Sarah Strohmeyer's Blog - Posts Tagged "smart-girls-get-what-they-want"
Kissing. Kissing. And More Kissing
Why has this taken me so long to figure out that what I want is what I want in my books, those that I read and those I write? Kissing. Lots.
In adult books, of which I've written something like fourteen or maybe more I forget, kissing is "quaint." Adults kiss their children sweetly or each other at times of crisis. Though, actually, in the case of Bubbles, Stiletto first made out with her on top of a car in the rain which was pretty hot. THAT was fun to write.
Now that I'm writing young adult, I'm reliving my teenage years. Not my real teenage years - the first time a boy kissed me I threw up. Fortunately, not on his shoes. I had enough sense to keep it together until he left.
Also, my first date was seeing Ibsen's Hedda Gabler at the local playhouse. Nothing says hot like 19th century Norwegian suicides!
Looking back, I might not have had the most normal adolescence.
I'm making up for that now with SMART GIRLS GET WHAT THEY WANT and this fabulous book I'm rewriting now. Hot boys. Hot "me" - I mean, my teenage protagonist - and kissing.
Yes!
In adult books, of which I've written something like fourteen or maybe more I forget, kissing is "quaint." Adults kiss their children sweetly or each other at times of crisis. Though, actually, in the case of Bubbles, Stiletto first made out with her on top of a car in the rain which was pretty hot. THAT was fun to write.
Now that I'm writing young adult, I'm reliving my teenage years. Not my real teenage years - the first time a boy kissed me I threw up. Fortunately, not on his shoes. I had enough sense to keep it together until he left.
Also, my first date was seeing Ibsen's Hedda Gabler at the local playhouse. Nothing says hot like 19th century Norwegian suicides!
Looking back, I might not have had the most normal adolescence.
I'm making up for that now with SMART GIRLS GET WHAT THEY WANT and this fabulous book I'm rewriting now. Hot boys. Hot "me" - I mean, my teenage protagonist - and kissing.
Yes!
Today I am 5
Well, not me. Fred. Fred the basset. My April Fool. (You can see his birthday photo in my photos since I haven't figured out the Goodreads uploader code.)
I always wanted a basset hound ever since my neighbor Mrs. Arbogast had Pokey, a basset who slept on her driveway and never moved. It was like he'd been steamrolled. Maybe he was stuffed. Who knows?
Having been denied dogs (and Barbies, but that's for another blog) as a kid, the first dog I chose on my very own was Fred. I remember when I used to hold him in my hand and cuddle him under my chin. Now, he's 60 lbs and loooong. And a lover, especially of children.
Now, it just so happens we live about one hundred feet from the elementary school where Fred is something of a local celebrity. When the doors are open in the summer, Fred has been known to saunter into Mrs. Domanski's first grade class and have a sit down. Last year he arrived center stage at the spring concert and more than once the little league coach down the street has had to chase him off the field for catching baseballs.
But that's Fred. He loves chicken and his buddy dogs - Shayla, Sam and Niko. He sleeps. He talks. He insists on sitting in the passenger seat. In fact, he knows all about driving. And he likes dinner at exactly 5 p.m.
What he can't figure out are the cats. And that's just the way they like it.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY FRED!
I always wanted a basset hound ever since my neighbor Mrs. Arbogast had Pokey, a basset who slept on her driveway and never moved. It was like he'd been steamrolled. Maybe he was stuffed. Who knows?
Having been denied dogs (and Barbies, but that's for another blog) as a kid, the first dog I chose on my very own was Fred. I remember when I used to hold him in my hand and cuddle him under my chin. Now, he's 60 lbs and loooong. And a lover, especially of children.
Now, it just so happens we live about one hundred feet from the elementary school where Fred is something of a local celebrity. When the doors are open in the summer, Fred has been known to saunter into Mrs. Domanski's first grade class and have a sit down. Last year he arrived center stage at the spring concert and more than once the little league coach down the street has had to chase him off the field for catching baseballs.
But that's Fred. He loves chicken and his buddy dogs - Shayla, Sam and Niko. He sleeps. He talks. He insists on sitting in the passenger seat. In fact, he knows all about driving. And he likes dinner at exactly 5 p.m.
What he can't figure out are the cats. And that's just the way they like it.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY FRED!
Women vs. Women
Days after the Ann Romney, Hillary Rosen smack down, my Facebook friends were still trying to sort through the detritus trying to answer the question that has plagued our gender for the ages.
How come women can't get along?
Now, personally, I believe this women-hating-women is largely hogwash. Women do get along in the office, on the field, in the home, in hospitals. We work together just fine. What divides us isn't women, but men.
For as long as men have had the power, some women have benefitted (or not) by men who are willing to carry them financially, especially if they are beautiful. I know these are incendiary words and some of you may argue those days are gone. As evidence to the contrary, I give you Exhibit A: Real Housewives of Orange County.
If you're anything like me, you watch these idiots with your jaw open. How is it that they live in these gorgeous homes, seem to do little to no work that doesn't involve promoting their own line of clothing/shoes/perfume and still afford the limos, the multiple body readjustments and nannies? Who pays for all that vanity?
Men. Somewhere there's a man making all this possible. Perhaps not legally or frugally. One husband committed suicide. Many battle debt. They all seem to have problems with alcohol and even if I had to live in a shack pulling potatoes out of the dusty ground for sustenance I wouldn't sleep with one of them.
