In the Presence of Old Friends: How Nostalgia Can Fuel Your Writing

Brothers in arms forever.

By Daniel Ford

It was 2 a.m.

I had a cup of coffee in my hand, a black pug on my lap, and an episode of “The West Wing” was playing on a big screen television. I was flanked on both sides by my best friends from college, Derek and future Writer’s Bone contributor Stevo. Several years have passed since we last lived under the same roof (never mind how many!), but for a couple of hours, it seemed like no time had passed at all. We caught up using the only tools that matter: biting sarcasm, inappropriate inquisition, and nonsensical musings.

The three of us started out living in a much smaller apartment not too far from one of the main entrances of St. John’s University in Queens, N.Y. Those were lean years for all of us. Stevo and I would deposit our meager checks from the jobs we worked off campus at the Bank of America on Jamaica Ave. and then proceed to spend it all at the IHOP right down the street. It was a guaranteed night of gluttony, rent check be damned.

Learning how to be a man and hone your craft at the same time is never easy. Throw in student debt, everyday bills, and New York City, and it’s damn near impossible. Which is why it was so much fun. It was a puzzle I constantly had to solve knowing that I was missing several pieces. There’s a rawness I knew I possessed, but I wasn't quite savvy enough of a human being to polish it fully. In my case, it took a lot of time, horrible life decisions, and these two friends.

Stevo and I as college freshmen.

Since I use several antidotes from our time together in my novel (which is coming soon, I promise), I can’t rundown my favorite moments that helped shape me as a writer. However, it was more their general presences that fueled my creativity. The easiest thing you can do as a writer is surround yourself with people that are smarter than you. Be in that room and acknowledge that those around you know more than you do. I’m not saying that I didn’t have a good fastball, I did, I just knew that these two men were, at times, operating at a higher level than I could have imagined at that point in my life. There were days that I would bring up a topic just to see how they were going to debate each side and how much fir would fly before our landlord came up to check to make sure we were all still alive. Tempers always cooled down. We never went to bed angry. We loved each other too much to stay mad for too long. While maybe we had trouble completely conceding our individual points, we would often reluctantly agree with where the other person was coming from.

I like to think their sarcasm, wit, and intelligence became hardwired into my own being. Thanks to our coffee addiction, I was awake at all hours and wrote a significant amount. A lot of it was crap. I didn’t know what I was doing yet. But I knew what I wanted to do. And I knew how I wanted it to sound. A little out of control. A little brash. A little bold. A little hurtful like a joke that maybe went too far until you thought about how brilliantly it was formed. My dialogue (which is still a work in process) wouldn’t be as strong as it is without those midnight conversations, Double J’s runs, and scotch and cigars in the driveway.

The last time we were all in the same place was Memorial Day barbeque a couple of years ago. There was a large scrum of people there, but there were moments when it was just the three of us. It was like a jazz band getting together after a long absence. We warmed up a bit, and then we were trading riffs back and forth with ease. Stevo’s brother critiquing Derek’s entire event was an added bonus.

It would take a year and our friend Kelly getting married to reunite the trio. Thanks to a pile of traffic on the Cross Island Expressway, Stephanie Schaefer and I were almost late to the ceremony. We didn’t know anyone else in the crowd. I fired off texts trying to find Derek and Stevo. I looked toward the front row and saw the back of two heads that looked familiar. Sure enough, there they were. They instantly made fun of me for tardiness and my Prius rental (Derek would later admonish me for not introducing Stephanie to the bride fast enough).

Derek and I at a St. John's Baseball event a couple of years ago.

“You’re not really going to have coffee right now are you?” Stephanie asked as I tucked her in for the night in Derek’s spare bedroom.

“We’re just going to chat like a couple of old wives,” I replied, not really answering the question.

Derek had a full cup of coffee waiting for me when I returned to the living room. It was strong. I drank it. Like the old days, I feel asleep right away despite consuming that fistful of caffeine (the hours of driving in a downpour earlier that day may have counteracted the coffee). There was only one thing left to do in the morning. A visit to our favorite diner in Long Island, N.Y.: Thomas’ Ham and Eggery.

The owner was taking orders at the counter, like always, and didn’t know who Stevo and I were without our much more heralded brother in arms (who, just like old times, had to work). I ordered my standard ham and cheese omelet, which comes in a skillet at this particular establishment, and yet another strong cup of black coffee.

It didn’t take long for Stevo and I to launch into a conversation about television shows, movies, and comic books (much to Stephanie’s chagrin). Plans were made to interview him soon about Godzilla (look forward to that) and meet up again in Boston in the near future.

Stevo and I in front of our favorite N.Y. diner.

With my belly full of nostalgia, home fries, and cholesterol, I began the drive home over the Throgsneck Bridge (the same bridge my father had traveled to bring me to St. John’s and New York City more than a decade ago). I was awash in old memories and ready to embrace renewed creativity. My mind was working a little sharper, and the ideas I had been hammering away at looked a little more plausible.

For the last two weeks, Writer’s Bone contributors and some of our favorite authors have provided essential tips for how to get your creative mojo back. I waited to weigh in until my muse settled back in for an extended stay. Here’s my advice:

Talk to old friends. Call them up. Go visit. Have a meal at a diner. Drink a lot of coffee and make fun of each other until tears roll down your eyes. Debate important issues. Disagree on everything except for the mutual respect you have for each other. Reminisce about how foolish you were back in the day. Recall the events and moments that got you to where you are now. And then, to tweak author Scott Cheshire’s advice, write like hell.

Works every time.

Keep writing, everyone.

For more essays, check out our full archive. 

The Art of the Cruel Joke: A Friendship Defined by Laughter

Batman: Hey, Superman!

Superman: What?

Batman: I slept with Lois Lane.

Superman: Who hasn't?

By Sean Tuohy

Friendship is an odd concept and a strange part of the human experience. As social beings, we crave interaction with others, but there are a select few that we chose to make a daily fixation in our lives. Those few and proud are called friends; people who decided are good enough to join us on the journey that is life. Hey, even serial killers have friends.

I've been lucky to make great friends throughout my life. These people mean the world to me and are part of my extended family. The core to most friendships are shared interests, including movies and sports. There is always something that ties two friends together, a bond that only they share.

I went to visit my friend Aaron, who recently moved from the sun soaked beaches of South Florida to the chilled streets of Bangor, Maine. Aaron and I have been friends for roughly six years. We have spent a lot of time together. We share very little in common. Aaron is a sports nut who can spew out sports facts like Dustin Hoffman in "Rain Man." I am not a sports fan. I like movies, books. and talking about random things. We barely like the same music. We don’t share the same political views. We don’t even agree on beer choices. Despite a canyon of differences between us, we have maintained a friendship that is based built on a similar humor. Our sense of humor is the rope that ties us together at the hip.

Since the beginning, Aaron and I love to make the other laugh. We like to share embarrassing or strange personal stories with one another and try to make the other one crack up. We come up with random scenarios that no sane person would ever think about. We force our minds go to dark corners in attempts to elicit laughter. We have said comments so obscene and out of this world that I've wondered often what is wrong with us. Sometimes our pursuit for laughs leads to us insulting one another by saying cruel and downright awful statements.  

On our most recent car ride to a national park, Aaron and I quickly went to work. This involved a mix of insults, personal stories, and crude comments. Highlights included:

“Your bedroom is like a cancer ward; it only sees awful things”

“I’ll take your mom for a spin.”

“You’re as much fun as 9/11”

“You know what, just kill yourself.”

