering what she had done wrong.
Encountering Hollis again makes March acutely aware of the choices that she has made, and the choices everyone around her has made--including Mrs. Dale, who knew more of love than March could ever have suspected, and her brother Alan, whose tragic history has left him grief-struck, with alcohol as his only solace. Her attraction to Hollis is overwhelming and March jeopardizes her marriage, her relationship with her daughter and her own happiness in an attempt to reclaim the past.

Alice Hoffman is one of my favorite authors and this is by far her best book. It's all about first loves revisited and the toxicity that can accompany them. I don't even know if I can put into words why this book means so much to me, but it blew me away. She writes unforgettable fiction.

So, that's it, folks! My top ten books of all time. . . until I discover another amazing one! But seriously- these authors and books have touched my life, opened my eyes, and nestled inside my heart for one reason or another. . . and as an aspiring author, there is no higher goal than to have a blog written about the way I touch someone's life and heart with words. Please go read these books! Or share them. . .  Give someone a reason to fall in love with words.

-Stephi D.

*All book synopsis are from each author's website.

Table for Two, Please

You know those lists we all make. . . questions we need answers to before we decide if someone we are interested in will make the "cut." Okay, maybe you all don't have these lists, but I do. Questions like "what's your favorite ice cream flavor?" "if you could have any super power, what would it be and why?" "do you fold the toilet paper with the extra hanging over the roll or below it or, do you play it cool and have a nice basket of T.P. next to your toilet?" You know, the really important things one must know about a significant other. I always have many more questions of this caliber of importance, but there is a particular one I am very interested in knowing. . . because I am a naturally curious person: "if you could have dinner with anyone, alive or passed, who would it be and why?"
I think it is a fun, interesting question and will often lead to other conversation topics and has the potential for revealing more about their personalities than what they are actually saying to you. In thinking about this particular question I have decided I will answer it for you. . . but I will answer it by process of trial and error. Let's go.

An initial response would clearly be the always nerd-chic John Krasinski. I have admired him from a far for many a moon. . . but what sealed the deal on his sex symbol status was when he appeared as love sick best friend Ethan in "Something Borrowed." There really is nothing quite like a man who can sport low slung, tight in the ass, blue jeans and a lovable smile to get a bookworm's heart a pumpin'. That being said, John would not be my final choice for dinner date because of the following reasons: a). I am not in any way, shape, or form as scandalously smokin' hot as his wife, Emily Blunt. b). I would surely be carted off by some form of body guard/police officer/great protector of John seriously sexy Krasinski because I would just have to know whether he was of the boxer or brief wearing family. c). I am stupendously positive that in my great, amorous, not unhealthy at all, devotion to him I would surely bring the art of blubbering to an unparalleled height.

Another quick to name choice would be Natalie Portman. She is stylish, beautiful, and brilliant on screen, but she's also extremely intelligent and trained as a ballerina for Black Swan, I don't think I need to give you many more reasons as to why she would be an obvious choice. I could imagine us meeting at a very hip, but not mainstream, coffee shop that boasts their delicious soy and chai drinks. We would meet at a quiet table near the back of an outdoor patio. . . there would be umbrellas over the tables with different floral designs and with each purchase of a beverage one receives a small square chocolate. I am sure that conversation would be both eventful and stimulating and give me an insider's look on this well known woman's life and as much as I thoroughly enjoy this scene in my head, she will not end up as my final choice. . . here are a couple reasons: a). the bitch is skinny, beautiful, but skinny and I am. . . well, not. So there are strong chances I would order extra beverages just to receive the free chocolates and then feel like a complete lard as she would daintily nibble on a small corner of her square of chocolate, only to announce moments later she was "totally stuffed." b). She trained as a ballerina for Black Swan. I am not too proud to admit that, at 24, I still maintain glorious, fairy-tale like dreams in which I will dance in a beautifully created, lace tu-tu, center stage with toe shoes on, tiara and all. I fear that a meeting with the ever graceful Natalie Portman would bring a crashing reality check down on my childhood aspirations.

