The Problem with Fan Fiction

Remember all of that stuff I said about Austen fan fiction yesterday? It doesn't apply to every writer I love. For example, I've never been able to get into "Doctor Who" fan fiction. The writers of the show do a great job and it would be difficult to improve on Steven Moffat's genius. I've tried reading Twilight / Harry Potter crossovers, but they just don't work for me. Harry is British, and Bella is much too blah for his world. I can't really seem to get into Jane Eyre fan fiction, though there is not much of it out there. However, I cannot fault Jasper Fforde's treatment of Jane Eyre in The Eyre Affair.

Recently, while searching for titles related to Mr. Darcy, Vampyre, I came across this:

Romeo & Juliet & Vampires

And this:

Little Vampire Women

Oh, and also this:

Wuthering Bites

This:

The Undead World of Oz: L. Frank Baum's The Wonderful Wizard of Oz Complete with Zombies and Monsters

This:

Alice in Zombieland

And finally, this:

The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and Zombie Jim

It's a double standard that I have, I know. If I am willing to read the Austen fan fiction, then why not Shakespeare fan fiction? Or Twain, Carroll, Alcott or Bronte?

I guess the answer is that I just have to draw the line somewhere.

Truthfully, it is difficult to put into words why Austen (and since we're being so honest, mainly P&P) fan fiction has become so interesting to me. I know that I love their story, and I like to know what other writers think should have or could have happened. Bottom line, I just can't get enough of the Darcy and Elizabeth story. Better than Romeo and Juliet, better than Heathcliff and Catherine, better than Rochester and Jane Eyre. Their story is the best love story I've ever heard, and I want to read it again and again, in a thousand different ways, knowing all the while that no matter what happens to them, they will always overcome whatever obstacles are in their way. They will always learn to get over their own pride and prejudices. They will always bring a smile to my face. And, at the end of the day, they will always be the story I love to talk about, love to read about, and love to hear.

My Austen Secret

A few years ago, I would have been ashamed to admit this, but I've been reading a lot of Jane Austen fan fiction. There was a time when I thought that type of literature was beneath me. I am an intellectual, and we read Austen and Bronte, not Reynolds and Grange. Still, after a huge Sourcebooks eBook giveaway in December 2010, I found myself with 10 novels based on Austen's characters, and shortly after tentatively stepping into the Austen fan fiction waters, I dove in headfirst. I can't remember if I read Mr. Darcy's Diary first, or if it was, Fitzwilliam Darcy, the Last Man in the World. Either way, the Darcy those two women presented was the Darcy I wanted, so I kept reading . . . and kept reading . . . and kept reading. And before I knew it, I found that my collection of Austen-related fiction was growing pretty large.

There is a certain appeal to reading what I call "literary junk food". As an English major, almost everything I read in a semester is something I have to analyze. I read with a critical eye, looking for the deeper meaning behind the writing. I consider the historical time frame, and what the author was experiencing that may have influenced the work. However, with my "literary junk food", I don't have to do any of that. I can simply read for my own enjoyment. I read those books because they make me happy, not because I may have to write an essay over it someday.

This "junk food" isn't always well written. I have discovered a few writers that are really talented, but for the most part the writing is pretty bad and many of the story plots are ridiculous. Still, I enjoy them, because I know how they are going to end (almost always the way Austen wrote them), and because I don't have to think about them until I want to read them again.

So, there it is . . . my deep, dark literary secret. Truthfully, I really love some of them. I read Reynolds and Grange over and over. I have all of the best fan fiction sites bookmarked. I have my favorites that I read over and over, and I have a mental list of the stories I'll never read again.

As I head into this semester, I am excited about getting back to the basics, back to the Austen I love and the depth of her genius. I look forward to the undoubtedly heated discussions I can expect to have on Tuesday nights. I am ready to explore all of Jane through the eyes of a scholar.

But don't be surprised if you find me sneaking in a few pages of Mr. Darcy, Vampyre once in a great while.

The Austen Semester

In exactly six days, I will be driving to Pittsburg to attend my first Austen class of the semester. I am so excited! Because of my love for all things Austen, I feel that there may be some new posts coming to you, my few, but faithful readers.

