more things I love about movies

Question: How sad is it that most Americans are NOT smarter than a fifth grader? We have the board game at home, and I just failed half way through fourth grade. The question was something I really, really should have known. I'm embarassed to even tell you how much I should have known it. It had to do with the Alamo, and - well, I guess I just haven't seen enough movies on that one. The way Drew and I play, though, is that you get lots of chances to keep moving forward. And I totally nailed my million dollar Q. You want to know why? The question was, "In what year did the Great Depression start." So I replayed in my head something I'd read on my agent's blog recently - that their Christmas party theme at the end of the year was "Party like it's 1929." I also know the year of the Newsies strike (from the movie) and a few important tid bits on World War I (from the eighth book in the Anne of Green Gables series). And, YET, don't even think I could ace the pop culture section on Who Wants to be a Millionaire, because I only pay attention here and there even in that field that I love so much.

So, yea, I'm feeling kind of - well, not concerned - but interested - in the state of our intelligence. Because I know I'm not alone. I also know that at least I'm smarter than Kelly Pickler, who didn't know if France was a country or not, and the teen Miss America contestant who stumbled over basic geography in a question about why American kids don't know enough about geography and, seriously, most of the people interviewed by Jay Leno on the street outside of Universal Studios. I mean, that segment is just really, really sad.

Michael and I were talking about the economy today and various executive orders signed last week and the Climate Change formerly known as global warming. And of course, I eventually ran out of things I knew for sure and things of which I even had an educated opinion. That doesn't take long for me when it comes to current events. I've paid more attention to the current presidency in two days than I ever paid attention before. I think it was the fingers-in-the-ears philosophy. If I don't know it, it can't scare me, la la la. I think I got that from a movie too. And I quote:

There's always an Arquillian Battle Cruiser or a Corillian Death Ray or an intergalactic plague that is about to wipe out all life on this miserable little planet, and the only way these people can get on with their happy lives is that they. . . Do . . . Not. . . . Know about it.

Isn't that the truth.

It happened in a book I read

I'm reading Chocolat.  I was sort of trying to cut back on sweets before I started that book.  But now I feel that any day that goes by without a petit four is a complete waste of existence.  I haven't finished the book, so I can't decide if I will love it until the end.  But for now, it's a pretty little literary treat I get to open in all my free time.  I love the way it feels like a fairy tale even though she uses words like television.  And I love the different points of view.  And the imaginary rabbit.  I don't remember the movie, so I can't possibly have seen it.  

One of my favorite Anne books talks about a Dickens novel.   A character in the Anne book says when she reads the Dickens one she always gets ravenously hungry because the people in it always seem to be eating good things.  Kind of like the fact that every time I think of Heidi I get a craving for cheese and milk.

Do you know what I mean by Anne book?  That's what I call the eight-part series by L.M. Montgomery that begins with the children's classic Anne of Green Gables.  It could really be bad for my literary future that I love those books so much.  I'll never think I've written a lovable  character unless she has red hair.  And a book will never be good enough unless I think my reader will want seven more in the series.  

But I'll push past those feelings.  Just like I pushed past the feeling that life wasn't worth living unless it was the late 1800s again.  Just like I pushed past the craving for the petit four.  I'll just write about regular old dishwater blonds and dull brunettes.  And then I'll go eat those chocolate donuts in the refrigerator.  Pre-processed, factory-packaged donuts.  It won't look or smell like it came from a chocolaterie, but my taste buds aren't nearly as picky as my soul.  

Rilla-My-Rilla

At the moment, I am non-fictioning myself to death.  I'm loving every word - how to help your kids thrive in public school, (Going Public, by David and Kelli Pritchard), a Christian's perspective on filmmaking (Outside Hollywood by Isaac Botkin), and You Can Market Your Book by Carmen Leal.  They're all relevant, and I'm enjoying them.  In between these I also read both of Rosie O'Donnell's memoirs, and it was at some point after that when I started wondering just which wonderful story I'm going to pick up next.  I can't wait to get lost in a good piece of fiction again.  

While thinking of where I will turn first in choosing my next great read, I can't help but think about the Anne of Green Gables series, my previously mentioned favorite fiction series of all time.  When I found this picture online and discovered I could own these books for the small price of 55.70 per book, I practically ran to Michael with the news.  He informed me that our closets and shelves are already overrun by my many copies of the series.  The fact that these are HARD BACK fell completely on deaf ears.

