A few weeks ago, for her sixteenth birthday, Esther Earl asked John Green to talk about love--like the kind of love we have for family members and friends. Her underlying message here was to get him to tell his brother Hank that he loved him, which is something John had never said on the channel prior to that video.

John then challenged all of the Nerdfighters to go out and tell people they love that they love them. Now, I'm sure that some people used this as an excuse to say "Hey, I love you" to their long-hidden crushes and things like that, but it meant so much more than that to others. Why? Because sometimes telling the people you love how you feel--even when they already know it--is really hard.

Esther died on Wednesday morning after a long battle with thyroid cancer. She was, as I said, sixteen years old.

Whenever someone younger than me dies, I feel terrible, whether I knew them or not. A friend of mine lost his 18-year-old sister to a brain aneurism my sophomore year of college. A friend of mine has a cousin with stage four brain cancer. There was a little boy named Noah who had cancer and just wanted Christmas cards; his story was on the news, and it struck me. Whenever someone younger than me dies, I think about all the things I experienced since being their age--things that they will never get to do because they were taken away so young.

It's hard to think about it--and it's probably very selfish--but I think about Esther and how positive she has been. Even when she was sick, she was like this bright star in Nerdfighteria trying to make things better for everyone. Some people get sick and focus on the negative, but from what I could tell of Esther, she was always outwardly positive--and very, very funny.

When I found out that she had died, I did something that was long-overdue: I celebrated her birthday (Esther Day) by telling a few people in my life how much I love them, since I have always had a hard time communicating this to some people. John Green has made it a little easier for me--after all, Will Grayson, Will Grayson had a lot to do with being able to tell your friends that you love them without it being just plain weird.

The hardest one--for me--was telling my best friend. I have a history of romantic feelings toward him, and I knew that if I just said "Yo, German Boy, I love you" it would've totally been read entirely wrong. So I prefaced my international text message by stating that I was strictly speaking from a friendly point of view. And I also apologized for the cost of the message, since the distance between Germany and New Jersey is quite far for a message to travel, so it cost both of us some pocket change. 

There are only a hand full of people in the world who I really love outside of my family. I don't initiate those three words unless I mean them, romantically or platonically. Even then, it feels strange to say it. There's a certain fear that comes with loving someone--because even when you only love someone as your friend, there is a chance that they simply hold your friendship closely--they value you, but do not love you. And learning that that's okay can take a really long time. I have friends who say it to me and I feel awkward because they throw the words around so quickly--and I don't want to make anyone feel that way. But it felt right to tell these few people that I have trouble telling, because it was what Esther asked for.

I think it's safe to say that Esther Earl, who asked us all to value the love of our friends and family, had a lot of love coming her way from every angle. Rest in awesome, Esther.

I am a senior in college. I am an English major with a concentration in Creative Writing. This is the part where you--the crowd of anonymous sympathizers--says "Hi, Dorothy" in a slightly loud, monotonous tone.

Every time--and I do mean every time--I tell someone what my major is, they make some quip about how I'm going to be an English teacher. I have honestly had someone say to me "So you're going to teach people gooder English?" And to this, my friends, I shake my head and cringe. I know that people are joking when they say things like this (I hope), but it still hurts my ears.

But I don't want to be an English teacher. I give them credit, of course. I'm all in favor of teachers who make the student population read books that have changed my life--books that they wouldn't otherwise be exposed to in a world of Gossip Girls and 24/7 celebrity "news" websites. It's hard to think about what the literary trends are falling into--the slew of vampire novels that came from that unmentioned vampire novel that rhymes with "why light?" and also the werewolf novels that descended from the same--and how many people worship those campire novels as "the best books ever."

I don't think I could stand to teach and read all those book reviews. English teachers, in my mind, are basically candidates for sainthood. Think about it: They are lovers of the English language; of novels and storytelling--and yet, they have to deal with bad grammar, spelling, and an ever-dwindling supply of red pens on a daily basis. English teachers have to have so much patience to knock it into the stubborn student's head that there is life outside of the computer screen or television screen--a world that they can create and live in if they'd only open a book.