These comments continued and got worse as the ride went on. We called one another names, compared our sex lives to those of child molesters, and explained the weird and very violent sexual things that we would do to the other’s family if given the chance. It went on and on. Each comment was followed by a wide joyful smile. The goal was to have the other one burst out laughing. Aaron won with one simple and well-timed joke.

We passed a small airfield with prop planes parked out front. A large sign declared the airfield’s name and below it said “biplanes.” Aaron pointed at the sign and said,

“Hey, look those planes are bi.”

It wasn't really that funny, but the tone in which he said it screamed “y’know what I mean?” It was enough to make me crack up. I laughed. I laughed really hard. My voice cracked. I got red in the face. I was really laughing like it was the funniest thing I had ever heard. In that moment, I remembered why we were friends. Aaron was one of the few people who could make me laugh that hard.

I know this doesn't sound like  a healthy or a rewarding friendship, but it is one of the best  I have. The ability to make the other laugh is a great bond that we share. Will the insults continue when we are older and wiser?

God, I hope so.

For more essays, check out our full archive. 

Soon Is Now: How ‘The Wedding Singer’ Soundtrack Made Me Fall in Love With the 1980s

This post kicks off Soundtrack Day on Writer’s Bone. Tune in later this afternoon for our compilation of the best soundtracks of all time.

By Lindsey Wojcik

I was a tween obsessed with 1990s pop music, and some of the grunge-y alternative of the time, when the Adam Sandler-Drew Barrymore romantic comedy set in 1985 was released in 1998. I could quote “Billy Madison” word-for-word, but “The Wedding Singer” didn't seem to have that sort of silliness; it seemed softer. I most likely saw it in the theater (I really can't recall), but I do know a VHS copy of “The Wedding Singer” was on my birthday gift wish list that year. I wore out that tape—so much so that my parents moaned when I put it in—and as such, I became familiar with the soundtrack. The film hooked me the moment I heard "You Spin Me Round – Like a Record" by Dead Or Alive in the opening sequence.

It was my first real exposure to a mix of 1980s music. Sure, I had heard Madonna and the B-52s before, but as an 11-year-old, I certainly didn't understand Robbie Hart's (Sandler) reference to The Cure. In one scene, a heartbroken Hart tells love interest Julia Guglia (Barrymore), "When I wrote this song, I was listening to The Cure a lot." The Cure didn't even make the soundtrack, though “Boys Don’t Cry” can be heard faintly in the background of another scene.

Once I really listened to the 26-song two-CD compilation, which was among the first few CDs I ever received, (that would be the year my family first owned a CD player—even in fictional 1985 a confused Julia Guglia had one before my family), my love for everything 1980s flourished. It was more than pop; it featured post-punk, new wave bands like The Psychedelic Furs and The Thompson Twins—a sound I had never heard before. Then, I heard the guitar riff on "How Soon is Now?" by The Smiths. From then on, it was exclusively on repeat.

It would be years later during my angsty teen years, after more 1990s and early Aughts pop music distracted me, that I'd rediscover “The Wedding Singer” soundtrack. “How Soon Is Now?” would inevitably lead me to The Smiths’ entire catalogue and elevate their status as one of my favorite bands ever. Sadly, I'd never get the chance to see them live. Though, seeing the group’s lead singer, Morrissey, perform some of the band's songs at Radio City Hall on my 25th birthday is the closest I'll get.

After relistening to the soundtrack in high school, and consequently around the time VH1’s “I Love the 80s” premiered, my 1980s fixation went beyond the music. Researching 1980s pop culture became a hobby. I wanted to learn about and consume the movies, television, fashion, news, and, of course, other music that defined the decade, and I wanted to have a better understanding of references in the movie like “Franky Say Relax” and “New Coke.” I also needed to know how each song on the soundtrack I loved made an impact on the culture.

I finally understood that George’s character embodied Boy George, and I realized why “Do You Really Want to Hurt Me” by Culture Club was the only song he knew how to sing on his own. And while a granny performing “Rapper’s Delight” was hysterical on screen, I knew it really did not do the historic song justice.

“The ‘80s weren’t that great,” my parents would tell me as my obsession grew. However, “The Wedding Singer” soundtrack made me nostalgic for a time I never experienced but so desperately wish I could have enjoyed. If only I had been born 10 years earlier! The music wasn’t “new,” but it was new to me. I was exposed to a different music genre, and it made me a fan of many of the featured artists. That's what a powerful soundtrack does. It connects a viewer to what’s happening in a film, while creating and evoking emotion that will last long after the credits have rolled. “The Wedding Singer” spun me right round.

For more essays, check out our full archive. 

Is A Bar A Good Place To Write?

Is this the bar you should be writing in? (Photo by Cristina Cianci)

Guest post by Ben Schwartz

Yes.

Of course.

A bar is a great place to do just about anything. Where things get a little slippery is your choice of bar. And why you choose that specific bar—and what you want, consciously or not, to happen at that bar. The question here, then is not really “Is a bar a good place to write?” but “are you being honest with yourself? Really?”

Bar choice says a lot about a person. Let's say the new guy at work and you are getting chummy. He says, “Hey, let's grab a drink.” You give him the choice. He says, “Oh, how about Applebee's. I love their summer apple chimichanga bombs.” Are you going to go? That's an extreme example with an easy answer—but it helps set the parameters for this discussion.

You have a regular bar, that's a given. Even if you're not there every night, or every week, there is a distinct place, a specific stool even, that appears in your head when you get the thirst. That is your regular bar. I'm sure that bar is a great place—but is that the place to write?

Your writing time is precious, maybe a significant other has to take on a larger burden so you can write, maybe you're giving up time that should be spent on something else, no matter how insignificant. Like earning a living. So you need to take a good hard look at that reflection on your blank laptop screen and ask yourself something: Am I going to write? Or am I going to get drunk?

Either answer is fine. As long as you are being honest with yourself. You can kid yourself that the two can happen in harmony, but you know you're lying. You know. And whoever you told that you were going to bang out another chapter tonight knows. And they're not impressed. Frankly, neither am I. There is a time to get drunk. Many. But that is not the bar you're looking for tonight.

If you go to that magical regular spot of yours, you will inevitably see someone you haven't seen in so long and you can't not say hello. Or turn down a free drink, or not reciprocate several times. And you're correct, it would be rude, and to partake is the correct and moral choice. However, that's not going to reveal who the character in that questionable dream sequence is in chapter three. And, dammit, that's crucial character development. You can't handle that after three good beers. And you shouldn't, but maybe you should get drunk. If that's what you came for.

To really nail down the dying heart of the American dream, or truly capture the love that only the eternal undead feel, you need a different bar. The bar you need is nearly empty. It's far enough from home that when, in a moment of doubt and frustration, you can't just pop out the door and head home. It should be a little bit of a hassle and just a little dingy. What you don't want are pretentious assholes telling you your laptop is a piece of shit. It can't be too dingy. You don't want drunken assholes telling you a bar is for drinking. Don't know anyone. Tip well. Don't sit at the bar, unless it's long and you can squeeze into the corner stool. Sit at a small table, close enough to get served when you're empty and far enough so as not to get involved in bar talk. You should listen to the bar talk, throw a line in to your writing, but don't get involved. Even if you know, and you know you know, the answer to the question they're all arguing about don't jump in. That's their business. You have yours.

Stick to it. By all means, write in a bar. Just make it the right one. And don't get drunk. Or do, just don't pretend you didn't mean to.