Anyone who knows me well knows that I have a strong infatuation with Marilyn Monroe. She was a bad ass lady, a total fox, and she got to swap spit with some good looking guys (what up, Frank Sinatra?) I think we would probably skip the meal, go straight to the bottles of wine, and talk about all the important things in life: lipstick, perfume, and what braziers make your girls say 'bonjour' the right boys. Although this would most clearly be the best girls night in existence, I fear Marilyn would not be my final choice, either. . . because: a). She was a blonde. . . I take that back. . . she was the blonde. No one rocked blonde like she did before her time and no one has yet to rock it like her since. I have an inferiority complex around blondes. They, apparently, have more fun, they tend to catch a fella's attention above any other hair color, and. . . well, I am just insecure. b). She's friggin Marilyn MONROE. c). My mother was named after Marilyn. As you all know, my mother is the cat's meow, the dog's tuxedo, the SHIZ. If I were to meet Ms. Monroe and realize she and my mother have nothing in common save their name, I don't believe I could handle it. Because, as far as I'm concerned, my mom is the best Marilyn around. . . so I'll just keep each of these lovelies on their separate, albeit high, pedestals.

As another male option, I would likely pick John Mayer as a gut reaction. Now, bear with me here. . . he is beautiful, his voice makes my knees shake, and any man who can play a guitar like that will jump right to the front of the line of what might make Stephi lose her shit and flash said sexy crooner. But, alas, Mr. Mayer. . . you will not have the pleasure of making my acquaintance. Here's why: a). That picture of you in People magazine in the neon green unitard that cupped your junk? So. Not. Sexy. b). I thoroughly maintain you are a giant dickwad, douchehound, son-of-a-bitch. Why did you say those things about Jessica and Jennifer in Playboy, huh? Who talks smack about Jennifer Aniston?! And Taylor Swift. Really, dude? She's an infant. . . why'd you have to go and mess her up (but kudos to T.Swift for rocking that song, "Dear John.") c). Because you are potentially the douchiest of douches, I would very much take pleasure in making you sing for me (acoustic, of course) my favorite song of yours, then proceed to throw a bow at your face and knee you in your genals. . . and really? I enjoy your voice far too much to risk you losing a testicle and somehow altering that. (I realize medically this may have no effect on his voice. . . but I think you see where I'm going with it, anyway.)

Now, as I am sure I have you all on the very edge of your seats, I will finally reveal to you who I would choose for my dinner partner for one night. Ready? Okay. . . my grandma Arlene.
For those of you who do not know, that is my mommy's mommy. Aside from never having met this glorious woman, there are various other reasons I would pick her above anyone else: a). I desperately wish I had anecdotes of when my mom was little. I know that Nana (that's what I would've called her) would have a ton of stories for me. b). My Nana used to make my mom's clothing. . . so I would've have handmade outfits, possibly formal dresses, and maybe someday a wedding dress that was crafted, in same way, by my grandmother's hands. c). She was elegant, sophisticated, and totally loving. I strongly believe she was exactly who my mom is. . . and who wouldn't want two of those people in their life? d) She would've looked at me and believed in everything I believe in, she would've been at all of the football and basketball games I cheered at, she would've ordered extra buttons, wallets, and 8x10 photographs to decorate her home with, she would've taught me a few things mom may have forgotten and we would've talked on the phone everyday. e). She's my history. And everyday since I've learned her name, I've missed her. A dinner with her would be like coming home. A dinner with her would never be enough time, but at least I would be able to memorize the lines in her face, the smell of her skin, the feeling her smile would cause to my heart.

So here's the deal. . . my favorite ice cream flavor? Mint chocolate chip. My choice super power? To fly. . . because it would bring me closer to God. My toilet paper situation? In a basket, because I'm far too lazy to replace the rolls on the wall. My dinner partner? My Nana. What does this say about me? Even through all the sarcasm, the fun, the knowledge about who was in what film, who wrote what book, and who dated whom in Hollywood- none of this really matters or says anything about the kind of girl I am, if you don't know my family. . . 'cause they're my roots, my beginning and ending, my motivation, my questions, but most importantly, my family. . . well they're my answers, above all- they are the answers to all the most important inquiries.


Who would you take to dinner, if you had your pick?

-Stephi D.