Smartly Essay -- Stephanie Meyer

My Stephanie Meyer rant is up over at Smartly.  If you haven't read it, I invite you to do so now.

What Makes a Writer?

My brother is a doctor.  He went to school for about 70 years so I could say that (okay probably not quite that long, but his wife claims it's close).

I am a mother.  I had sex and gave birth.

Some titles are easier to qualify for than others.

What about writer?  What is necessary to qualify for that title?  Who gets to decide when you can rightfully wear it?

I've asked myself that question a lot lately.  I write a lot.  Other people read my stuff.  Does that make me a writer?

I'm not published (no, I haven't tried).  My daughter is, so I guess she's a writer.

Is there a difference between being a writer and being an author?

I think it's tough.  Some people claim that title for themselves rather easily even though I wouldn't give it to them (yes, I'm talking about Stephanie Meyer again -- I know, I've got issues). 

And there are many published authors out there making a lot of money on serial novels that are very formulaic, no originality, no thinking (no, I don't feel this way about all of them; don't send me hate comments; I'm sure the ones you read are awesome).

The real question here is if I am a writer.  No, I'm not asking you.  I know that you can easily answer in the comments, but that won't do it for me.  Unfortunately, no amount of telling me something positive about myself will convince me.  Not from the outside.

I need to feel it from the inside.  That's the only way to convince myself, to wear the title.

I have received many wonderful compliments on my writing (thank you, all you wonderful people -- you rock!).  I have had people tell me that I've helped them through a difficult time.  I've had people tell me that I made them laugh or made them think.  These things are very cool.

But I think what finally convinced me is that I enjoy it so much.  It feels right.  It feels like I am exercising a muscle, stretching and growing, progressing.  It fits me.

It's part of me, part of who I am.  Writing. 

So I guess that makes me . . . *gulp* . . . a writer.  Identity crisis averted.  For now.

The Penitent Blogger

I am afraid I need to apologize.  Publicly.

I have felt guilty since the moment I published my last post.  It's been bugging me.  So I thought I should repent and say how very sorry I am.

In a moment of hyperbole, I implied that I hate Stephanie Meyer.  I do not.  I have never met her.  I am sure she is a very nice person.  A very nice, 14-year old girl stuck in a woman's body, with a serious unfulfilled bad-boy fantasy, and in need of lots of therapy.  I apologize for judging her the way I did.  It was unfair.

There.  I feel so much better.

Another Reason to Hate Stephanie Meyer

As if you needed another reason.  As if the swooning teen girls (and far too many of their mothers) were not reason enough.  As if rewriting the myth of vampires to suit her needs was not enough.  As if the fact that her shallow and salacious writing gets compared to -- I'm so ashamed to even say this -- Harry Potter with all its depth and development and, um, intelligence was not enough.

May I just say that even with all of that, I think there is a more important reason to feel disdain and loathing for the woman (or maybe it's her people, but still her fault).

She and the Twilight franchise have completely and unabashedly hijacked the red-black-white color scheme.

These used to be classy colors.  Colors you wear to a formal ball.  Colors of a contemporary wedding reception.  Even really hot lingerie.

But not now.  Now red-black-white means vampires.  Mainly one vampire trying not to eat his girlfriend, the love of his life.

"When he looks at me with those eyes, and I know he wants to kill me but won't, that's how I know he loves me."

Come on!  Really?  This is love?

I'm not going into a full rant about Twilight here.  There's just not enough time or exclamation points for my true feelings.

But I will not surrender red-black-white to her.  I will not let those colors make me see the black cover, pale hands, and red apple (as in forbidden fruit -- duh).

When I see those colors I am determined that I will see Victoria's Secret on Valentine's Day.  And I will feel good about it.  So there.