I think that creating that very world is what draws me into writing, instead of a "real job" as I'm often asked. I have a real job. By day, I work an awful retail job dealing with a lot of awful people (another blog post, I'm sure) and by night, I write my little head off to escape the trivialities of the day to day routine.  

But I have noticed that people tend to write of writers as people who don't have real jobs--people who are out of touch with reality and can't take on a "real" career. My family thinks I would've been better off trying to make it as an actress. If you ask me, actors are less in touch with reality than authors. I was just saying tonight at rehearsal how all actors are just a little bit schizophrenic, but I guess authors have to be, too. Still, when your parents consider acting more of a real job than writing, there's something wrong.

I've never been able to see myself sitting behind a desk answering phones for a living--or doing something equally mundane. I've always wanted to write or sing or act. I think my brain is just wired to constantly be changing creative endeavors--and with writing and acting, you can definitely do that. But writing and acting are certainly real jobs. If you're a writer, you've got deadlines and revisions and (maybe) scheduled speaking events and book tours. If you're an actor, you've got lines to memorize and rehearsals and auditions--and for all of these things, you have to be on time and you have to be prepared.

Don't you have to do the same with a "real" job?

I'm going to preface this by saying that I have no children, nor do I want any in the near future. When I do, I really hope that my son/daughter won't want to get into theatre, because it is a crushing hobby. But I will always be supportive--even if I have to shell out $5000 for theatre summer camp for a child who doesn't actually plan on pursuing the arts as a career.

Kind of like my mom did, only back then, I still had delusions of being on the stage professionally. Who knows? Maybe I'll actually want to do it again someday. But I digress...

I've been involved in theatre for fifteen years. The first time I ever got any sort of real training was an arts camp when I was 12. I took drama classes, tap classes, and voice classes every day for three weeks, leading up to a play where I would get to play the role of a British character, just because my director heard me impersonating Hermione in the hallway one day. What can I say? Harry Potter has always done great things for me...

I distinctly remember sitting at the table one day with a little girl who was about eight years old. We were all eating lunch, but she didn't want to eat anything other than her fruit cup. While I was eating a peanut butter and fluff sandwich, she told me she thought it looked delicious. I asked her if she wanted some of it, and she said no. I kept eating. She later said "My mom is giving me $10 for every pound I lose this summer. I can't eat anything."

Now, this little girl was not fat. She wasn't even round. She was just a normal-sized little girl with some baby fat on her face. But her mother was bribing her into losing weight. What?

Fast-forward three years to my first summer at Walnut Hill, a performing arts high school in Natick, MA. At least three of the kids in my program of forty-six--a program that cost a small fortune for five weeks of intensive theatre, including room and board--were under the age of 14 and admitted that they were only there because their parents insisted that they go. I met a lot of talented people during my two back-to-back summers at Walnut Hill, but I also learned that stage parents can be brutal.

In fact, the program had a man come in and take head shots of all of us that would be hung in the lobby during the shows we were in. More than once, I overheard parents telling their children (between ages 12 and 17) that they clearly hadn't done their hair/makeup well enough for the photo--or that they were "obviously having an off day" the day of the shoot. This sometimes left my castmates dejected or stressed over their appearances--and I saw a few people rip up their headshots when they got them on the last night of the summer.

This topic is brought on by the fact that I came home tonight, fresh from an audition for an adaptation of the classic Cinderella--only in this one, Cindy is plain and her sisters are the hot babes of the show. I was auditioning for Cinderella (as I am by no means a hot babe) and also for the role of the seeing-impaired, no-BS fairy godmother. There were several youngsters at the auditions, and they were all accompanied by their parents, who came in with them, sat with them, filled out the forms for them, and then waited while they read their scenes. I'm not saying that parents shouldn't accompany their children, but these were all people between 12 and 15. I'm pretty sure they could easily fill out a form by themselves. Most of them didn't even know what roles they were auditioning for until they got into the room and were told they had written down the lead roles on their forms. Parents who micromanage their children--who herd them from audition to audition--are the kinds of parents who will be resented later on. In fact, some of the girls in the call room with me looked like they'd rather be anywhere else.