Ben Schwartz is the author of The Drift of Things, the silver medal winning novel in the 2014 Piscataqua Press Novel Contest. To learn more about Schwartz, or to purchase The Drift of Things, check out his 

For more essays, check out our full archive. 

Water Works: 10 Photos To Cool You Off This Summer

Haven't spent enough time at the beach, lake, or any other preferred body of water this summer? Don't worry, Writer's Bone photo essayist Cristina Cianci's latest post is the perfect cure-all for the summertime blues. Feel free to share your own water photos by tweeting us @WritersBone.

By Cristina Cianci

I grew up 20 minutes from the ocean. You can find me on the beach winter, spring, summer, and fall (in the appropriate seasonal wear of course). Nothing beats a quiet beach interrupted by the dulcet sound of waves spilling over the sand. I even have an alarm clock that makes that noise.

I have to get back to my beach towel and brightly colored cocktail, but enjoy my favorite water photos (seagulls and soothing waves not included):

1. A lagoon in my friend's backyard in Florida.

2. The Atlantic Ocean. This was taken during my first trip to the state of New Hampshire! It's also the farthest north I've been in the U.S. Check those off the list!

3. The Hudson River from my new neighborhood in New York City.

4. My pool at my family's home in New Jersey on a sunny day.

5. Lago di Caldaro in Italian Alps.

6. Magical September sun beams on the Venetian canals.

7. Post winter waves in New Jersey.

8. My cousin fully enjoying herself in Lago di Resia, Italy.

9. Post Friday night cocktail with views of lower Manhattan.

10. My favorite home away from home, our summer escape in Wildwood Crest, N.J. It has held many memories and secrets for the past 25 years, and will hold many more during the next 25. 

For more essays, check out our full archive. 

Life Alchemist: How Zilla Rocca Cooked Up His Noir Hop Recipe

Zilla Rocca

Guest post by Zilla Rocca

Rick Rubin summed it up for me in an interview last year:

"When you’re a fan from the outside of something, you can embrace it in a different way than when you’re a fan from the inside. Run-D.M.C. could be sort of gangstery in their own way, pre-gangster rap, because they were suburban kids. Kurtis Blow, who was from Harlem and really around gangsters, he didn’t want to be a gangster. He wanted to look above it and wear leather boots and be more like a rock star. Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five were really inner-city, hard-life guys, and they wanted to be from outer space.”

I grew up during the South Philly mafia wars of the 1980s and 1990s, where people's houses were blown up from nail bombs in the mailbox. This kid I went to grade school with was called into the principal's office to find out his mafia father was gunned down. My best friend's wife is the daughter of a capo who just got out of jail after a 14-year stretch. I've been inside mafia bars. I've delivered pizza to mafia houses. I played sports with guys who are now high ranking officials. My mother's first house had issues with property value because a  former mob boss delayed a riverside development near our house—he tried extorting the developer for $1 million and the developer went to the FBI. It took another 10 years for that development to happen.

It was just an accepted part of growing up, but I didn't want to be in it. Most guys in South Philly were in heaven when “The Sopranos” was on the air because it resembled parts of our lives. Same with “Goodfellas,” “A Bronx Tale,” etc. But I'm not Italian, so that wasn't a badge of honor. It's fun to visit those guys on a television screen, but you don't want to live next door to them or work for them. They had no integrity or character. They were also incredibly stupid—none of them finished high school. Like Posdnous said, they were animals surviving with animal behavior. I was never like that.

When I first started writing raps, it was on some super-lyrical shit in 1997 because that was the style—Wu-Tang, Killarmy, Canibus, Big Pun, Black Thought. Even back then, there was a group of all white South Philly rappers named Nostra who wanted to be mafia guys. I thought they were clowns (I just found their stuff on Philaflava). By my early 20s, I was into crazy abstract shit like Camp Lo, Aesop Rock, El-P, and doseone. My mid-20s, I had more stories to tell about women. I was really into Slum Village, Q-Tip, and Ghostface. My late 20s, I start pinpointing what I really liked and left everything behind: nightlife, good booze, the way certain words sound, and stories about crime.

Zilla Rocca

The way I write is a combination of things: most of them start out with notes and phrases I keep on the notepad in my phone. I get those phrases from anywhere—comic books, something I hear an old lady say at the market, a lyric from a different genre, a hardboiled crime book I'm reading. So I weave those in with some personal experiences, but I stray away from being 100 percent open about my life on purpose ("Success is Invisible" off “Neo Noir” is probably the most honest and concise I've been in a while). It's more about quick snapshots of my life mixed in with phrases and notes blended with shit that sounds good.

I edit a lot. I barely do drugs. I work a day job. I'm engaged. I go to the gym. I practice Buddhism. My life is pretty balanced. But there's times when it's not balanced, and there were many years when it was completely out of whack. Once I started focusing on things I always enjoyed though, it started manifesting itself. Last night, I was at two speakeasies then had a steak dinner at an English pub. My fiancée bought me Bulleit rye for Christmas. A dude in New York City at my last show brought four books for me to borrow, and all of them are about detectives, noir, and tough guy writers from the 1930s. This stuff wasn't happening to me in 2008 because I was obstructing and compartmentalizing my creativity: "I make beats for this guy over here that sound like this, then I do weird one-offs for me that get leaked by themselves, then my main album has to have this producer only on it" and so on.

I really connected with John Lennon, because he would write stuff like "I Am the Walrus" and "Come Together," which are lyrically thrilling. Then he would write beautiful and simple songs like "Julia," "Oh Yoko," and "Jealous Guy." Tom Waits is the same to me. What Waits always does, and what John figured out later, is not compartmentalize his stuff like "My love songs go over here, and my drawings go over there, and my short stories stay under the bed, and my love for kazoos stays hidden forever." He puts them all together because they're all him. I try to do that, so my personal stuff mixes with slang mixes with stories from other people mixes with a Daredevil comic mixes with an old phrase my grandmother used to say. The common thread is my enjoyment from all of them. After becoming fans and friends of Billy Woods, Curly Castro and I decided to start putting more sports references in our songs because that's a big part of our lives that we kept out on purpose.

I love Action Bronson because his entire career is based solely off of things that make him laugh, smile, or want to eat. He only follows his joy, whether it's a baseball player from the 1990s he used to worship, or a pair of sneakers he always wanted, or doing something foul to a prostitute. He blends it all together all of the time. He's never obstructed. He raps over "November Rain." He tells crime stories that go nowhere but sound intoxicating. He lusts for roasted elk. He's so open to the world, and what he attracts fulfills his interests because he only pursues his interests. He can't write a hook and he's famous with a major label record deal because he shares with you all of things that make him giddy.

I try to do the same thing because that's the most honest way to write.

Also check out:

For more essays, check out our full archive. 

How I Went From A Self-Conscious Writer to A Conscious Writer

By Sean Tuohy

I have major difficulties reading and writing. Words get tangled together in an unholy mess on the page when I read. When I write there are several dozen spelling errors and grammar mistakes(In the first draft of these piece there several dozen mistakes that needed to be corrected). Sometimes I see so many red underlined words on my computer screen that I'm scared my Spell Check is going to be so overworked it will give up.

Despite all this, I am still a writer and storyteller. The only difference between myself and most other writers that populate the landscape is I have to work a hell of a lot harder than the next writer to create something that reads smoothly. To put it in the simplest terms my brain is wired differently than everyone else's. I don't take in knowledge and sort it in my mind the same way as other people.

