Teen Tales: Teammates and the Importance of Small Victories

Teen Tales is a recurring feature connecting the YA experience to YA literature.

Over the last few months, I've gotten back into an old habit-- running. I'm now up to 2 miles a day in about 20 minutes without walking. I ran track in high school, and I've loved getting back into the running groove.

I actually started track in junior high as a lowly seventh-grader. I had no illusions about my greatness-- I was always a slow one. I ran on the distance team, putting in workouts of 2-5 miles a day. I don't remember anymore why exactly I wanted to do it, but I remember what kept me doing it for six years.

It was the team.

Every year, I had at least one "buddy" that ran about the same pace I did. We did our workouts together, encouraged each other, and huddled together under blankets eating saltine crackers at meets in freezing March weather. But it wasn't just my running buddy that kept me going. It was the whole team. Everybody encouraged each other, cheered each other on, and patted you on the back when you beat your "PR." (personal record) When my running buddy was gone one day, the fastest guy on the team held back his pace to mine for the entire 3 mile workout so I could have somebody to run with.

My goals in track were simple-- beat my PR every race, and never come in last. I managed that all through high school. There was one particular victory I'll never forget.

I raced the 1600 meter, or mile, every track meet. My last meet had given me a time of 7:32, but I'd been practicing new running techniques and got a pair of running spikes. When I got out on the track, I was nervous but excited. I ran like I've never run before. When they posted our times, I went to my coach and asked what I got.

He looked at his sheet and raised an eyebrow. "6:58," he said.

"What? No. That's not my time," I said, sure he'd read the wrong line.

"No, that's you." He grinned. "Nice job."

I had chopped over 30 SECONDS off my time in a matter of a few weeks. I was elated, and my team cheered with me. I didn't win-- I'd come in second-to-last, actually-- but I DID win by my own rules. And my team knew that. It was one of the most thrilling moments of my high school life.

That small victory-- every small victory, in fact-- helped push me on to keep practicing, keep racing. In literature, small victories are especially important. You obviously don't want your character to win right off. There's no story in that. But small victories along the way can help encourage both the characters and the reader to keep going.

Teammates are an important part of victories. Winning means so much more when there are people to cheer alongside you. When writing Devs, I had a fairly solid "team" of people around my protagonist. This didn't mean they were all buddy-buddy the whole time. In fact, the team dynamic was rather complicated, and they had to grow together in order to help each other. But they were there to boost each other and support each other through victories and failures alike. It strengthened the story to have a small contingent of people who were my main character's "team."

So, my friends, do you have small victories and team mates in your stories? How do you develop those character relationships? What about victories and teammates in life?

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Teen Tales: Pranks-- the funny and the not-so-funny

Teen Tales is a weekly feature connecting the YA experience with YA literature.

I'm going to go out on  limb here and guess that I'm not the only one who played pranks on people as a teen.

The best prank I ever played was actually in college, but I did some other silly ones in high school. Usually, these were in connection with school dances. See, where I come from, you can't just ask someone to a dance face to face. You have to be all cutsey about it.

One of my girl friends wanted to ask another friend of ours to Preference, and she came up with a diabolical plan. With his mother's permission, we sneaked into his bedroom while he was at football practice. We had four rolls of toilet paper. He had a small room. It was significantly more awesome than this picture.

Why we thought toilet-papering a guy's room was a hilarious way to ask him out, I'll never know. But it was, at the time. That's the fun about pranks-- while you're doing them, they're the funniest thing in the world.

Unless, of course, you're on the other end of the prank.

For example, my extended family once had a family reunion at a lake. My grandpa had a "water buoy," which was basically a motor on an inner-tube that pumped oxygen down a thin hose and into a scuba mask. It was so much better than snorkeling.

I was enjoying a dive, held under the surface by a weighted belt, when my oxygen suddenly cut off mid-inhale. I barely had any air in my lungs, and I was about fifteen feet under. In absolute panic, I forgot to pull the lever to drop my weighted belt as I struggled toward the surface. Finally, I broke the surface and ripped off my mask.

My cousin floated next to the water buoy, my air hose in her hand. Kinked.

Not. Funny.

