Well then...

Hi guys! It's been a couple weeks, hasn't it? not without purpose, I promise. I've managed to swing gainful employment, had the annual celebration of the best holiday ever (Halloween, duh), and of course, this election.

This election that went to show how devastatingly divided this country truly is, on nearly every political issue under the sun. It's been... rough. 

But! The primary purpose for my absence and, subsequently, this post, is to formally announce my hiatus! I'll be sans-blog post until the beginning of December, because I am currently focusing all of my writing energy into NaNoWriMo, National Novel Writing Month for those not in the know. It's what I'm doing for November!!

So... catch you guys on the flip side!

Loud Places, Fast Paces

Everyone has a preferred place to be. There are multiple reasons behind the patterned sprawl of people across the planet, and one of those reasons is each person's ideal population density. For clarity's sake, we'll say it's a difference between introverts and extroverts. When I was applying for colleges, I was encouraged to think of the environments I would be in to learn, keeping my extroverted tendencies in mind. Top priorities were definitely getting the majors and classes I wanted. Secondarily, and also incredibly important, was the locale. I knew immediately I needed to go to a big, city-based school.

A little context... My high school, North Penn, was over 3,000 students, sophomores through seniors. They didn't have the room to fit freshmen, so that class was split between the three middle schools. My graduating class was, as a rule of thumb, four times larger than most anybody else's that I've met. And I loved every second of it. Not that high school held the best years of my life - no, more like it cultivated my taste in learning atmospheres.

I knew I needed a large place with lots of different individuals. I wanted the opportunity to meet new people and try new things every single day. A city, a cultural hub mishmashing diverse lifestyles together, would be essential. I looked at Boston, New York City, Philadelphia, and Pittsburgh. Pittsburgh was the only city I hadn't been to before college applications. It became my city for several years. 

I have since returned to my hometown, making the closest big city Philadelphia. For being in the same state, the two cities couldn't be more different. But both of them give me the same feeling, a sensation I get from being in a city. There's this fantastic rush, of thousands of lives zipping past. Lights and glass and concrete are flecked with trees and food vendors. It's a wild cornucopia of smells and colors. The surge of emotion is a little like lightheadedness, a little like an adrenaline rush. It can't be replicated from one place to the other, because each city has its own twist or accent to that feeling. It's what causes people to write about cities as living organisms - because they are, in the sense that there's a pulse of life stirred by the bustle of others hustling about their days. It kicks up this energy that makes your eyes go wide, that carries a metallic taste on the breeze. 

It's the strangely reassuring unnatural environments humanity has built for itself, close and cramped and always moving. And it's amazing.

A Refined Palate

In my prior post, I spoke of my deep persistent hatred for zombies. I did, however, give the caveat that maybe someday down the line, that could change. I've lived enough life (yeah, a quarter century is a good start) to notice a trend for myself and others around me. Tastes change.

There're different kinds of taste to determine preference for. There's literal taste, the tastebuds on your tongue convey information to your brain and establish what you want to eat. And there's what one finds appealing in experiences. The stories they read, the sports they play, the places they go, all of those factors filter into set up each person's unique lifestyle tastes. Changing tastes in the latter aspect was touched on in my post about sloppy stories - with time, I grew to expect more from the media I consume. My tastes changed. 

Fun fact about flavor-taste: the average human palate is constantly developing. Babies have sensitivity to sweetness and bitterness from birth (evolutionarily, sweet meant more energy, bitter meant poisonous) but don't really show signs of reacting to saltiness until at least 5 months. After that, the tastebuds one has keep altering, before essentially settling on your final tastes around 35 to 40 years of age, without any other outside influences. From 40 to 50 years old, some tastebuds start dying while others start to shrink. Around age 60 onward, it will become increasingly difficult to separate different flavors or their categories on the palate. Salty and sweet may become indistinguishable. 

This is a slower process than it seems, and might not even be as severe as indicated depending on how your mouth was treated. But that's FORTY YEARS of constant growth and change beforehand! When I was 8, I hated mushrooms. At age 12 I realized what I had been missing out on by waiting on trying mushrooms again. For the longest time, I despised rice. It took stir-fry and sushi to ween me back onto it, but now I enjoy a good rice side. Up until very recently, polenta triggered my gag reflex something awful, but I can finally be a proper Italian and enjoy the cheesy goodness. 