As a kid, this made me very self-conscious. I was different from everyone else, I was a freak, I had "issues." While my fellow classmates stayed in class and read books with the teacher and talked about what they just read, I was pulled out of the classroom and put in a "special classroom" with a "special teacher" and read easier books that were several levels below my grade level.

I was lucky enough to attend school in one of the best public school systems in the country during my early years. Once I was in middle school I began catching up with my classmates, and started reading for myself. I also discovered a love for movies. I would watch the same movie over and over and over again until the tape broke (VHSs were still very much a thing back then), but I also would have the closed captions on so I could read along with the actors speaking. This helped me improve my reading and spelling. After that, I found my love for spy thrillers and hard boiled detective novels, which I ate up, not realizing how these pulpy books were improving my reading and writing skills.

I still very much felt like a freak. Although I began writing, screenplays and short stories, pumping them out like crazy, I never let anyone read them for fear they would see the God-awful spelling mistakes and look at me as if I was a moron. So I kept writing in private and sometimes I would share something with a friend of mine or a close family member. The writing stayed private, it stayed close to me.

As we've mentioned several times on the website and podcast, that is the worst thing in the world to do as a writer. You will never grow as a writer if you never allow people to read your work. You won't know your strengths and weaknesses unless someone tells you. Whatever you write you should have another pair of eyes looking at it. To do this you need to believe in yourself and your work. Believe that what you are doing is good enough for people to read, believe that you have the skills to write a compelling story, and believe in yourself as a writer and you will succeed.

I lacked that completely. I had no trust in myself, my writing, or my skills because of my "issue." This started to change once I wrote a 20-page script about two best friends sitting around talking about movies, girls, and sex. It was a Kevin Smith rip off, but I believed in it. I knew it was funny and I knew people, my friends, would like it if they read it. Guess what? They did read it and they did find it funny. Somehow, I found the courage to share the script. The first few moments of them reading were the most stressful moments in my teenage life. In my mind, I pictured people reading the script and laughing at how badly it was written and me running off crying. Well, that didn't happen. They read the script and laughed because they found the subject matter funny and it was well written. I can remember being in math class and this kid named Robert howling with laughter as he read it. It felt great to have people read my work and really enjoy it. I’m sure people noticed the mistakes, but it didn't take away from the script. To them it was still good despite the mistakes.

We all have something that holds us back from going after our dreams, some force that hinders us from obtaining the greatness we all want. For me, it was my "issues" with reading and writing, but I've learned to let them go. I still have a lot of problems reading and writing, but it no longer holds me back or makes me feel freakish. To be honest, it makes me feel special. I embrace my weirdly wired brain because it allows me to see things that other people don't get to see, write things no one else has written before, and allows me to be me. Find what holds you back from becoming that amazing writer or whatever you want to be and embrace it. Embrace your fear and faults. Embrace who you are and you will succeed. 

A final word on this topic:

For more essays, check out our full archive. 

5 Ways You Can Become A Better Writer in the Second Half of 2014

By Daniel Ford

I know some sun and surf left over from the Fourth of July weekend might be clinging to your Monday work outfit, but it’s time to get back to work.

The muse rests for no writer.

I came up with five tips that you can use to improve your writing during the second half of 2014. Feel free to suggest your own in the comments section or tweet us @WritersBone.

Don’t Be Afraid To Be Alone

Being alone sucks doesn’t it? Consider these quotes from writers about loneliness:

“Writing is a lonely job. Even if a writer socializes regularly, when he gets down to the real business of his life, it is he and his type writer or word processor. No one else is or can be involved in the matter.”—Isaac Asimov

“The writing profession is reeking with this loneliness. All our lives we spend in discoursing with ourselves…The loneliest people in the world we writers are. Except that, while we are conversing and laughing with ourselves, we manage to shed our loneliness…to scatter it as we go along.”—H. L. Mencken

“Writing, at its best, is a lonely life. Organizations for writers palliate the writer's loneliness but I doubt if they improve his writing. He grows in public stature as he sheds his loneliness and often his work deteriorates. For he does his work alone and if he is a good enough writer he must face eternity, or the lack of it, each day.”—Ernest Hemingway

Gah. Who would choose such a life?

Well, you did. I did. All writers have.

There’s nothing wrong with being alone. I’m a social writer—one who needs constant stimulation from music, conversation, or noise to get my thoughts down on paper. However, there comes a point where I need to tune all of that out to get down to the actual business of writing. It’s not an easy place to get to because the loneliness of it is so crushing.

But goddamn, it’s worth it.

There’s no need to be afraid of it. You know what happens after you’re alone? You’re not. You’ve got a finished product that you can ask someone about. And you become one with the world again.

“BIC”

I’m adopting a method of writing I learned from author Jeff Shaara during our podcast interview. It's the “Butt in Chair” method, which complements “don’t be afraid to be alone” nicely.

Get in the chair! Duct tape your can to the seat if you need to!

The best part is you can put your chair anywhere. The beach, a cabin in the woods, a park, a roof deck overlooking the city, a five-star hotel, or any other place your muse likes to frequent. There’s no reason to be uncomfortable while you’re lighting your mind on fire.

Longhand Is Your Friend

Writers come up with a ton of excuses not to write. It’s so easy not to write you don’t have your butt in a chair or you don’t have your perfect alone time.

“I’m not near my computer” is something I hear often. Who cares? God invented paper and it’s worked well for pretty much every writer before this generation of computer addicts. Carry around a notebook for when the muse strikes you when you least expect it. You can write notes or write a full story in longhand. Having to type it out later will only strengthen your prose.

Plus, that blinking cursor on the screen can be a bitch. It’s almost like having someone scream at you while you’re writing. If Hemingway had to use a computer, he would have blown his brains out a lot sooner than he did. It’s actually cliché now to say, “I stared at the computer screen looking at the flashing cursor willing myself to write something.”

Longhand writing requires more thought and effort, which is never a bad thing when you’re writing. You want all of your senses and mechanics involved. Besides, you’ll have beautiful pages to fondly look back on when you’re strangling pigeons in a Parisian park à la Hemingway.

Read Your Own Material

You’d be surprised how many writers don’t like editing their own stuff.

I am not one of them. I like to re-read and have others read my material. Your work needs to see a little bit of the world after you’ve been alone with it, labored over it, and churned it over in your mind again and again.

Don’t be worried that it might be crap. It likely is. But that’s okay too. Louis CK said in an interview once that you learn a hell of a lot more from failure than you do from success. He’s right. You find out what kind of writer you are when you overcome bad material. You figure out how to shape your dialogue better, which characters you should stick with, and what settings work better than others. You can’t discover any of that by putting your Word doc in your computer’s trash bin or stuffing your pages under a pillow.

Read, despair, learn, re-write. Repeat.

Have Fun

Writing doesn’t have to be drudgery. In fact, it shouldn’t be. Rebecca Cantrell, one of our earliest interviews and one of our biggest supporters, said it best:

“If writing isn’t fun, why do it? I have lots of fun writing and so do most other writers I know. It doesn’t have to be about suffering.”

Being creative is a gift. Don’t waste it being miserable.

Go write. Always.

For more essays, check out our full archive. 

7 Highly Successful and Creative People Who Didn’t Have it All Together In Their Twenties (Or Thirties)

Why can't I just be 25?

By Stephanie Schaefer

As I approach my 25th birthday (or as some like to say, “quarter of a century”), I can’t help but flashback three years prior. Fresh out of college and upset with the trials and tribulations of the so-called “real world” I had been thrown into, I called my mother in tears from my tiny New York City apartment.