Teasing and pranking can have a good place in YA lit. Not only is it something we can all connect to, but it can be a great way to portray characters and their psychology. What does the character find funny? Do the other characters get a kick out of it too, or do they get upset? Why does the character pull a prank on another-- is it just a joke, or is it meant to be cruel or embarrassing? How does a character react to a prank being played on them? Character relationships and psychology can be illustrated brilliantly through a simple prank.

So, my friends, have you ever played a prank on someone? Have you had a prank played on you? Have you ever used it in your writing? Does the word "prank" no longer sound like a word because I've used it so much in this post?


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Teen Tales Guest Post: Jenny Morris on Unrequited Love

Teen Tales is a weekly feature connecting the YA experience with YA literature. Today, we've got a guest post from Jenny Morris! Here's a little about her before we get started:

I am 6 of 7 children and have lived in 3 of the 4 A’s states, but I currently call Oregon my home. In an alternate reality, I would have been a totally cool Rock Star or a Ninja with Wings, who saved the day. But, in this reality I put pen to paper and I pretend. I am a wife, mother, and I hope one day, a published author.

Now to the post!

It was my sophomore year in high school, and I’d just started my first job. He was tall, with feathery brown hair. His hazel green eyes popped, because of his naturally tan skin, and he had WAY kissable plump limps. We made pizzas together, and he had my heart. Too bad his heart wasn’t available.

During the 9 months I worked with him, I analyzed every detail of our interaction with one another. I made excuses to stay late, if he had the late shift. Every glance or smile confirmed that he really wanted to be with me, he just couldn’t bring himself to hurt his girlfriend.

Then one glorious night, my co-worker and co-crusher, (I didn’t know that part until just a few weeks ago) told me that he broke up with his girlfriend. Finally, my guy with kissable lips was free. So, the next time we worked together, I made sure I stayed late. And we sat in his baby blue VW bug, and talked. What did we say? I have NO idea, but it ended in a kiss.

There is much argument as to who initiated this kiss. He swears that sweet little Jenny Sue, attacked him and made him kiss her. It was all a haze though, so I can’t argue with him. I just remember leaning in, and bam, we were kissing.

Why the argument? He only broke up with his girlfriend for a day. They were already back together. Oh, poor little Jenny Sue.

In my teenage girl mind, little things added up to so much. Each smile, conversation, that deep look he gave me with those hazel eyes. The way he laughed at my silly jokes, as he touched my arm. They all added up to mean he liked me.

Did this guy ever like me? Or did he just like to flirt? I wanted him to like me. So, that’s what I believed. I wanted him to kiss me, and that’s what happened. But, he stayed with his girlfriend. So, I guess he didn’t really like me, did he?

How do I apply this to my writing?

All the little things people do add up and become the story. When I’m reading a book, I love when the author allows the little things to tell the love story. You can use your MC’s perception of an event, as an amazing tool. Sometimes perception is EVERYTHING.

*I e-mailed my co-worker/co-crusher to ask what color this guy’s eyes were, and she informed me that she ran into him a few weeks ago. Guess what? I totally dodged a bullet with that one.

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Teen Tales: The Fear and Strength We Take from Tragedies

On September 11, 2001, I was a 17-year-old senior in high school. When I got to school that day, friends asked if I had heard about the planes crashing into the World Trade Center. What a tragic accident, I thought.

For my first class of the day, I tutored students with special needs. When the teacher turned on the TV in the corner, all work was forgotten. I still remember the fear that tightened my stomach when the words "terrorist attack" were mentioned. Someone had done this on purpose. I could hardly understand how anyone could be so evil.

Jacob, the student I was tutoring, started fidgeting, confused by the changes to his schedule and the images on TV. I explained that bad people had crashed airplanes into buildings in New York. He cocked his head, a puzzled look on his face.

"Why?" he asked.

Why indeed.

In my journal a few days later, terrified of the just-announced "war on terror," I wrote, "This is not pretend. This is not a game. This is not something that will end quickly. This is not a movie. This is my life. It is fear, and anger, and grief. But most of all, it is real. And now, all I can do is be American, be brave, be strong, and always, always be close to God."

Yes, I was afraid, like so many people. I was only 17, and I lived a happy, simple life untouched by tragedy before that day. September 11th taught me what fear meant. But it also taught me to be strong in the face of it. It taught me that the only thing I can do when fear strikes is to fall to it or fight it.