There was one girl who stood out to me, in terms of the ones who had parents there. She was bright-eyed and did everything herself. She had her father with her, and while she was in her reading, her father said that he was impressed with the little community theatre, and how his daughter had found out about the audition online at random. Some of the other parents in the room scoffed at his "random" stumbling upon of the theatre as if he didn't deserve to be there because he wasn't subscribed to Stage Parents From Hell Weekly.

But the kind of parents who are great stage parents are the ones who don't push, the ones who don't scope out auditions so that their child will be the next Hannah Montana or Jonas Brother--the ones who show up on opening night of their child's play with flowers, even if their kid is playing the back end of a donkey. The best kind of stage parents are the ones who are off stage, out of the light, not trying to live vicariously through their kid's talent.

 I'll probably make a vlog about this, too, because I think I'd get this across more efficiently if I can hold up the various Twilight paraphernalia in my general vicinity and prove my former fangirl status, but for now, a blog will have to do.

Apparently at some point in the last two years, it has become "cool" to hate Twilight. I was accused of this just the other day, when I took out my camera (which is housed by a hand-made Twilight case that I got for Christmas two years ago) and my friend said, quote, "I thought you hated Twilight. You're such a liar. You only hate it because it's the cool thing to do."

Now, I'll admit that I had no idea whatsoever that it was "cool" to hate Twilight. I thought people who admitted to not liking the series were put up in the middle of town and forced to delegate a Team Edward vs. Team Jacob debate. I've still got some of the Twilight stuff people bought me back when I was a big fan, but it's simply because some things--like my camera case--are useful. If you knew how many cameras I've gone through in the last few years because they weren't properly protected, you'd probably buy me the warranty and a special case, too. But I digress.

My roommate freshmen year told me about this book series that I "absolutely, positively" had to read because it was "so much better than anything ever written." Now, I'm a huge Harry Potter fan, so I was inclined to disagree that this series could be better than Potter, let alone countless classics and other books that I adored. My roommate attributed her newfound love of reading to these books--which is what happened when I started reading Harry Potter--so I figured they had to be at least a little bit good if they were making people read.

I got a few gift cards for Christmas, so I went out and got the first one. I'd never really been into vampires outside of Buffy, so I was skeptical about the book. It took me a little while to get into it, but after that, I was sucked in. I read the first book in one night, the second book the next, and Eclipse the following night. I thought it was finished--I had no idea that there was a fourth book coming out. When I went back to school, I put the books on my shelf and Laura (my roommate) got so excited about the fact that I had enjoyed them.

And then the drama began.

She was angry over the casting of Robert Pattinson; she was angry about people liking Jacob more than Edward; she would debate with me about whether or not Twilight was the best thing ever written, ever, ever, ever--which I fought with her about until the day I moved out of that dorm room. I liked the books--I thought the story was definitely unique and interesting, but the writing was most definitely going to qualify any of the books for the Best Book of All Freaking Time Award, or even land the books in the Top 100. But I enjoyed them--it was like literary cotton candy: Fluffy, enjoyable, and not too much to digest.

That summer would mark the release of Breaking Dawn, a book that I attended the midnight release of. I had never been to a midnight release that wasn't Harry Potter, so I felt very out of place. The Twilight fans were very, very different from Potter fans. But I wasn't one to compare the two series, because they are definitely far, far away from each other on the literary and genre spectrums. I got Breaking Dawn and went home to read it, just like the other 400 people at the release party.

Only while some of them enjoyed it, for me, Breaking Dawn was like waking up from a hypnosis. I know a few of my friends felt the same way--that we had been dragged in and forced to fall in love with these characters only to have them change completely in the final installment of the series. It seemed far from what I had read only months before in Eclipse. I didn't know what to do--I actually considered returning the book, something I'd never even thought about before. I was angry--I was very upset that the books had ended that way, and I was angry that Stephenie Meyer's comment on the fact that some people didn't like it was that they just didn't understand.