I've been extremely excited about this class since the moment it was announced. I'm so excited that I've done something I've never done before. I decided on a paper topic before I even started writing the papers for the previous semester's classes. I'm in the process of reading some of the works which I'll use for my paper, and I plan to begin researching soon.

My love for Jane has been a journey, which began when I watched the Emma Thompson version of Sense and Sensibility for the first time. There was a time when, if asked, I would have said that Shakespeare was the British writer I would specialize in when I started my graduate work. I don't think that is the truth any longer. I still love Shakespeare, but Austen has captured me, and she shows no signs of letting go.

So, I'm reviving the blog (I think) for the semester, at least, so that I'll have a place to share my excitement and vent my frustrations during this course. (Someday, I hope to truly revive the blog and begin posting regularly again.)

For now, it is the Austen semester on this blog and in my life. Get ready, world!

Joplin, Missouri

My city.

As I caught myself calling Joplin that, I realized that Joplin has always been a part of my life.

When I was a little girl, and we'd come up for camp, my Mom and I would come over from Wyandotte with friends and eat dinner at a Mexican place called Raphael's.

When I was a teenager, my friend Phil and I would come over and hang out at a coffee shop on Main Street, when Main Street was still the "main drag."

When I moved to Tulsa, my brother and his wife followed shortly after by moving to Joplin, and I'd come over on weekends to see them.

When I moved to the area to be close to my family, I realized that there was a place in my heart that had always thought of Southwest Missouri as home.

I was born in Arkansas, and my heart lives in Texas, but Missouri is just as much a part of my life as those other places I've called home. Living here for the past (almost) 6 years, I've never really called Joplin home. I may have felt it was, but I never really said it. Home was Dalhart, Texas, a place I loved from the moment I laid eyes on it.

On Sunday, May 22, 2011, something changed and Joplin became "my city". We don't live in the city limits of Joplin. We live in a small town near Joplin, but we shop in Joplin, we eat in Joplin, much of our life is centered in Joplin.

So, when a tornado ripped through my city on May 22nd, my heart started breaking. Right in the middle of a month that had already broken my heart with the death of a man I admired above so many others, another heartbreak that tore apart a city I love shook me to my core. I'm still trying to make sense of the month of May 2011, and I have a million questions that will probably never be answered. May 2011 has changed me. There is a point in every day since May 18th where I am caught unaware by grief. Sometimes I grieve the death of my friend, sometimes I grieve the destruction of my city, and sometimes I don't even have words to describe my grief.

In my heart, I've taken ownership of Joplin, as I know many others have. This is our city. Carthage, Oronogo, Webb City, Carl Junction, and all of the others in between have declared this city as OUR city.

Joplin is my home. I don't live within its city limits, but it is my home. Every day, I hear new stories from survivors, people who shouldn't have lived, but by the grace of God, they did. Every day, I'm reminded that my city was broken, but I am also reminded that my God reached into the midst of a monster to save a life of a friend, a colleague, a family. My family. My brother. My sister-in-law. My nephew. My niece. My God redirected their paths to keep them out of the storm, as He did for so many others.

Joplin is my city. Since May 22nd, I have thought of Joplin not as Joplin, Missouri, city I shop and eat in, but as MY City, place I call home. The road ahead for Joplin is long, and as so many have said, the news people will leave, the relief workers will go home, and we the citizens of Southwest Missouri will be left on our own to rebuild a city that will never be the same.

As I watched yet another video filmed in the aftermath of the monster, I was reminded of the words of a Joplin pastor who declared that in Joplin, the Cross still stands. I was reminded that the chapel was one of the only two places in St. John's hospital undamaged by the storm. I was reminded that my God was in the midst of the tornado guiding and directing people into the places that would keep them safe.

My city. No longer just a place to shop or eat, Joplin is my city. In my heart, I think it has always been my city. I think the years of visits and quick trips over to town have embedded Joplin into the fabric of my life. Joplin will recover. My city will rebuild. The breaking of our hearts will begin to subside and be replaced with hope for our future. Our city will stand, and in the midst of our city, my God still walks, bringing with Him peace and comfort, hope and joy, a future.