So, my friends, in life and in literature, let tragedy teach us to take be brave in the face of fear. May God bless America, and the victims and families affected by the attacks of September 11, 2001.

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Teen Tales: The emotional firestorm of developing an identity

Teen Tales is a weekly feature connecting the YA experience with YA literature.

What is it about being a teen that makes EVERY. SINGLE. THING. exaggeratedly more excruciating? A snide comment at school made me cry later that night. A second glance from a cute boy sent me into ecstasy. Failing to complete a math problem elicited tears of agonized frustration.

A lot of people roll their eyes and blame hormones. Which, I grant you, probably play a part. But I think there's more to it than that. Teens are at a point in life where they're developing their sense of identity. We looked at the world, and ourselves, with more open eyes. So of course, we took everything around us personally, because our focus was ourselves.

That snide comment didn't just mean that girl was mean or in a bad mood, it meant I might be the person she accused me of being. The glance from the cute boy must mean he was in love with me, and therefore I should be in love with him. The failed math problem meant I was a failure. At the time, those things struck right to the heart of the fragile self I was trying to create.

And because I was so deep in developing that self, it was hard to see anyone else-- which led to the "no one understands" syndrome. In fact, as a teenage poet, I once vented my anguish on paper. Behold:

Loneliness do not depart, stay another day.

Loneliness my only friend, do not go away.

No one understands me, nor do they even try.

They just leave me all alone, even if I were to cry.

So all alone I'll sit, until my days will end.

Loneliness do not depart, loneliness my only friend.

I smile a little when I read this now, because it expresses a slightly ridiculous concept. I was not alone; I had an incredibly supportive system of family and friends.

But the thing is, I remember writing that poem. I remember sitting on my bed with the pink blanket and feeling so desperately sad and lonely that I cried onto the paper as I wrote. It seems overly emotional now, but at the moment, it was very real. And for that reason, I find it hard to laugh at myself.

Literature in general is meant to be a vicarious, cathartic experience, allowing us to feel things we wouldn't normally feel in the course of everyday life. In YA fiction, with YA protagonists who feel everything so keenly, there is more opportunity to take the reader along for a torturous, heart-wrenching, and hopefully soul-healing ride. That is, as long as we authors both remember those emotions, and do our best at expressing them in our fiction.

So, my friends, what are your most emotional teen memories? What YA books have you read that took you through emotional hell and back out again? What emotional firestorms do the characters in your own writing have to deal with, and how do you get those emotions across?

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Teen Tales Guest Post: Michelle Merrill on Making Mistakes

Teen Tales is a weekly feature connecting the YA experience with YA literature. Today we have a guest post from Michelle Merrill! I actually went to high school with Michelle, who is now also my awesome critique partner. Here's a bit about her:

"I'm a wife to the best husband, a mother to the cutest kids, an aspiring author, an avid reader, a friend, and a daughter of God. I absolutely love to watch old movies, eat anything sweet, and play my music way too loud."

And now, to her post!

Teens make mistakes. They do funny things. It happens to everyone. And sometimes those funny things come with boys. Let's face it, boys are funny. And weird. And, yes, hot. And lots of other things. We like some and we dislike others.

So what happens when one that we dislike asks us on a date?

Say no, right?

Well, if you did, you were/are much better than me. See, that would've been the nice way to avoid the date.

After multiple excuses of why I couldn't go on a date with Bob (not real name. Duh!) I finally caved. Yeah, what was I thinking? I couldn't stand the kid. Mostly because I thought he was a sly flirt that thought he could get any girl. Nuh uh. He wasn't getting me.

Then why did I say yes? Who knows? My friends drilled me about it. My guy friends!And initially it was those same friends that helped me sabotage the date. Yes, I just admitted it. And I can't believe I did that! Me. Innocent, nice, blah blah blah. Me.

So for the two hours before the date, we planned.

The date was a movie and dessert. I wore an ugly outfit, put on too much blue eye shadow (which I NEVER wore), and added a giant puffy coat to keep personal contact to a minimum.
And what does Bob's friend drive? An old two door (TWO DOOR) sports car. And where am I sitting? In the back seat with Bob. Gross.