So, much like tastebuds, personal tastes are constantly changing. If you're reading this, odds are you're not a hermit secluded from society. The outside influences of other people and their experiences and opinions influence each and every one of us in many different ways. We are not stagnant. We are vivacious, we are alive! It seems appropriate that I chose October to write so much about change. That's gotta be the pinnacle theme of Autumn! Because there is so much continuous change, it's worth giving things another chance. I felt like, the first time I wrote that, it didn't have the full argument I wanted for it to back it up. So here it is. Give your least favorite food another shot. Try out that one texture that bothers you after a year of avoiding it. Take another look at that show you dismissed early on in the first episode. Pick up that book you didn't think you were ready for.

Embrace your change.

Spooky Scary

We're going to learn a few things about Megan today. Tis the season, after all. The season... to be afraid!

Which I'm really opposed to, by the way. The primary factoid Factoid Prime, I really dislike scary things. Jump scares get me, every time, no matter how prepared I am for them. Long drawn out suspense terrifies me, and never in a, "Oh boy, rush of adrenaline, can't wait for more of that!" way. I once went to a lock-in movie night where the theme was horror movies. BIG mistake. I bundled up in the hallway outside the movie room in my sleeping bag, reading by flashlight. BUT EVEN THEN! I was in a long, dark hallway by myself, with horror movie sounds vaguely creeping out from under the door, and the trilling sound of horror movie soundtracks echoing against the tile floors. So I went back into the room because at least there were people there. 

But they were respectful movie viewers. Everyone was quietly attentive to the movies. Not even a little riffing on the hoakier aspects of the movies. I could have been as genre savvy as humanly possible and it would have done me no good. I was wide awake until my dad came to pick me up around dawn. I was afraid to be alone in the car when he ran to do some errands at Lowe's on the way home. 

This can only be topped, however, by my paralyzing, persisting fear of zombies. It's funny, because the fear naturally arose with the spike in popularity in media. With every new zombie movie, with the zombie retellings of classic books, with the video games of gunning down whole hoards of zombies, I could not escape it. I even went to see Zombieland in theaters, in hopes that a zombie-related comedy would make this exposure therapy easier to suffer. It was funny, entertaining, I had a good time. I woke up in cold sweats from nightmares for the next month. 

Now, anyone who knows me knows I love Halloween. I recently met some old friends of my dad's, and when they asked me about plans for Halloween, they remarked how I was my father's daughter in loving the holiday, in making my own costumes. I've gone through and put up with a lot of scary things to enjoy Halloween. It's because I want to, though. It isn't always easy. At some point, however, I decided to own my fear. I would like to think that I'm a big tough gal who 'don't afeared of no thing,' but I'm not. I am comfortable with laughing off that I'm a big chicken. I've made a point to go through haunted houses and hayrides with friends, MST3K-ing the whole way through with panicked laughter. I was proud when I muscled through watching Stranger Things so I could talk about the great characters. 

I can be stubborn. I'm definitely someone who learns through experience and mistakes. So it's taken me a while to come to this conclusion, but here we are... It's okay to be afraid. Oh snap, it was an analogy! I am able to enjoy Halloween, despite so much of it playing host to things that terrify me. I can allow myself to be scared in life, in giving things a try or taking a chance. Good can still come from it. I also can avoid things I know will only bring me pain, like zombies. But, and most importantly, I can acknowledge that the world is always changing, much like I am changing. Giving something another chance can be worth it. Maybe, someday down the line, I won't have an irrational fear of the undead. 

Maybe. =]

Sloppy Stories

One of the arcs I've noted in my personal growth has been the development of my awareness. Ignorance diminishes with age. That's the rule of thumb, at least - as you experience more of the world, the more you learn about it. There is the choice to shut out all of the unpleasantries and turn a blind eye to it in the future. Some manage to be selective about the realities they let into their lives. I'm not too good about picking and choosing. That's just me.

I don't like how this is starting to sound like a diatribe on the dark, scary world, a cruel and unforgiving life experience we all must deal with. Actually, that's not what I'm going for here. Becoming aware of the many hatreds that run deep in our society hasn't made me lose hope for humanity. There are plenty of good people, and most importantly, good people working on being better people, out there every day. Humans aren't a lost cause. No, no, I'm speaking to how my own awareness has changed the way I view stories.