So remember how I want to get a book published some day and wish I could be in a movie - at least ONCE - and hopefully go to the premiere?  Well, here's another one:  Book 8 in this series?  SHOULD BE A MOVIE.  And I want to write the screenplay.  I don't care what you think of the flowery sunsets or flights of imagination in the first several books, you can't possibly hate the last one.  It's based during WWI.  It has courage, sacrifice, comedy, romance, horrible sorrow, childish thrills.  It's completely awesome.  As I told my dad once - there's a scene with a dog.  Dude.  You will never get over it.  And it belongs on the screen.  I haven't even begun to summon the nerve to make the call to find out who owns the movie rights to this book, but I'm convinced when I find them I will in very few words be able to convince them that I am the perfect person to pen its screenplay.  No one could adore it more.  No one could be better versed in all the wonderfulness that led to this finale.  I want the job.  

At the very least, don't let the same person write it who did Anne of Avonlea (The Kevin Sullivan version).  I have yet to forgive them for squishing three books together that way and leaving out some of the best characters ever.  It was so uncool.  Mr. Harrison and Philippa Gordon deserved to be heard.  I want vindication, and I want an Oscar for it.

Hold on - that's a different dream.  

I was putting some books I enjoy on my profile today, which got me thinking about books I like and why I like them. One of my favorite authors is L.M. Montgomery. I would never tell this to someone in publishing or someone in higher education or, say, print it on a blog for all the world to see (wait a minute . . . ). But anyway, she is. The reason I like her is because she wrote books that I want to live with for a while and read again and again. They're wholesome, a characteristic not necessarily considered a merit by true literary types, but I thoroughly enjoy a book in which I am not likely to turn the page and find myself in the middle of a crime scene or an illicit, adulterous affair. One of her characters, Emily, wrote a book once that was published, and a critic said it was, "A story that will not corrupt its readers." Even Emily's elderly family members in the book recognized the comment as less than favorable, and I have always wondered if some critic said that about one of Montgomery's books at one time. There is so much in the world to corrupt us already, plenty on the news to scare us, plenty in our daily lives to cloud us. Don't we want books at least sometimes that show us the best of life instead of the worst? Evidently I do - the books in my profile will prove it. There aren't many modern ones there. Although I grew up, my library never did. I'm trying to branch out but finding so far that I don't like the grownups very much. Maybe I haven't tried hard enough. Maybe, even though I switch toothpastes every time I go to the store and practically live for new things (see previous post), maybe when it comes to reading, I just can't change.

My summer of reading

Last year I went to a writer's conference and finally had all the inspiration I needed to keep working on a book I had started writing and actually finish it. This year I went to the same conference. My memoir was already written and this time I left inspired to read. When you are a writer who doesn't yet actually write - that is, your head is full of ideas and your computer is full have half-begun chapters and stories and articles, then the question you will absolutely get asked at these things is, "What do you want to write?" And when you aren't quite sure of the answer to that you will be asked, "Well, what do you like to read?" Well, it's not so much that I didn't know the answer to that question - it's that I was too embarassed to confess that I would still rather read Anne of Green Gables than about any other book ever, except maybe its sequels. If I wanted to sound slightly more intellectual I could say Jane Austen (as in, everything she ever wrote? Not really - mostly just the three that became movies I like). So after this conference I knew for certain, I had to increase my library.

I feel I've failed miserably though. My answer to the question, "What do you want to write?" is still, "Um . . .well kind of . . .you know, like . . . ." I plan to keep reading. :-)

But in my head I know exactly what I want to write: I want to write characters and stories that people want to live with the way I can live with Anne. I like a good mystery and the extremely plot-driven stories. But when I reach for a favorite, it's almost all about the character for me. I want to enjoy watching them move, hearing them think, seeing them discover the world around them and their place in it. I love reading from Austen's era - the dresses! The food! The fact that they spent all day every day visiting each other! Love it. But I don't want to write about her era. Then it's historical fiction. Is there any way to make the feel of a good pair of blue jeans as appealing as pale green organza with ruffles at the shoulder and a flounce in the back? And more to the point: Is there any way to put all of that in a genre? I'm thinking "coming of age". At least, I'm definitely going to say that instead of "Um, well, you know . . . ."