Review: One of Our Thursdays is Missing

Last night, I finished reading One of Our Thursdays is Missing. I recently reread the whole series, because I knew this next Next would be out and wanted the previous novels to be fresh in my mind as I read this installation. It was a fun to reread the previous Nexts and I hope to repeat the process soon. It also helped that we spent the past weekend following Jasper Fforde around Missouri. I'll talk more about that later.

One of Our Thursdays is Missing is unique in that it is not written from the perspective of the real Thursday Next, but is instead from the point of view of the written Thursday Next. This is the written TN we first met in First Among Sequels as the star of The Great Samuel Pepys Fiasco.

By the time I reached page 183, I was calling this book Fforde's masterpiece. It was insane, ridiculous, and fantastic; all of which was increased by the sheer absurdity of the Bookworld. I loved it! As to the description of "masterpiece", I'll need to read The Fourth Bear again to verify if that is completely true.

It takes a little more concentration than some of the other books in the series, simply because much of the action takes place in Bookworld, and it takes some careful reading to understand what exactly it is that you don't understand.

I don't want to give away any spoilers, so there isn't much in this review in the way of the actual content of the book. However, I will give the advice that if you are planning to read this book, I strongly recommend reading the first five books. While this book doesn't address many of the issues presented in the previous book, there are times when prior knowledge of Thursday's adventures (that is, the Real Thursday) is helpful.

As for the other, that is, as for the fact that Stan and I recently took a weekend trip that was basically planned around Jasper Fforde's US tour schedule, there is much to say. Perhaps I should write a separate post for that.

The book, One of Our Thursdays is Missing, is well worth the time and effort, and gets my highest award of 5 Mario stars.

Review: Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince

Last night I attended my first midnight showing of a movie. Yes, sports fans, I stayed up way past my bedtime in order to experience the very early opening of Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince.

This morning, several people have asked the question "Was it worth it?"

The answer is yes. Yes, it was worth it. If for no other reason than the experience, it was worth it.

The other question I've received is, of course, "How was the movie?"

It was better than I expected. After Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, I wasn't looking forward to this film. However, it turned out to be a good adaptation. Of course, there were some added scenes and many more deleted scenes, which always happens going from book to film. I felt there were some very crucial scenes deleted from the end, but I understand the idea behind the adaptation.

The acting was very good. I was delighted by Alan Rickman's performance, and liked him more in this film than in the previous five. Jim Broadbent was a nice addition to the cast, and Helena Bonham Carter was brilliant as usual in her role as Bellatrix.

Going to a midnight showing is like no other experience. I have seen movies on opening day, standing in line for a few hours with friends. There is little comparison. The midnight showing brings out a very interesting group of people. I saw kids there as young as 10, and adults as old as 60 (a very generous guess, I might add).

Though I don't plan to make a habit of going to midnight showings, I must admit that I really enjoyed myself and would probably do it again if the opportunity presented itself.

As for the film, I think it deserves 4 out 5 stars.

The Big Day Approacheth!

No, no! Not THAT big day. I'm talking about Shakespeare's 445th birthday on Thursday. Perhaps you weren't aware that he was getting to be that old. Yes, my friends, he has aged well.

Fortunately, and most likely, to my family's distress, I have just learned that Thursday, April 23rd, is Talk Like Shakespeare Day. Yes, you read that right. Talk Like Shakespeare Day. Awesome, right?

Don't worry if you aren't a Shakespearean scholar, it just so happens that there is a website (Talk Like Shakespeare.org) to help you prepare to talk like Shakespeare on Thursday.

While I can't guarantee I will talk like Shakespeare all day (I do have to answer phones, and our customers may not understand why I'm talking like that), I do plan to try to talk like Shakespeare as much as possible on Thursday. My hope is that we'll have family dinner Thursday night so that I can drive my family crazy with my thees and thous.

So, talk like Shakespeare on Thursday. People may think you are crazy, but I bet it'll be fun!

"ER", Good-bye

Today there are hundreds of news articles, blog posts, and recaps all over the internet about the finale. My "dime a dozen" post won't mean much to anyone except me. I'm writing anyway.

It ended last night. After 15 years of ups, downs, and everything in between, "ER" closed it's proverbial doors and said good night. I openly admit that I cried during more than 50% of the 3 hour "ER" window last night.