Essentially, my standards have risen. As I've grown older, I've learned to expect more from the media I consume. TV shows, movies, books, video games - any platform that tells a story has the opportunity to shape the minds of the viewers, to make them think. The people presented, what they say, and how they are treated, all funnels into the representation of those the story's portraying. 

I assert that stories are the key to planting the seeds of acceptance on a global scale. As a story writer, I feel the weight of that responsibility. I want to write about diverse characters, to give a broader scope to the role of protagonist. Most importantly, I want to be able to do it respectfully. I'm a woman who has experienced sexism first hand. I'm also white, of able body, and in the position to perceptually meet many social norms. Discrimination against me is limited, and writing what I know will require more research to do correctly. But it is possible.

I am not the only story writer out there (obviously). There are those who do not think to write with more diverse representation. There are those who opt not to, either for fear of losing mass appeal or because they are worried about doing it right. But there are those who do not veer towards sloppy story telling that relies on the standard, the expected. These creators should be sought out and supported. I want to find relatability across the whole human spectrum. And I implore you to do the same. Really consider the shows you binge, the movies you pay to see, the books you dedicate your time to, the video games you escape to. Could they expect more from their audience? Can they do better by you?

Certainty

There's this show, Master of None. It's a great little series on Netflix featuring Aziz Ansari as a 30-yr-old in NYC struggling with decisions in his career and relationship, all while staring down the barrel of his future fraught with vagueness and uncertainty. The first time I watched the show about a year ago (when it first came out), I walked away from it with a bad taste in my mouth. At the time, I wasn't able to put it into words, what bothered me so much about the show that on paper should have been enjoyable yet thoughtful entertainment. 

I have recently rewatched the finale of the first/presently only season. I think I have some words now.

For those who have not watched and plan to, I'll speak with enough vagueness so as to not spoil, but keep details that will maintain clarity. For those who have already watched, we're all on the same page. For those who will never watch, please refer to the earlier statement of vagueness and clarity. Guess you're along for the ride!

Dev, the protagonist portrayed by Aziz Ansari, is at a crossroads in his life. He doesn't know exactly what he wants to do with his professional pursuits. He worries about the state of his romantic relationship. He feels like he is being steered onto a path with no surprises or excitement - marriage, kids, mortgage, retirement, death. When he speaks to his father about his misgivings, his father quotes Sylvia Plath's The Bell Jar, referencing the woman standing before a fig tree. The tree branches off in many directions, each direction with a juicy fig at the end. But while standing before the tree and wallowing in indecision, the figs begin to wrinkle and fall off the tree. Options were lost, opportunities withered up. 

A key issue I take with Dev's bleak view of the rut he feels stuck in is that said rut clearly isn't what he wants. Otherwise, it would not produce such a bleak outlook. While married life is definitely not for everyone, people who lean towards it should never do so out of obligation or societal pressure. He imagines wedding vows as these impossible promises, shackles binding him into a future he would be taking because otherwise, he might miss out on it later. The resignation to the assumed order of things keeps Dev on this path. The fear of lost opportunity is what drives Dev in the actions he takes with his relationship. 

Most importantly, the fear that Dev nurtures hurts his own judgement. It makes him feel like he needs to go through life with 100% certainty on anything he is committing to. He looks at his relationship and worries when he's not certain it will last. He looks at the jobs he's had and the failures and successes he's met and doesn't feel certain all of his efforts have been properly allocated. All at the same time he's not certain he wants to move onto something else, something new. What Dev fails to realize (and the missing message of the show) is that he doesn't need to be 100% certain on anything in life. In fact, certainty is such a difficult thing to come by in any aspect of living. He looks at other people and mistakes their determination to make something work as certainty that it will work. 

The specific words I didn't have before that I've found now are that, doubt is everywhere. Tough, life-altering choices can be easily found in the day to day. Being uncertain is part of it. But taking risks and chances can be worth it, and making one choice does not necessarily mean cutting off all others. It's the norm to have fear of the unknown. It should not be the norm to be complacent with the known. 

