keep movies out of my books

strong opinion loosely held: turning books into movies is destroying the imagination of children.

and probably adults.

but our imagination is usually already destroyed...so....mostly children.

there's many an argument about turning books into movies. people hate it because so much gets cut out. because they change some of the plot to make it read better on screen. because they change the emphasis or the lesson. because the directors interpretation isn't the same as the authors intention.

and my biggest complaint: it's never what i saw in my head.

getting kids to really engage in reading is challenging. getting them to SEE the story vs. just the words on the page is hard to do.

how many books did i read as a kid? hundreds. thousands. each one was a movie in my head. the characters built from the parts of the description that were most important to me: anne of green gables and her RED hair. polly pepper and her second hand clothes (the five little peppers and how they grew). claudia kishi and her funky artsy jewelry and decorated room (the babysitters club).

some of my favorite books eventually turned into movies and they were NOTHING like i saw in my head and it made me feel like i was imagining wrong. 

HOW CAN A CHILD IMAGINE WRONG?

how many children read the harry potter books and created this beautiful world of magic in their heads? new, made up words, new fantastical destinations, shops, creatures. then the movies came out and, while they're spectacular feats of cinematography, how many kids were like oh, that's not how i pictured it.

how many kids stopped reading and just waited for the movies? or, worse, could only see the movie setting as they read the later books published after the first movie?

how many lost their imagination? lost their creativity after that?

diving deeper, it made me think about why some books stand out for me and why i loathe others. i think, for me, the breaking point is in the author trusting the reader to extrapolate their own vision. i have a strong preference for books with intentionally ambiguous descriptions. give me enough of a jump off point and let me take it from there. if you spend 3 pages describing the exact texture and color of a leaf, i will spend exactly zero minutes reading your book.

i like to fill in the details myself, make the story MINE.

think of it this way: if an author describes a farm what do you see? is it a big farm? almost a ranch? is it a small farm? is it one barn and a house? is it expansive land with crops? is it animals and gardens? is it an urban farm in someone's backyard? is it a rural farm with neighbors nearby? is it a texan farm where you can drive for hours on your own land and not see anyone? 

unless it is a crucial part of the plot, a character in itself, let me fill in the blanks.

i love descriptions that give you a soft focus: the home, a small country home looked blue at first glance but not if you looked too closely. perhaps someone ran out of blue paint covering up the last color, perhaps the blue is the last color showing through the cheap new layer. maybe it only appears blue on one side reflecting the distinct color of the garage, painted in the bold colors of [the characters] favorite sports team.

what do you see? i can promise you it's different than what i see, and to me, that's the beauty of literature.

"...he heard an animal bark in the woods. bark, is that the right word for the sound? did the neighbors dog get out again? are the coyotes scavenging nearby, encroaching into new territory and scoping out the local scene? someone told him once that foxes make a sound like barking. what would a fox be doing in this area? the bark, yelp, be it what it may, oddly complimented the melody filling the room from the vinyl playing on the modern vintage record player."

how many different pictures pop into your head from that one paragraph? are any one of them wrong?

i LOVE that each person will focus on a different part, see a different setting, different detail.

movies take that away. they lock in one persons vision; the director, the set dresser, the script writer...they take what one person deems important. it could be considered a cruel form of censorship. forcing ONE perspective, disallowing any alternative interpretation.

have you ever read the book, watched the movie and then read the book again? can you see your initial vision? or has it been replaced by the hollywood version?

as much as i love movies, and i do LOVE movies, i can't help but feel sad that even at their most creative, they're limiting creativity.

keep your movies out of my books.

i mean, keep making movies. and books do make great movies. but, you know, don't make MY books into movies. just the other ones.

no, not those ones either...


**no, YOU'RE the devil's advocate: but what about all the kids who have a hard time picturing the story and the movie finally helps it make sense to them and puts a picture to a word they couldn't figure out or puts a picture to a place they've never been and may never get the chance to see in person. what about kids reading about Christopher robin in the woods that live in the city in an apartment? they can't imagine a 100 acre wood when there's not a tree on any of the nearby city blocks? what about kids who have never been to a foreign country and can't imagine what they dress like, how different their houses may look? movies give a vision to things that may otherwise be summarily dismissed for lack of understanding or ability to put a picture to the words....**

sludge

it's been a long time since i've posted a light/fun blog. i was going to apologize for that, but life hasn't exactly been light or fun lately and i need to quit "should-ing" myself about what to write or feel.

i should be getting over london.

i should be enjoying the holidays.

i should be...