“I just want to be 25,” I whined similar to the way that Jennifer Garner’s character wished she was older in the romantic comedy “13 Going on 30." I guess I naively believed that 25 is the age when everything falls into place—that perfect moment in time when your skin is free from the acne of your youth and the wrinkles of true adulthood. More importantly, I assumed that 25 was the year in which you put it all together—a blossoming career, a savings account, and a real, grown-up relationship.

Laughing at my naiveté, I know that when I wake up on my upcoming birthday, I probably won’t feel any different than I do now. I know that it’s not necessarily about the milestones, but, as clichéd as it sounds, it’s about your individual journey.

The seven uber-successful people listed below never put deadlines on their accomplishments or limits on their creativity, and neither should we.

Laura Ingalls Wilder

We all know and love her has the creator of the popular Little House on the Prairie children’s books, but did you know that Laura Ingalls Wilder didn’t publish her first book in the series until the age of 65? The original autobiographical work she wrote, which detailed a first-person narrative of her childhood on the frontier, was actually rejected by numerous publishing companies. It wasn’t until Wilder changed her approach to write in third-person that she finally achieved success in the industry.

Stan Lee

Without Stan Lee, Tobey Maguire and Andrew Garfield would just be two scrawny dudes trying to find work in Hollywood. Thanks to Lee’s creativity, we now know them both as Spiderman. Lee created his famous superhero at the age of 43, after working his way up in the industry. During his younger years he took any job he could get, including writing obituaries and selling them to the New York Herald Tribune. Now, his famous characters are still box office gold—“The Avengers” is the third highest-grossing film of all time.

J.K. Rowling

Prior to hitting it big with the beloved Harry Potter series, J.K. Rowling was a divorced, single-mom living on welfare. She sold her first book—after a slew of rejections—at the age of 32 for the equivalent of about $4,000. Today, there’s a whole theme park based on her creativity.

Sylvester Stallone

Sly Stallone’s journey is the ultimate Cinderella story, as Sean Tuohy has previously discussed.

Before gaining success by writing and staring in “Rocky,” Stallone was so broke that he once had to sell his dog for $50. Luckily, after selling his script, he was able to re-purchase his prized pooch, and the rest, as they say, is history.

Julia Child

Sometimes success tastes sweeter when it’s achieved later in life. In 1950, while Child was in her late 30s, the culinary master actually failed her first Le Cordon Bleu exam. This didn’t stop her from eventually receiving her diploma at the cooking school and going on to pursue a successful career within the industry. Neither did the fact that Houghton Mifflin actually rejected her cooking book manuscript twice. Today, more than 1 million copies of Mastering the Art of French Cooking (published by Random House in 1961) have been sold. Child’s story even inspired a popular rom-com starring Amy Adams and Meryl Streep.

Frank McCourt

A self-described “late bloomer,” the Pulitzer Prize-winning novelist didn’t publish his first book until the age of 66, after retiring from teaching in New York City. McCourt’s memoir Angela’s Ashes details his poverty-stricken upbringing during the time of the Great Depression. The book has sold more than 5 million copies, has been translated into 20 languages, and made into a feature film.

Lucile Ball

The world’s most lovable redhead was once known as the “Queen of the Bs” because she couldn’t break into A-list acting. In fact, her agent recommended that she should find a different career. Believe it or not, CBS was also originally unimpressed with the pilot of “I Love Lucy,” the show which re-launched Ball’s career when she was 40.

As for me, although I may not have it all figured out right now, I’m definitely closer than I was three years ago. And if things don’t magically fall into place on July 14, at least there will be cake.

For more essays, check out our full archive. 

Apathetic Noir: Why I Love 1998’s ‘Zero Effect’

By Sean Tuohy

"A person can't escape their nature."—Daryl Zero

The pop culture landscape is teeming with overlooked movies. We all have that movie that we think is underrated or an actor or actress performance that no one took seriously. These are small, personal gems that you want share with the world at large, but that get you nothing but blank stares from unenlightened coworkers.

One of my favorites is a 1990s post-noir film that bleeds Generation X apathy: “Zero Efect.” The 1998 mystery thriller doesn’t play by modern mystery thriller rules. Writer/director Jake Kasdan, son of Lawrence Kasden, penned a tight, well-thought-out caper that would have made Lew Archer and Phillip Marlow stand up and cheer.

The movie follows the world's most private detective Daryl Zero and his partner Steve Arlo as they help find a blackmail artist in Portland. Zero is brought to life by Bill Pullman, who designs a character you learn to love slowly over the course of the movie. He’s a man driven by his work; skilled, resourceful, one of a kind. But Zero possesses no social graces and can be nearly impossible to be around. Somehow Arlo is able to keep the oddball hero on track, despite the issues that it causes with his relationship with his girlfriend. Arlo is played by Ben Stiller, who brings all his trademarks to the role, but with a little something extra. Stiller plays Arlo like a real person. He gets annoyed and frustrated with Zero and his crazy ways, but at the same time respects Zero's skills. The two have a very brotherly relationship, allowing the love they hold for one another to stay under the surface. The pair has great dialogue that bounces off one another and flows with ease.

"I'll shoot you. Really, I will. I have a gun and everything."—Steve Arlo

Now, I will say that Monk had a similar plot line: a detective who can barely operate in the real world, but with the help of a grounded partner he always solves the case. Well, Zero Effect took it a step further and made Zero a very difficult person to like. He snaps and lashes out at others and in one scene talks about how he has stayed awake for three days because of methamphetamines. Zero "lives" in closed off apartment from the world in a mess of paperwork and trash. He believes people listen to phone calls and that "they" are out there. I have no idea who "they" are, nor does Zero, but he believes in them. This over-the-top character produces some great comic moments, and “Zero Effect” as a whole is filled with great one liners that make you chuckle.

Kasden must be a fan of noir mystery because it shows in the movie. Scenes scream noir with shadows and the fanatic lighting. The script was well planned out because every step falls on the right spot.

Why was this movie so unknown? I'm not too sure. It wasn't a blockbuster, nor was it a Shane Black-style bang bang noir thriller. It was a small indie movie that told a compact, but layered story. I want to see more Darryl Zero in a television show or a book series. I would follow him and Arlo for years to come.

For more essays, check out our full archive. 

5 Tips For Conquering Your Summer Reading List

A few books on Writer's Bone's summer reading list.

By Rob Hilferty

Summer is right around the corner and that means most people have a lot more time on their hands. School is out, the days get longer. Most people use the summer as an excuse to travel, go outside, or work on some long forgotten projects. You know, like that book you've been meaning to get around to since Christmas. Or that stack of books you bought last year that you've totally been meaning to get around to once things finally settled down at the new apartment.

Yeah, assuming that you're not just skimming the bolded text like with all numbered lists, you know you're here because you probably need help with the whole reading list thing. I mean, really, what else are you going to for the summer, go outside? Do you know how fucking hot is it out there?

1. Break Your List Into Chunks to Make it Seem Less Daunting

First things first. You want to sit down and actually compile a list of all the things you want to read. Now this may seem fairly straightforward, but you can't just go balls deep on the first thrust. You've got to find and develop a rhythm that's sustainable for at least three months. Look at the list of books you have already. Even with all that Vitamin D from the summer sun, do you really think you're going to be able to read Infinite Jest, Gravity's Rainbow,  and Finnegan's Wake all in a row without wanting to slit your wrists?