Bob tries to tickle me. I give a fake giggle and move away. FAR away. Well, as far as you can go in the tiny backseat of a two door sports car.

At the movie I share the popcorn, but my hand went in and out fast. In the bowl, in my mouth, in my pocket. Fast. No contact. I don't even remember the movie, but it was long.

Then after the date we went to Wendy's for dessert. High class, I know but it's high school. Don't judge the poor kid. I would've chosen the same place. On our way there, Bob scoots closer. Too close! Breathing is hard at this point. So I make up some excuse to call my dad on his cell phone (yeah, the one time I actually got to take it). My dad knew that if I were to call, it was his cue to save me. So he had me repeat each word. It went something like this.

"Oh no, Dad. Are you serious? I have to come home already? Can I just stop for a quick dessert at Wendy's? Yeah? Awesome. I'll be home right after."

Thank. You. Dad.

And what could be worse than your sisters and friends "showing up" at Wendy's to have dessert at the same time? Ha. Nothing, it was awesome. And then they left right before us and waited on the porch for Bob to bring me home. It was a great drop off. Literally drop off. I think there was a quick hug at the car.

So the plan worked. Beautifully.

But why do I still feel bad about it? Not just bad, horrible. I think I even felt bad before I actually went on the date.

Because it was mean. Downright dirty. Rude and insensitive.

But that's what teens do. They make mistakes and learn. I can honestly say I NEVER sabotaged another date.

What mistakes are your character's making? More importantly, what are they learning from them?

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Teen Tales: Freedom and the failure it opens you up to

Teen Tales is a weekly feature connecting the YA experience with YA literature.

I was a young 'un in high school-- my birthday was in the summer, so sophomore year I had to sit and sigh while all my friends got their driver's licenses before I did. But come July 17th, I was in the DMV, baby! Keys! Freedom! A sporty little...er, gigantic tank of a suburban my parents wouldn't let me drive friends in.

They did, however, let me drive it to the local gym for a job interview two weeks after my birthday (Job! Money! Freedom!). As I pulled the tank/suburban into a parking space, there was a horrible, jolting crunch.

Yeah. I crashed into a parked car. One so new, it still had the little paper thingy instead of a license plate. #UltimateShalleeFail

I had no idea what to do when a guy climbed out of that car looking ready to pummel me. He took pity on me when he saw the abject fear on my face, and kindly called the cops and my parents on his cell phone. It was a good thing he knew what to do, because all I could do was grip the steering wheel and gasp "yes" and "no" through my tears.

Because here's the thing about freedom when you're a teenager. It's new and exciting and...new. And you don't always know what to do with it, so it's as scary as it is exciting-- especially when something goes wrong and you don't know how to handle it because it's new. And it leads to extreme frustration when your dad then refuses to let you drive the suburban and tries to teach you to drive his stick-shift and you get stuck at a stop sign and have to switch him places and a guy driving past is LAUGHING HIS $*&# HEAD OFF at you.

The simple fact of the matter is, freedom opens you up to failure, which is both frightening and frustrating. And it's one thing I love about YA fiction. The characters try things with their freedom. Sometimes they fail. But if it's done right, you have ultimate sympathy for that failure, even when it's their own darn fault, because you've been there. Maybe you're still there. You get it, and you still love them even when they do completely idiotic things because you know that failure just opens the door for another opportunity for success.

So, my friends, do your YA characters find fear, frustration, and failure along with their freedom? Did you, as a teenager?

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Teen Tales: Dreams, Desires and How Books Help Fulfill them

Time for Teen Tales round two! This is a weekly feature connecting the YA experience to YA literature.

Today I wanted to talk about dreams and desires. One thing that I remember well about being a teenager is how much I wanted things. I wanted a boy to love me. I wanted to drive. I wanted to be a scientist so I could discover the cure for diabetes, the disease that killed my grandfather when I was 14. I wanted to live in the jungles of Africa and study gorillas. I wanted to be a marine biologist and live on the ocean. I wanted those freakin' awesome new shoes I saw at the mall.

Some of those dreams were small, and some of them were huge. A part of me knew I couldn't have them all (I mean, some of them were flatly contradictory), but I could still dream about it. I could still want it, and I knew I could have whatever dream won out. I had confidence in my own dreams.