fuck all that. i'm having a fuck of a last few weeks. things are the hardest they've been in a while and i'm not going to apologize or feel bad for admitting that.

i've been trying not to let myself get stuck in a pity party. i've been trying to go about my day and just let things feel like normal. it's fucking exhausting. right here, right now, things are not okay and i'm not going to pretend they are.

i am working on making things better. i'm not sitting here just wallowing. this isn't about poor me, how do i get out of this. i'm already working on it. but for a moment, i'm going to just flat say: THIS, this part right here, it sucks. and it's okay to feel bad.

i'm not happy at my jobs. sorry if my bosses happen to be reading this. i don't like working so many different places and still barely patching by. i don't like waking up on a saturday in a panic because i can't remember which office i'm supposed to be at. i don't like that i can't even cover my own ass insurance wise even though it's available at both jobs. i don't like that i need to find ANOTHER new job. i don't like this much change. notice please that the jobs themselves aren't the problem. i like where i work. i like my jobs. i like the people i work with. i DON'T like that i put myself in this corner. i don't like that i feel horrible knowing that i need to leave sooner than later to take care of myself and my kids. i don't like the pending feeling of walking away from people that took a chance on me and helped me get through a damn hard spot. i don't like that i have to go back to a corporate (or equivalent) grind. i don't like the idea of another first day. i don't like the idea of another new set of people to get used to. but i know i have to make a change. i need insurance. i need solid hours. i need to know each day when i wake up where i'm supposed to be. i need to be a grown up again.

speaking of needing insurance: it sucks giant balls that A) i'm fucking sick. B) i have to apply and prove how broke i am to try to get approved to maybe be put on a waiting list for surgery C) i have giant fucking bills already piling up from the ER trip, the doctor trip, the prescriptions. i know surgery will be a few days off work, which means cuts to the paychecks. i'm too poor to be sick, but according to the paperwork i make too much money to get assistance. i HATE the looks i get when i say i don't have rent or a car payment. well, if you can afford a house, what are you doing in our offices? ummm...everyone died and i got one check, one time and THOUGHT i was doing the right thing. holy fuck has that decision bit me in the ass more than a few times already. i fucking hate that i'm scared to eat food. sure, it's nifty that i've already dropped 15 pounds but i HATE that i never know what will wake me up in the middle of the night in crazy pain. i fucking hate that if shit goes sideways between now and the possible waiting list, there's no plan B. MAYBE a hospital will do surgery if it's an emergency situation. MAYBE. in the meantime- when was the last time my will was updated? what would happen to the spawns? why the fuck did i ever give up my desk jockey job with good insurance and plenty of sick leave? i hate how irresponsible it makes me feel. i hate how helpless it makes me feel. i hate all of this fucking stupid bullshit. all over a fucking extra body part that no one needs anyway. seriously evolution- couldn't have taken care of this a few thousand years ago for me?

and here's the big one: you knew it was coming. i'm still working through the london trip.

it's killing me. in strange ways. when i said it would be a life changing trip, i had no idea what that could possibly mean.

there's two parts to this one, and it's going to get ugly and dark. welcome to my brain the last few weeks. it's not a good place to be.

part one: new york: we've been keeping in touch. i've been trying to dial back and just be a friend and a support. i'm doing a shitty job at it. i care so much about him that it's killing me holding back everything. i want to just say what i feel and all that girl crap- especially on days like today watching another huge national tragedy happen. i know too damn well how short life is. i want to be able to say what i feel when i feel it because i've learned the hard fucking way you more often than not don't get the second chance to say it. but i know at the same time he's not in the right place to hear it. i don't know if or when he will be. i do know that we've had very limited text conversations since i've been there. i haven't "seen" him on skype once since then. we haven't talked via phone or skype at all. and i know he has no clue what my brain has been doing since i got on the plane home. he has no clue all the crap that i've been working through. he has no clue how much this whole thing is tearing me apart. and he shouldn't right now. he's already got enough shit he's dealing with- he doesn't need my emotional baggage on top of it. and so i'm stuck in this horrible place of not being able to say anything and just being WRECKED. i don't know how to just be a friend when i care this much about someone. and i know this will sound like a petulant child, but it doesn't seem fair that i should have to stuff my emotions away and be this miserable just because he's not ready for it right now. yes, i just said it doesn't seem fair. because normally life is just so fair.
and it's killing me not to be able to talk or text to him more often and more than "how was your day" "busy" type crap. the worst part checks in on a level 10 crazy girl level- the app that i use to text him shows the last time someone was on line. i can see that he's been in the app. i can see he's been checking his phone and not responding to or starting a conversation. like right now: open the app and it shows he last checked in at 430 this evening. i haven't heard from him since wednesday night. do you have any idea what that does to a girl brain?
and i know there’s the argument of just getting over it and kicking him to the curb. how do you do that to someone you’ve invested 8 years in? especially when they’re going through some honestly TERRIBLE shit that can fuck any person up and change everything about the way they respond to things and their day to day interactions. i can’t give up on him and honestly- i don’t want to. i still hang on to the fact that when shit hit the fan, i was the one he called and wanted to talk to. i hang on to the fact that the whole time i was there he kept saying how glad he was to have me sitting next to him. he liked looking over and seeing me. i can’t dismiss that after 8 years, seeing him again was smooth and seamless. how often does that happen? after that amount of time you can just pick up right where you left off? i can’t get over him smiling at me and telling me i’m gorgeous. i can’t get over all the strange, random things that make him totally perfect for me. we have the same fucking cereal bowls. sounds stupid, but seriously- we both have the same tony the tiger cereal bowl. dumbest thing on earth but it’s still a thing. i made his coffee exactly right the first try. hell, his dog didn’t even bark at me once (and put her toy in my suitcase within an hour of being there). i just. i can’t give up. but i haven’t found a way to survive it yet either.