I started watching "ER" in season one, and maybe missed only half or possibly one whole season during the 15 year run. I was remembering last night that I started watching the show because Michael Crichton was the creator. In high school, I was really into Crichton, reading everything of his I could get my hands on. When I heard he was attached to a television series, I was right there, on Thursday nights, ready to watch. I didn't care who the actors were, I just wanted to see his genius at work.

And genius it was.

The show took the viewers places they had never been. Yes, we had been in an ER. Shows like "Trapper John, M.D." and "St. Elsewhere" were both based on the idea of a teaching hospital, and there were probably numerous others with a similar concept. I vaguely remember seeing the shows. Of course, my mother was a fan of Knots Landing and Dallas, so our evenings were filled with the prime time soap opera antics of Larry Hagman and William Devane. Medical dramas weren't really the thing in our house. However, "ER" was more than a medical drama. It was a soap opera, of sorts. It was a comedy, at times. It was heart wrenching and sappy and amazing. The show always made me cry, more than once a season, sometimes once a week. It moved me. And yes, even when it got too political for my liking, I still loved it.

"ER" has been part of my life for 15 years, and even though it is just a TV show, I will miss it. My Thursday nights have been an "event", as "ER" writers always billed it. The writers weren't afraid to shock us and make us angry. They were willing to push the envelope. They took us places we never thought we'd go. They toyed with our emotions. They created characters we hated, taught us to love them, and then cruelly took them away from us in explosions and helicopter crashes.

It was epic television, and they knew it. And now, that season of television is over.

Yes, there will be other shows that create "epic" television, but there will never be another "ER".

I realized that the show has been on for half of my life. It has been the show I watched throughout so many different seasons of my own personal journey, and like a warm blanket, I let the show become the outlet for my tears and frustrations when I met them in my own life. Many of the tears I cried for "ER" over the years represented tears I couldn't cry any place else. "ER" gave me an excuse to be vulnerable.

Perhaps that seems a little extreme to some, but, looking back, I realize how true it is.

So many of my favorite shows have ended in the past few years, and it feels like television is slipping into the background. It is becoming less "Must See" and more "Will Watch". Now what will I do? I will probably watch something else that doesn't move me quite like "ER" did. And I will probably like it. "ER" will disappear from the minds of television viewers the same as every other epic show has done. I'll catch the occasional rerun, and perhaps buy a season or two, maybe all. Life will go on the same as it did when other shows have ended. This is not a tragedy. Still, let me mourn. Let me cry once more as the camera pans out and the ambulances come in, then I'll be content to let the screen go black.

And believe it or not, the tea didn't help

Well, I've been sick. It started on Monday afternoon, quite suddenly with a dry cough. It turned into a terrible hacking cough with fever that lasted two days.

So for two days, all I have been able to drink is white grape juice on the rocks, and I have eaten less than I have ever eaten in my life. On Tuesday night, I ate half a bowl of shells and cheese, prepared by my gorgeous Stan. On Wednesday, I had a banana, and most of a grilled cheese sandwich. Today? Well, today it is the juice, and I officially ate less than half a cup of soup.

Is it starve a fever, feed a cold; or starve a cold, feed a fever? I can never remember.

Anyway, I'm sure no one cares about my meals, or lack thereof, over the past few days.

The real reason for the post is that (1) I haven't posted in ages, and (2) I couldn't drink tea. For two days. And I haven't had any today. The tea didn't help. I tried to drink tea the first day. I took one sip, and just couldn't finish the cup. I wanted to. I thought it would be tremendously soothing on my throat, but it wasn't.

So, I drank the white grape juice. I'm sure I'll be back to my old tea drinking self in no time, but it made me sad that tea couldn't soothe me in my time of need.

Anyway, to anyone that is actually still reading this blog, I'm sure there is more to post, and maybe I'll post later. I'm just a little more interested in reading right now than writing.

Sometimes I Love My Classes

Today my English professor asked me the most awesome question I have ever been asked.

We are about to study The Tempest, and he asked those of us in the class who have studied Shakespeare before to think about and have some answers ready on Monday to the following question:

"What is the most important thing about Shakespeare?"

Greatest.Homework.Assignment.EVER!