Be realistic and spread your books out. Toss in some light fantasy or pulp novels in between the heavier literature to keep you reading consistently. Depending on how ambitious your stack is, separating it into four to six book chunks with good mix of light and heavy reading will drastically reduce your chances of burning out within the first few weeks. And speaking of burn out...

2. Don't Be Afraid to Put a Book Down

Sometimes you really think you're going to like a book only to discover it sucks. Maybe the author pulled a bait and switch on you when you picked up a book about salt only to discover it's actually about cod, maybe reading Mysterious Skin when you're going through a personal crisis wasn't the best idea, or maybe you just really hate this fucking book you're reading right now for no reason.

Hey, it's cool. Put the book down and try something else. You can always go back and revisit that book but for the time being that book, for whatever reason just wasn't the book for you. Put the book down, walk away, and move on.

Cormac McCarthy. 

This guy.

This fucking guy.

What you don't want to do is grit your teeth and push through a shitty book just because it's on your list. Now that's not to say that you shouldn't push through a challenging book that you like, but sometimes those types of books can kill your reading habit. It took me three tries to get through Cormac McCarthy's Blood Meridian before I finally cracked it. Was it an excellent read? Absolutely. Was it worth my time and intellectual pursuit? Hell yes. Would I recommend it to everyone? Fuck no. The first two times I tried reading Blood Meridian were so demoralizing I actually stopped reading for a month or two afterwards because I felt so guilty about not finishing a book I was really interested in. Admittedly, the book is designed to be arduous for a reason, but not having anything to follow up with just killed my spirit. Had I just dropped the book and come back later I probably would've been able to read it a lot sooner than I ended up doing. However, the guilt was too strong to let me enjoy anything else. If we all followed Kenny Roger's sage advice about knowing when to fold ‘em, it would truly be a better world.

3. Read a Book You Wouldn't Normally Read

Now you're probably questioning this one because you're skeptical about finishing books you're actually interested in but seriously this one works. If you're really into a story driven fantasy novels, maybe try a historically accurate biography. Reading the same types of books can start to feel stale after a while, even when you really like them.

Part of the magic of reading is in discovering something wondrous about something you'd never thought to care about before. Books should inspire and educate people about how the world is, was, and can be. Good books should get you interested in something through compelling story telling and prose. Anyone whose ever read an Erik Larson book knows that he's a storyteller just as much as he's an historian. The point is, go read something different. Go learn something highly technical or read something bafflingly fantastic. Worse comes to worst you can always drop it and go back to your safety zone.

4. Find Someone You Can Talk to About Books

Whether it's a book club, a good friend, or an online forum, finding someone to talk about the totally awesome book you just read is exciting. When you're able to discuss books, especially particularly difficult and layered books, everything just feels better. Maybe you missed some big key piece in the novel that's been making you hate it, or perhaps you can just share in the thrill of talking about something brilliant.

Didn't have a book buddy.

Writing is an art, and despite what some people would say, it's an extremely social activity. I can't tell you how many times I've been gushing about a book when someone else completely unexpected joins in and we get to share a moment. Books are shared experiences, on a personal and societal level. It is our shared language and experiences that truly connects us as a people and books are merely an extension of that connection. Find someone who shares the same enthusiasm or loathing for a particular book and you'll not only want to read more but you may end up hating the human race a little less too.

5. Fucking Relax, They're Just Books

Let's be real here guys. I love books and reading. I mean enough that I'd like to involve them into a future career, but in all honesty some people take this shit way too seriously. Now I know I just spent a couple paragraphs waxing rhapsodic about universal connectivity of a good book, but not every book is like that. Sometimes a book is just a book. Sometimes a good story doesn't go beyond the boundaries of the page, but that doesn't mean they're worthless for not attempting to achieve more.

Just don't tell this guy.

Certainly books have near infinite potential for how they can evoke, and invoke emotions but that's not the goal of every author. Sometimes books educate and illuminate, often times they merely entertain and that's more than okay. Don't be afraid or intimidated of something you're reading. Go at your own pace and forget about the number of books read and instead focus on the quality of the experience. If you rush through your list just to do it then you're missing out on a major part of the reading experience.

Overall, reading should be an enjoyable experience (or uncomfortable depending on what you're reading) and if you're not enjoying yourself then maybe it's time to take a long hard look at yourself and figure out why. Maybe try reading in the sun or some shit? I don't know.

Rob Hilferty's Summer Reading List 

Group A: 

• This Is How You Lose Her by Junot Diaz
• The Redemption Engine by James Sutter
• The Piano Teacher by Elfriede Jelinek
• King of Chaos by Dave Gross 

Group B: 

• An Untamed State by Roxane Gay
• The Gunslinger by Stephen King
• Beloved by Toni Morrison
• The Tipping Point: How Little Things Can Make A Big Difference by Malcolm Gladwell 

Group C: 

• The Road by Cormac McCarthy
• How the Irish Became White by Noel Ignatiev
• No Longer Human by Osamu Dazai
• American Pastoral by Phillip Roth 

For more essays, check out our full archive. 

From Europe With Love: 12 Snapshots of Spain to Spark Your Creativity

Franco-Españolas Winery in Logroño (a favorite of Ernest Hemingway)

By Stephanie Schaefer

Writers often feel restless and for justifiable reasons: deadlines, writer’s block, and a lack of creativity stemming from their day-to-day routine. Solving these problems typically requires a change of scenery—moving to a different room in your home, going outside, or, if you’re lucky, flying to a distant continent.

Writing isn’t known for being the highest paid industry, but they say that “traveling is the only thing you buy that makes you richer.” That’s as good excuse as any to book a ticket abroad, right?

Here are 11 more snapshots from my recent trip to Spain to save for a rainy day or creativity drought:

1. Overlooking the vineyards in Laguardia (not to be confused with the New York airport of the same name)

2. Colorful alley in Laguardia

3. Picturesque ocean view of the Basque Country coast (San Sebastian)

4. San Sebastian at sunset

5. Those who live in Crystal Palaces should not throw stones, they should just admire the view (Palacio de Cristal in Madrid)

6. Snapshot of a Flamenco dancer in Madrid

7. There’s no raining on this Madrid parade—just plenty of sunshine and bright attire!

8. The Buen Retiro Park (translation: "Park of the Pleasant Retreat") on a beautiful spring day

9. How could I not take a picture of the vast literature on the streets of Madrid for Writer’s Bone?

10. How many novels does a writer have to sell in order to live in this castle-like abode overlooking the park?

11. Corner of the Plaza Mayor filled with cafés and culture

For more essays, check out our full archive. 

Remembering Poet, Author, and Civil Rights Activist Maya Angelou

Maya Angelou

1928-2014

By Sean Tuohy

“Love is that condition in the human spirit so profound that it allows me to survive, and better than that, to thrive with passion, compassion, and style.”

In lieu of our regularly scheduled "Badass Writer of the Week," we are honoring renowned poet, author, and civil rights activist Maya Angelou as our “Heroic Writer of the Week.” Angelou died Wednesday and America lost one of the most inspiring and original voices of the 20th century.

Through her writing, Angelou brought a voice to the voiceless and shed light on the plight of African-American women in the United States. Angelou was a fighter for peace and understanding in the world. Although I was most familiar with Angelou from her 1969 autobiography “I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings,” I always knew and respected her name and what her work represented.

"I want to write so well that a person is 30 or 40 pages in a book of mine...before she realizes she's reading.”