then there’s this other part of it.

this has nothing to do with new york oddly enough. but everything to do with the trip.

when i came home i dissected every part of every moment trying to find answers in speculation. i’m a virgo. it’s what we do. we over analyze and drive ourselves insane trying to find a concrete answer to everything even when there is no answer. i picked apart everything. even this idea: we had sex once when we got there, then his back hurt too much to be able to do it again. he did try one other time but just couldn’t. so. hmmm. was it because his back really was hurt? or was his  back a convenient excuse to get out of having sex with me? did my body change too much from the last time he saw me? was he no longer attracted? was i not good enough? was it too soon to have someone new in his bedroom after his wife leaving? you can imagine all the dark corners a crazy girl brain can wander off into.

the question itself: injury vs excuse, is a moot point. i don’t know. i don’t know what was going on in his head. i can speculate all day long but unless i ask new york directly that’s a question i’ll never have an answer for. at this point it doesn’t matter. there’s argument in my head as to if it ruined or saved the trip. how would i have felt if i had gone over there and it HAD been the crazy sexcapade i planned on? would i have just felt like a cheap tart that paid all that money just for sex? the world’s most backwards call girl? maybe it was better that we were able to just spend time together without all the sex muddying the waters?

but question as to why we didn’t have sex: doesn’t matter.

here’s what matters. i asked one of my oldest friends the question. he has no better answer than i do. it’s all speculation. even harder for him- it’s one sided information. but he is a guy- he may have a better idea of how another guy brain works and 99% of his readings have been right, but it’s still just speculation.

here’s how the conversation went:

me: that’s the hardest part for me. i just want to know an honest why. if i wasn’t what he remembered after 8 years, fine. just say so. if i was too fat, just say so. whatever it is, just shoot me and put me out of my misery.

him: yup. i agree. when did he tell you about his back? just before you left?

me: after i got there. yeah. ouch. good excuse to avoid having sex with someone you’re not into.

him: yup. that’s exactly it too.


“that’s exactly it too.”

my very worst, most painful thought about myself- that someone, a very important someone would lie to me to get out of having to be with me- that’s exactly it.

i know he didn’t mean it to hurt, he was just speculating and being honest with me, but holy fuck did that open a pandoras box of self image issues.

so, i’ve had that rattling around in my head for the last week.

i have a hard time with my body. i want to love myself the way i am. the person i see in my head and in the mirror is a gorgeous creature. i take care of myself, i do my make up carefully, i try really hard to pick out clothes that fit my body and make me look my best. i’m a terribly vain creature. i hate leaving the house without at least mascara. i worry about my hair and my nails. i don’t want to be submitted for the people of walmart blog. in the mornings when i’m done with getting ready i generally feel GOOD about myself. i like what i see. i’m ok with my size and shape. then something happens- sometimes i’ll see a picture of myself. sometimes i’ll look in the mirror when i get home and realize something went tragically wrong at some point and no one warned me. i really do take THE WORST pictures on earth. that isn’t part of my vanity, that’s a cold truth. i’ve had friends take pictures of me and say WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED? so when i’m out and about on the town doing tweet ups and things then get home and see the pictures- it’s hard. i’m learning not to let it get to me, whatever is in the picture is how people see me all the time even if it’s not how i see myself.