Kinda Dark

I was raised on Disney animated classics. Beauty and the Beast is about as old as I am oh geez that's a little haunting and was definitely highly ranked on my preferred viewing list. My parents have fondly recalled me requesting a nightlight of "Beast-growl," who was the best character in my tiny child heart. That wasn't The Favorite of mine, though. Apparently I watched Dumbo so many times it's a surprise I don't have it permanently etched into the backs of my eyelids. But I digress...

There's something wholesome about the Disney animated retellings of classic fairy tales. I mean, that only makes sense. It's clear from the Disney branding that the end goal is family friendly fun. Family friendly fun wasn't much of the original focus for these stories, though.

It was a rude awakening for me, going into The Brothers Grimm Fairy Tales. Perhaps a little less jarring than it could have been - I read those stories fairly early on in my childhood. Had I waited until I was older, the experience might have straight up concerned me. In fact, it was super grim(m). Cinderella's step sisters cut off parts of their feet to fit into the glass slipper, trying to con their way to princesshood. Sleeping Beauty has a whole second part where an Ogre Queen wants to eat the children of the awoken princess and her prince. Snow White has to thwart the evil queen three separate times, and in some editions, the queen dies dancing in red hot shoes at Snow White's wedding. Disney's Tangled was in theaters only six years ago, so hardly in my childhood, but the Grimm Brothers' version was a far throw from the chipper animated movie with chameleon and horse sidekicks and a frying pan-wielding princess. Rapunzel's parents gave her over to their neighbor witch as a new born because Rapunzel's mom craved the witch's lettuce (rapunzel) so badly, she promised her first born child for it. Oh and later the prince falls out of the tower Rapunzel's kept in and blinds himself on thorns. Oh and Rapunzel became a single mom raising hers and the prince's children on her own. Oh but he shows up years later and her tears on his eyes cures his blindness so it's practically a happy ending! 

... practically...

Not all Disney fairy tales are soft-edged Grimm Brothers adaptations, though. There's many more from different cultures around the world (though it would seem that Germany sure knew how to craft a mean folk tale) but I'm gonna turn the scrutiny on Hans Christian Anderson and his little ditty known as The Little Mermaid. This is the one that gets me the most, because Hans Christian Anderson doesn't really have the same reputation as the Brothers Grimm. Which almost makes it worse, in my opinion. The Brothers Grimm just published the fairy tales they dug up, even softening some things up for their audience like how they changed it to Snow White's evil jealous step-mother rather than her evil jealous birth mother. It seemed kinder to have an evil force come in from outside the family to want to kill Snow White. But oooohhh Hans, no, Hans Christian Anderson wrote all of the stories he's got to his name. 

So why's The Little Mermaid being especially singled out here? Well, in the original story, the little mermaid (or TLM to her friends) doesn't even have a soul. She's mostly fish. She doesn't get human emotions. She thinks the human prince is cute and wants his hot prince body but she doesn't truly get what love is, exactly. The sea witch is a pretty neutral player here, just telling TLM all the side effects of becoming human and the sacrifices she'd be making. TLM becomes human, and whoops, actually falls in love with the prince, but he doesn't love her (oh no). So TLM's sisters come to her with a knife to kill the prince that will allow her to return to the sea. But she loves him now, so she can't go killing him, and instead, she dies. What the heck.

Now, this is a pretty Christianity-based story. TLM can't go to heaven and have that concept of eternal life after death because she has no soul because she was a fish person. But! Good News! She ascends to join the daughters of the air, who can earn souls with 300 years of good deeds. But! Bad News! This is heavily reliant on children being good and bad. When a child is good, a year is taken off the 300. When a child is bad, the daughters of the air cry and a day is added to the 300 for every tear they shed. Which is a pretty messed up moral blackmail to slap onto the end of an already pretty messed up story about nobody being really happy except the prince, who gets to marry another lady and live none the wiser to the deeper story going on around him. 

And this is the stuff that children still watch today! People looked at the original works and thought, somehow, they could shave off all the nasty bits except the main conflict, and show this to small children. Except it was all originally written or told mainly FOR children! 

From all of this, I draw mainly two conclusions. 1) Children can handle a lot more darkness than they're given credit for. 2) Hans Christian Anderson was one messed up dude and probably would have had the Brothers Grimm going back to his works to liven them up a bit.