I think it was all that wanting and dreaming that drove me to love books so much. I might not be able to have all those dreams right now, or even in the future, but if I could read about them, I could sort of have them anyway. This may be the reason that teens in general are so drawn to entertainment. They're still young enough to dream about all the things they want, a little too young to have some of them, and (sometimes) old enough to know they can't have everything. Movies, songs, and books help bridge the gap between what they want and what they can't quite get.

For example, I once watched The Man from Snowy River with my friends at a slumber party in a cabin. I knew I would never wrangle horses in the Australian outback and fall in love with a handsome, backwoods boy. But I still wanted it, still dreamed about it. So the next day, my friends and I proceeded to traipse around the meadow talking in Australian accents and laughing as we made up romantic adventure stories.

Silly? Yes. Fun? Absolutely. Fulfillment of a dream? Sure. I got to pretend for a while that I was who I wanted to be. I got to try on a dream, have fun with it, and keep it as a memory while I tried on other dreams through other forms of entertainment. Then, after trying on enough of them, I found the dreams I really wanted and worked until I got them. I'm still working on a few.

This is why I love books. This is why I love YA, especially. Because I still get to dream. And in writing YA, I get to help somebody else dream, to try on a life through fiction, to explore the things they want until they find the dreams that make them who they are.

So, my friends, what did you want as a teenager? What were your dreams and desires? What fictional worlds helped you live them?

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Teen Tales: Connecting the YA experience with YA literature

As you read this, picture me enjoying myself admist the glories of red rock canyons and bright blue skies. I am currently on vacation, but thanks to my handy-dandy new schedule, I wrote my posts ahead of time. So I now speak to you from the past...woooooo....

Ahem. Anyway, today's post is actually all about the past. I've been thinking a lot about the YA genre lately (because, well, I write it), and it's occurred to me that there are a lot of us adults (and teens!) writing for teens. Which I think is great! But there are also a lot of us blogging about writing, and the YA part of us sort of gets lost on our blogs.

So I'm starting a new series today! Every Monday, I'll be doing Teen Tales, where you'll get to hear stories of my lovely teenage years (and hopefully other people's, too). Then, I'll connect that hilarious/moving/ridiculous/amazing/embarrassing story to YA literature today for those who write and read YA.

Today's story comes from my very early YA years. As I dug out my old diaries for inspiration, I found a letter tucked in one. DO NOT OPEN UNTIL MARRIED, it commanded. I barely remember writing such a note, but as I'm married now, I eagerly opened it to find out what teen me had to say to myself. Alas, it was not to myself. It is written to "My Dearest One."

That's right, ya'll. Sweet, naive, 14-year-old me wrote a love letter to my hubby on Sept. 18, 1998. Allow me to share portions of this letter (Hubby has graciously allowed it to be shared).

"Someday I'll meet you, and I'll probably still be naive, but you'll love me anyway. You'll love me if I'm fat or skinny, pretty or ugly...We will love each other forever...Sometimes it comforts me to think of someone who loves me for just being me. I don't know where, when, or how I'll meet you, but I will. Your love now and forever, Shallee."

I died when I read it.

First, I died of laughter because it was so darn innocent and sappy (trust me, I cut out some of the sappiest stuff). Then, I died of romantic swooning. Because come on. Who DOESN'T want that kind of love? Who NEVER wanted a boy who would love them for the person they were inside? Who doesn't want that NOW?

No hands raised? I thought not.

When I took Brandon Sanderson's writing class of ultimate awesome, he said that YA must have romance (MUST. He circled it thirty times on the chalkboard, emphasizing that it must be full of PASSION). And while some of us oh-so-mature adults roll our eyes a little bit at the PASSION in YA, who among us doesn't identify with it? Romance is an dazzling part of life that should naturally come out in our writing. Teenagers feel everything so much more keenly-- I'm sure we all remember that-- and romance is a big part of that. And it's one of the things I love about writing and reading YA.

When it's done right, of course.

So, my friends, what kind of romance did you have (or long for) as a teenager? What romances do you love or hate in the YA books you've read? What's your definition of "right" in romance when you write? And who would like to be a guest poster for Teen Tales in the future (be sure to leave an email addy in the comment)?

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