BUT. to think that the image of myself that i hate the most- to think that’s really why someone wouldn’t want to be with me. to think that they can’t even glimpse the person i see in the mirror in the mornings- that fucking HURTS. i want someone that sees me as the beautiful creature i see in myself. i want them to see the sexy girl dancing in the kitchen making dinner, not a beached whale having a seizure. i want someone to see the sexy person that i feel like i am even if perhaps i don’t look exactly like i do in my head.

and i know- big shock that a guy would dismiss a girl because of her looks. oldest news story around. hell, i had a lover once tell me straight out that i was too fat to date. it was ok to sleep with me and hang out at my house, but he couldn’t be seen at clubs with me.

so this isn’t the first time i’ve heard this. not a new shocking revelation.

but there’s something about the way this one happened. coming from one of my closest people about the man that i care the most about. it’s the worst thing in the world from the two most important people.

i hate my body right now for being sick. i hate that i’m genetically not a petite girl. i hate myself for not being more proactive about getting in shape. i hate myself for being so vain and worried about it all. i hate that it affects how people see and interact with me.

i don’t need another reason to hate myself. i’m doing a pretty damn good job of it all on my own.

but to hear that. to have it be what changed the trip? to hear that it’s not just me having a paranoid thought in my head that YES, it’s exactly what a guy would think? that’s a whole black, destructive level of hate i haven’t felt towards myself in a long time.

and i’ve been trying to work through it but it’s one of those things that the instant i even begin to think about it i can just feel this dark spiral setting in and i don’t have time for that. i have kids, i have jobs, i have a magazine, i have shit to do. i can’t sit around paralyzed trying to work through that feeling. i don’t have the time or the ability to hide under the covers and be sad or hurt. better to just stick it on the back burner. funny thing about the back burner though, it can’t be ignored forever. especially when there’s piles of stress coming from every direction coupled with lack of sleep, more than normal pain levels, suddenly the back burner is the front corner burner on high and boiling over. “that’s exactly it.” i’ve been mulling it over every day. hating myself a little more every day. i’ve been trying to dismiss it but damn it all if the bad stuff isn’t harder to get rid of than any good thing. and at this point it’s outlasted my small reserve of good things. and all i can see right now is the negative. the lack of text messages. too many questions, no answers. the negative body images taking over. the negative self talk. the negative beliefs. i’m starting to drown in them. i guess writing about it is my way of clawing back to the surface. maybe it will rattle around less stuck to paper.

i don’t have many answers right now. i’m working on the ones i can. i’m working on a better job that takes care of ish. i’m working on getting the medical crap resolved somehow.

this last one though- both parts of it. still not sure how to take it on. how to make it better. which for a natural fixer...it’s a little stressful not being able to come up with an answer or a solution. vicious cycle that bit. stress about an issue. more stress about not being able to resolve the stress. stress about the new stress from not being able to resolve the initial stress. quite dizzying and draining.

but i’m not giving up. it isn’t in me, for better or worse. i’ll keep looking for answers and solutions. find a way to hate myself less and let go of the rest of it. i can’t change what’s happened. until my delorean gets back from the shop at least. i can’t force now to be magically and suddenly better. and worry/stress is like a rocking chair- whole lot of nothing that gets you nowhere. maybe the answer is simply that there is no answer and i have to be okay with that. maybe the answer is not yet or be patient. the good lord himself knows how little patience i have. the line was too long to wait to get any more when they were passing it out. maybe this is a chance for me to see my worse self image and learn to get over it. maybe it’s a wake up call- having the worst things about yourself confirmed can be a powerful motive for change.

i’m working through the sludge. i don’t particularly like it but i’m not simply going to stay stuck in it either.

mama bear is NOT hibernating yet

so. growl. i do not respond well to being poked with a stick. parent teacher problems persist. here's the latest. please, PLEASE let me know if i'm over reacting. although a suppose at this point, the last email has already been sent...but if i need to back down, please, PLEASE let me know. my mama bear tends to growl first (although a thought out and thoroughly contemplated growl) and ask if i'm over reacting second...

email one: my initial email yesterday morning:

Good morning-

It appears that conference time for this semester has come and gone and my opportunity to discuss [spawn's] progress has been overlooked.

This year and last year both I requested phone conferences due to my work schedule. Both years no phone conference happened.

The lack of response is particularly frustrating this year given the classroom meeting in October and my sincere desire to stay on top of things and help make this year a good year for [spawn]. Additionally, it is frustrating that even after making sure the correct contact information was provided I have not received any feedback from the classroom at all since our meeting.