Angelou being awarded the Medal of Freedom by President Obama.

Marguerite Annie Johnson was born April 4, 1928 in St. Louis, Mo. Her nickname was given to her by her older brother who often call his sister “my” or “mine.”

Her early years were extremely difficult because she was a young black woman growing up in Jim Crow’s South. When she was 7 years old, her mother’s boyfriend raped her, and then he was killed by an angry mob. Believing that her words had killed the man, Angelou refused to speak for many years and began writing.

Despite a rough start, Angelou didn't waste time getting her life on track. She studied dance in San Francisco, but dropped out at 14. At 16 years old, she became the first female street car driver. She returned to high school when she turned 17, and received her diploma. Weeks later she gave birth to a son.

As a single mother, Angelou worked as a waitress, but was constantly developing herself as an artist. By the mid-1950s she toured Europe as a singer and dancer and released her first album. Despite never going to college Angelou was called “doctor” by most people and she spoke six languages.

“I love to see a young girl go out and grab the world by the lapels. Life's a bitch. You've got to go out and kick ass.”

All writers should wear this megawatt smile.

Angelou was friends with Martin Luther King Jr. and Malcom X and built a strong bond with talk show host and media mogul Oprah Winfrey, who was deeply inspired by the author. In 1993, she read at President Bill Clinton’s first inauguration, something an author had not done since Robert Frost in 1961. Angelou also taught at universities and gave speeches the world over.

Throughout her career as an artist Angelou always tried to deliver the same message: love. She believe deeply that love had the power to change so much in this world and make it a better place for all of us. Her name will always stand out in American culture, and it will always be spoken with the utmost respect and love.

Rest in Peace, Ms. Angelou.

“Everything in the universe has rhythm. Everything dances.”

For more essays, check out our full archive. 

‘Guardians of the Galaxy’ and Dealing With Superhero Burnout

Lowlife superheroes I can believe in

By Daniel Ford

Marvel recently released its second trailer for the upcoming summer blockbuster “Guardians of the Galaxy.”

It actually looks and feels like what a summer blockbuster should be.

Here’s the trailer:

Wonderful. I watch it twice a day.

I’ve complained recently to my nerdery that superhero movies are becoming brooding pieces of rubbish. Batman movies can get away with being über dark and brooding because it’s intrinsic to that character. Peter Parker, however, shouldn’t be so tormented. He loves being a superhero as much as Tony Stark loves being Iron Man (and an alcoholic womanizer). Why does he need to fight off 2,000 CGI under-developed villains while scowling under his Spidey mask?

Superhero movies are quickly becoming the content marketing of the film world. They look slick and pretend to have a story written by actual humans, but in the end they aren’t reflective of anything other than some douchebag advertiser’s overdeveloped sense of worth. The new Spiderman movies play like an extended Taco Bell commercial. Like content marketing, no amount of flash or promises of “real, honest, and meaty content” is going to distract people from believing that you’re trying to sell them total bullshit. Wait, that’s not true because these movies make gobs of money. Damn it.

Anyway, “The Avengers” was clever and fun because of its cast and quality directing by Joss Whedon, but do you remember anything about that movie? Maybe I’m in the minority here, but I don’t think that’s as rewatchable a movie as, say, “Superman II” or the first “Iron Man.” Every movie has to be a set up for the next movie, the next ad campaign, the next press conference. There’s only so much plot and character you can develop before you have to shoehorn your script into the next project.

I let “Man of Steel” off the hook, but that’s because I’m a huge Superman homer and the movie at least tried to touch on themes like alienation, “otherness,” and finding your way in the world. Superman may have brooded in the beginning, but the guy smiles often later on in the film because he’s fucking Superman! He’s got a pulse, which is more than I can say for a lot of superhero movies of late. The director can’t name a movie to save his life, but that’s a topic for another day.

This is turning into a rant and I don’t want it to be. Grantland’s Mark Harris—one of my favorite entertainment writers—published a piece today that asks, “Are We at Peak Superhero?” Harris points out that comic book readers are a small demographic that studios have mined expertly for years now (none moreso than Marvel, he says), but wonders whether we’re in the middle of a boom or at the end of a bubble? I’m inclined to believe the latter, but that’s not to say I want the genre to go away anytime soon. Because I like summer movies. I like superhero movies. I just want them to be done better.

Which is why I’m all in on “Guardians of the Galaxy.”

It didn’t take much to be honest.

Seedy underworld.? Check. Killer soundtrack (based on the two songs featured in the trailers)? Check. Wise-cracking anti-heroes? Check. Chris Pratt from “Parks and Recreation”? Check.

Brooding clearly shouldn’t be an issue in this movie. In fact, I’m hoping this turns out to be a slightly more serious version of Mel Brooks’ “Spaceballs.” I can’t be the only one that thinks that this band of criminal heroes would be right at home on Lonestar’s Eagle 5, right?

I’ve never read any of the “Guardians of the Galaxy” books and don’t intend to before the movie comes out (I’ve already made that pop culture mistake with George R.R. Martin’s A Song of Fire and Ice series). I reached out to a friend of mine from high school who knows more about the comic than I do who said that the trailer gets it right. “These people aren't heroes,” Christopher Morse, an actor, writer, and director, as well as the host of the podcast “Supervillain Corner," told me.” “They're a bunch of assholes who are in the right place and time, and are just the tiniest bit more likely to do the 'right' thing than otherwise.”

I also reached out to the New England Comics store in Cambridge, Mass., to find out if the comic was generating any extra buzz because of the film’s release. I talked to a wonderfully spirited woman named Hanna who told me that the reason Marvel has been so good at adapting its comics to the big screen—besides the quality acting, directing, and special effects—is that it makes movies that are accessible to comic book and non-comic book fans.

“We had a lot of people come in after seeing ‘The Avengers' asking, ‘Hey, who is that purple guy at the end of the film?’” She said. “People started reading Infinity Gaunlet, which eventually led readers to Guardians of the Galaxy.”

Hanna also told me that she expects more people will come into the store after the movie because moviegoers will want all the backstory and anticipate how “Guardians” will tie in with the next “Avengers” movies.

So, I hope that this movie isn’t an hours-long melody of CGI crap with a dash of Chris Pratt wit and crotch-grabbing raccoon awesomeness mixed in. I hope I’m one of those people that heads directly to my local comic book store after the seeing the film to buy as many issues of Guardians of the Galaxy as possible. I hope it’s a lot like the latest “Godzilla” movie, which I found refreshing and something I might actually rewatch eventually. However, Marvel is all about their long-term plan, so I’m trying to temper my emotions.

I’ll just have this song on repeat until the movie comes out.

For more essays, check out our full archive. 

Why Aren’t There More Brainy Heroines In Sci-Fi?

Brave New Girls

Guest post by sci-fi author Mary Fan

That’s a question that’s been bugging me since I was the nerdy girl with the giant chemistry textbook and the Science Olympiad trophy. Oh, there are tech-y girls in sci-fi, but they’re either quirky sidekicks, impossibly sexy love interests, or blink-and-you-miss-them cameo figures.

Meanwhile, in the real world, women comprise only 26 percent of workers in the STEM fields (Science, Technology, Engineering, and Math). With the overall workforce split pretty much 50/50 between men and women, that percentage should be a lot higher.