But it's different for men. Men who are financially carried by women because of their looks are called gigolos. Granted, that day is changing. Hallelujah! The concept of "being kept" is fading because now women are beginning to earn more than men, men are staying home to raise kids and they certainly don't appreciate the slur that they are somehow existing on the good graces of their wives. They want respect and rightly so.
My mother used to say women's liberation was as much for men as it was for women and this is a case in point. When men are liberated to earn less than women and be okay with that, when they're respected for taking care of the kids while their wives earn cash, then I think we'll find that resentment among women who work outside the home and those who don't will disappear.
And then, watch out, because women united might just change the world forever. Unless these stay-at-home guys start getting spray tans and tossing white wine in each other's faces, whereupon I'm just totally giving up.
How come women can't get along?
Now, personally, I believe this women-hating-women is largely hogwash. Women do get along in the office, on the field, in the home, in hospitals. We work together just fine. What divides us isn't women, but men.
For as long as men have had the power, some women have benefitted (or not) by men who are willing to carry them financially, especially if they are beautiful. I know these are incendiary words and some of you may argue those days are gone. As evidence to the contrary, I give you Exhibit A: Real Housewives of Orange County.
If you're anything like me, you watch these idiots with your jaw open. How is it that they live in these gorgeous homes, seem to do little to no work that doesn't involve promoting their own line of clothing/shoes/perfume and still afford the limos, the multiple body readjustments and nannies? Who pays for all that vanity?
Men. Somewhere there's a man making all this possible. Perhaps not legally or frugally. One husband committed suicide. Many battle debt. They all seem to have problems with alcohol and even if I had to live in a shack pulling potatoes out of the dusty ground for sustenance I wouldn't sleep with one of them.
But it's different for men. Men who are financially carried by women because of their looks are called gigolos. Granted, that day is changing. Hallelujah! The concept of "being kept" is fading because now women are beginning to earn more than men, men are staying home to raise kids and they certainly don't appreciate the slur that they are somehow existing on the good graces of their wives. They want respect and rightly so.
My mother used to say women's liberation was as much for men as it was for women and this is a case in point. When men are liberated to earn less than women and be okay with that, when they're respected for taking care of the kids while their wives earn cash, then I think we'll find that resentment among women who work outside the home and those who don't will disappear.
And then, watch out, because women united might just change the world forever. Unless these stay-at-home guys start getting spray tans and tossing white wine in each other's faces, whereupon I'm just totally giving up.
Love The Ones You're With
There are a lot of songs I could do without, but the one I absolutely can't stand is Love the One You're With by Steven Stills. I blame a guy I was seeing in college who, after an intimate night, explained that he had a longstanding girlfriend in the Midwest at school X but since we were in New England and he wouldn't see her until Thanksgiving it was, ya know, "love the one you're with."
Fail!
I hadn't really thought about that until recently when I finished the superb IF I STAY by Gayle Forman. The book's been on my TBR for awhile and I'm sure everyone else here has read it, but I hadn't. I finished it in one sitting. Or, rather, lying. In bed. Crying.
IF I STAY is about love, all sorts of love. Love for a friend, a boyfriend, parents and a brother. Love for life. And here's the question: are these loves enough to make living worthwhile even if living means pain, both physical and emotional, and loss?
That's why I loved the book, because Forman asks this question with such calm and real insight using characters who make sense. But I also loved it because, unlike a lot of YA books, Forman proudly heralds the love her protagonist, Mia, shows for her quirky family. Even her little brother.
Teddy is not a "stinky little brother" and to that I say damn straight. I've found that many YA authors, especially YA authors who've written adult before, start off with a middle-school character who hates or is annoyed by a younger sibling.
Really?
Sure, siblings fight. Husbands and wives, girlfriends and boyfriends do, too. But how many books begin with "I hate my stupid boyfriend" as though it's supposed to be cute.
Worse, we all know what's going to happen. The older sibling will come to realize his love for his "stinky little brother" and, voila!, instant character growth. Just add tears!
Nah. Forman's right. We love those whom we're with otherwise, in most cases, we wouldn't be with them. Unless you're talking about a crappy abusive family in which your character had the tough luck to be born.
But that's another story and, fortunately, not mine to tell.
Fail!
I hadn't really thought about that until recently when I finished the superb IF I STAY by Gayle Forman. The book's been on my TBR for awhile and I'm sure everyone else here has read it, but I hadn't. I finished it in one sitting. Or, rather, lying. In bed. Crying.
IF I STAY is about love, all sorts of love. Love for a friend, a boyfriend, parents and a brother. Love for life. And here's the question: are these loves enough to make living worthwhile even if living means pain, both physical and emotional, and loss?
That's why I loved the book, because Forman asks this question with such calm and real insight using characters who make sense. But I also loved it because, unlike a lot of YA books, Forman proudly heralds the love her protagonist, Mia, shows for her quirky family. Even her little brother.
Teddy is not a "stinky little brother" and to that I say damn straight. I've found that many YA authors, especially YA authors who've written adult before, start off with a middle-school character who hates or is annoyed by a younger sibling.
Really?
Sure, siblings fight. Husbands and wives, girlfriends and boyfriends do, too. But how many books begin with "I hate my stupid boyfriend" as though it's supposed to be cute.
Worse, we all know what's going to happen. The older sibling will come to realize his love for his "stinky little brother" and, voila!, instant character growth. Just add tears!
Nah. Forman's right. We love those whom we're with otherwise, in most cases, we wouldn't be with them. Unless you're talking about a crappy abusive family in which your character had the tough luck to be born.
But that's another story and, fortunately, not mine to tell.