I have had feedback from [principal] and [spawn]. From [spawn's] side, he reported that things improved for a bit after the meeting but then began to backslide again and his efforts have been met with little assistance or patience and even some resistance again. I do understand that this is his side of the story only, but I am more than apt to believe it is an increasingly accurate depiction of events as I, as the parent, am receiving the same results.

I would like to request an honest answer as to why so little effort is being made to meet us half way in these efforts. I do understand busy schedules and a classroom full of families to work with. I do not understand why nothing at all is being done. I would even go so far as to say that while I do feel the original meeting was helpful in having my concerns heard, I also feel that the majority of the meeting was spent defending or making excuses at the classroom level and that the only real help came when [principal] joined and was able to provide a buffer of sorts to help move things along. I do not understand where the friction originated and I do not understand why it is so difficult to resolve.

As it seems phone conferences are not an available option, I would request a classroom meeting again, with [principal] if possible, to discuss [spawn's] progress since the last meeting.  I would also like to note that as of January 1, 2011 I will no longer be working and would like to request a list of the best times to volunteer in the classroom in a more hands on approach to helping make this school year better and more successful.

Thank you for your time-

[mama bear]

email two: her response yesterday afternoon:

[mama bear],

I sent several notices home and E-mails were sent requesting a response on times that worked for you.  I have not received anything from you.  I am still doing conferences this week and would love to meet with you.  You are the only one who has not responded on a time.  When I schedule a phone conference, parents will let me know what time works best for them.  I think it is important for [spawn] to know that you are also looking at his portfolio of work while we are conferencing.  I know employers are usually very supportive of allowing their employees to conference with the teachers twice a year.
Let me know a time you can meet in the morning or right after school.

[teacher]

email three: my response this morning:

[teacher]-

To date this is the first email I have received of any nature since our October meeting. Additionally, one notice was sent home for conferences. It was signed and returned the same week.

I strongly resent the implication that I am a liar. I also strongly resent the continued blame and lack of personal responsibility on your part. As stated at the conference in October, there are multiple way to reach me via cell phone, work phone, and mail to the home in addition to email. If it was as apparent as it seems that I was the only one to not respond, I would have to ask why a phone call was not made or further effort, especially given the previous attention and efforts on my part.

I also strongly resent that my emails to you are discussed with my son in the classroom. He has no prior knowledge to my communications with you and for him to be dressed down and grilled in the classroom is beyond inappropriate. Such matters as discussed herein are parent-teacher matters only.

I feel, at this time, that no further progress can be made between you and I. It seems we are at an impasse. I would request that a dedicated third party be appointed for routing and mitigating all future communications.

I will be filing a formal complaint with the school board over these matters and the treatment both my son and I have been subjected to over the past year and a half.

I again request a list of times available to volunteer in the classroom as I feel even more strongly now that my presence in the classroom is vital to making sure my son has a successful second half of the school year.


[mama bear]

so. what say you bloggosphere?

*disclaimer*

so. welcome to my blog.

if you've read my stuff before on myspace or facebook, you should be used to me. if you're new, there's a few things you need to know...consider yourself warned:

#1 i don't like punctuation. deal with it. well, not so much punctuation as the shift key. everything will be lower case. yes, i know it's not "proper" but it's they way i like to type. also, this way if you see something in caps then you know i mean it...

#2 i've been known to curse a little in my blogs. ok. more than a little. FINE. i've been compared to kevin smith in my ability to drop the f-bomb in every way, shape, and description as needed. it happens. some days i'm pissed off and being polite and beeping myself out just doesn't cut it. if you don't like it, piss off. it's how i write. no, i'm not undereducated. yes, i know there are probably other words that could get the same point across. but i write the way i write. NO ONE IS FORCING YOU TO READ THIS. so deal with it or, as i said before, piss off.

#3 everything i write is my own opinion, my own thought, it's me on paper (well, not really on paper now...is it. it's me in text and code and special computer thingys i don't understand). i don't expect you to agree with me all of the time, hell, you don' t have to agree with me any of the time. i don't care. it's my blog. it's my voice. i'm not associated with anyone, i'm not speaking for anyone, it's just me. if i steal a thought or a quote from someone, i'll let you know, other wise it's all me, all the time.

#4 i'm random. i'm odd. i'm long-winded. i have a dark sense of humor. occasionally i'll be chipper. sometimes i'll be sappy. most of the time i'll be snarky. i write what i think and what i feel. sometimes i'll cross the information border. sometimes you'll wish there was an undo button for what you just read. some days you may feel the need to soak your brain (and eyes) in a bucket of bleach when you're done (okay, maybe not THAT bad).

so. welcome to my blog. you've been warned.