Lingering gender stereotypes mean that girls don’t have many tech-savvy role models in fiction to look up to. The only one I can think of at the moment is Cinder, a fearless 16-year-old mechanic, from the Lunar Chronicles. And even she is insecure about her job and only took it because the wicked stepmother figure in this Cinderella retelling made her. I guess we have Kaylee from the television show “Firefly” and Skye from “Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.,” but even they’re relegated to sidekick roles next to the shows’ central heroes.

While I’m sure there are examples out there of young women in the STEM fields starring in sci-fi tales, the fact remains that many more are still shunted to the side. Which is why I’m partnering with fellow sci-fi author Paige Daniels (of the Non-Compliance cyberpunk trilogy) to help change that. We’re putting together an anthology of YA sci-fi tales starring girls with a knack for the STEM subjects—programmers, mechanics, scientists, and more—called Brave New Girls. All revenues from this anthology will be donated to a Society of Women Engineers scholarship fund, which helps girls seeking to go into the STEM fields get the education they need.

Paige and I, in addition to contributing stories of our own, will be indie publishing the anthology, with the goal of getting it out in summer 2015. We’re running a Kickstarter this summer to raise money for professional editing, formatting, and artwork. And we’re currently looking for submissions, so if this sounds like something you or someone you know have written or are interested in writing about, check out our website: http://bravenewgirls.weebly.com. Submissions are open until November 15.

Since we’re donating the money from sales, we can’t offer payment, but we will be sending each author whose story is selected a paperback copy. And, of course, our gratitude. The two of us will be contributing stories of our own, and mine will feature the titular heroine from my Jane Colt space opera/cyberpunk series as a teenager.

Though the world has come a long way since the days when women were told math would harm their mental health, we’ve still got a ways to go. This one little anthology won’t change the world, but it’s a start.

To learn more about Brave New Girls, check out the official website.

To find out more about Mary Fan and her work,check out her official website, like her Facebook page, or follow her on Twitter @AstralColt.

For more essays, check out our full archive. 

Manhattan Moments: 7 Photos of New York City That Define Me

Cristina Cianci, Daniel Ford, and Stephanie Schaefer frolicking in New York City.

By Cristina Cianci

Born on Staten Island + raised in New Jersey + my love of the shore, loud talking with hand gestures, pasta (and my ability to eat it three times a day) = I proudly wear the Italian American badge on my sleeve.

Living in Manhattan during college was a whole other ball game. From thee hidden treasures I found and made my own to the spots I frequented as a kid, these are the seven I hold close to my heart and badge.

The Brooklyn Bridge

Day or night, rain or shine.

The Bethesda Fountain in Central Park

For those times you wish you were in Europe, but have to settle for Central Park.

This View From My Friend’s Roof in Midtown Manhattan

Oh, hello.

Madison Square Garden

The best overpriced beer and hot dogs.

Little Italy

For some historic Cianci stomping ground and really good cannolis.

Caffe Roma

See previous description.

The New York Public Library

For some light reading and escaping the hustle and bustle.

For more essays, check out our full archive. 

How My Older Brother Made Me A Lifelong Reader

Readers with wheels. My older brother Tom and I following the Hartford Half Marathon in 2010.

By Daniel Ford

My older brother Tom is the smartest person I know.

(Okay, his wife is probably even smarter, but I’ve known Tom the longest, so he wins).

I loved the fact that he was smart when I was growing up. It made me want to be smart. It made me want to read a book at the breakfast table like he did every morning. His example made me want to do my homework right when I got home and strive to do the best I could do in school.

I remember walking into his room as a kid—always when he was out of the house because I was too afraid to ask him to hang out—and marvel at all the cool stuff he had. His Don Mattingly and Wade Boggs baseball figurines, NFL gridiron comforter, his original Nintendo. It was a nerd nirvana!

More importantly, Tom always had a ton of books arranged beautifully on his bookshelf. I didn’t steal them back then because I was still reading illustrated versions of Robin Hood and Treasure Island, The Boxcar Children, and any "Star Wars" novel I could get my hands on. I loved knowing his weightier books were there and he had either read them or was planning on reading them. I would go back to my own room and rearrange my less impressive array of titles on my bookshelf so that each shelf started with the tallest book and ended with the shortest, just like my older brother did.

Thanks to my older brother, this is what my life looks like.

I read everything back then, but I hadn’t had the moment. You know the moment I’m talking about. It's the moment when someone puts a book in your hands and it hits your mind like a thunderbolt and completely changes the direction of your life.

Tom put several books in my hands one Christmas and I’ve haven’t been the same since. He wordlessly handed me a superbly wrapped present. The box was heavy. Since I was only reading thin paperbacks at that point, I didn’t know that meant it could only contain one thing. Books. Heavy, beautiful books.

Inside the box were three books that transformed me from a reader to a reader: To Kill a Mockingbird, 1984, and John Irving’s The World According to Garp.

I devoured the first two in short order. My young mind was blown that those two masterpieces came out of someone’s pen. People actually wrote like this? You mean there was more to literature than just pulpy fiction and sci-fi adventures?

Even if I had been a stronger reader at that point, nothing would have prepared me for the opening line to Irving’s classic novel:

“Garp’s mother, Jenny Fields, was arrested in Boston in 1942 for wounding a man in a movie theater.”

Whoa. 

Heavy stuff for a kid who was just trying to survive middle school!

When Tom went to college, I spent a lot of time raiding his bookshelf (and his music collection). He had already made the jump to American history tomes that were way over my head at the time, but which I attempted to plow through all the same. I’m pretty sure I still have his copy of Howard Zinn’s A People’s History of the United States that I stole back in high school (and finally finished as a college sophomore). He moved out after graduating and took all his books with him, but the bookshelf stayed behind. I relentlessly set out to fill it after immediately moving into his old room.

Me holding said copy of A People's History of the United States on a trip to Yankee Stadium.

I had some help thanks to my high school English teacher Pamela Hayward, who consistently handed me books like Crazy in Alabama, Snow Falling on Cedars, and As I Lay Dying, in addition to the required reading for AP English. But the constant was my older brother. Every Christmas, there would be more books. Or gift cards with recommendations attached. Or a loan from his precious collection.

Now, our bookcases are essentially lending libraries between the two of us. He has books on his shelf that I’ve loaned him without having read them, and vice versa. He likes to kid and say that a book has to be on his shelf for 10 years before he reads it (except for Eric Foner’s Reconstruction, which he will never read). If I can’t find a book in my collection, odds are he has it. Some of the best moments of our bonding weekends are spent talking about all the books we have yet to read in front of one of his bookcases (I usually end up taking one or two home with me every time).

His early example also inspires me to buy books for his three kids—as well as all my other nieces and nephews—for birthdays and Christmas. Toys are fleeting and end up as yard sale fodder. Books are a gateway to creativity, curiosity, and fun! I’ll be getting them books even when they think I’m the lame uncle who gives books (including my own someday…don’t judge me) as gifts, because that’s what I learned from my older brother. It has the added bonus of allowing me to rediscover titles from my youth and keep current with today’s children’s literature.

My nephew Jack (top photo) and my niece Katie giving me hope for future readers.

Tom is now a principal at an elementary school in Connecticut, where he’s inspiring a new generation of young minds.

I follow his Twitter account and couldn’t be prouder when I see something like:

Dr. Veronesi read to both kindergarten classes this morning for Read Across America Day! @KathyVeronesi#rsd13ctpic.twitter.com/ehKB3lFLSI

— Thomas D. Ford (@TFord_LymanCT) February 28, 2014

I sleep well knowing the next generation of readers is in good hands.

For more essays, check out our full archive.