I understood. I understood that things had changed so drastically that it could have been the ending to another series about vampires.

Some people hate Twilight because the vampires sparkle or because there isn't enough blood in the books or movies. Some people hate Twilight because it's popular and they hate the hype. I don't hate Twilight--I'm just disappointed by it, and I know a lot of people who feel the same way. I make fun of my friends who are obsessed with it still, but I don't tell them they should hate it, and I still go with them to see the movies because I feel like I have to see how they adapt the books.

But if someone asks me for a list of 100 books that I recommend, Twilight & Friends would not be on my list.

I've been thinking of auditioning for American Idol. I auditioned a few years ago (Season 7, when David Cook won the title) and I think it was a really awesome experience--something I truly think everyone should do once, just to say they did.

A lot of people don't understand the way the audition process works. Viewers tend to think that auditioners show up the day of the auditions, camp out, wait a few hours in line, and then get ushered in one by one to see (back then) Simon, Paula, and Randy. But this wasn't the case at all--and I think that a lot of people who were auditioning were surprised by the way things worked.

As an American Idol hopeful, you're going to do a lot of waiting. In fact, I was somewhere in the middle of the auditions on Audition Day and I literally waited a cumulative 24 hours before they cut my bracelet and ended my dreams of being 2008's Idol.

While driving home today, I was thinking about what I'd sing this year--and how quickly you have to make that <i>awesome</i> impression with the first round of judges. You only have about 30 seconds to showcase some part of your range and singing ability--or less, if the judge gets bored with you. And this isn't Simon, Paula and Randy (I don't even know who the main judges anymore--Randy, Ellen, and some other chick? Clueless, I am). You don't see it on television, except in really tiny snippets, but there are tables of interns and producers who are actually the judges in this round. When I did it, there were about 20 of them and you stepped up in groups of four. From there, you stepped up and sang to your producer, hoping that he will then produce you with a golden ticket to the next round.

What do you sing? You sing something that will show your personality, but not too strongly. You sing something that shows your range, but that also shows you know how to tone it down and that you aren't only made of high notes. You sing something that will impress them, even though you have no idea what that is and you know you can't sing "And I'm Telling You I'm Not Going" because they will laugh your white-girl self out of the arena.

Oh wait, that's just me.

In reality, there's no way of telling what that intern or producer is looking for, just that he's looking for something and you want to have it.

Thinking about all of this, I thought of Moonrat's blog entry about first pages in novels. It's really the same thing--that agent or editor might not know what they're looking for until you present it. The problem is that you only have such a short period of time to present it before they hold up their Hand of Broken Dreams or toss your manuscript into the recycle bin. You know that you can't get to the next round--whether it's the Powers that Be before the real judges or just to a request for a partial or full. Those 30 seconds--or the three hundred words on your first page--are what will make or break you in taking you forward with your dreams, whether it's to sing on Idol or see your novel on a bookshelf other than your own.

So not only will I be making sure I don't flub up the lyrics this year (I sang "I Heard it Through the Grapevine" and had to start over. The guy was polite about it, though), I'll also be making sure that the first page of my novel is as clean and important as every other page.

I'm also going to wear my sparkly shoes, because maybe saying "There's no place like Hollywood!" will be enough of a gimmick to get me there.

^_~  

I've only met one other person named Dorothy in my 21 years on earth, and I'm quite happy to say that I liked her very much. My name, of course, comes from that iconic young lady with the ruby slippers and blue picnic-table-pattern dress. I think that if she had been created today, her shoes would've been ruby stilettos with stripper straps and her dress would've looked just like the ones we see come out at Halloween, but I'm glad to be named after someone sensible--someone who dreamed in color instead of her limited scope of black and white.

I love to write outside of my own world, be that by creating a new world in a fantasy novel or just by bringing magical elements into the world that we can all see. I'm fascinated by time travel, ghosts, and secret worlds that are accessible through our own--which might be why my first three novels deal with these very things. Kind of.

In everyday life, I'm the kind of girl who would wear a yellow dress on a rainy day just because I know that everyone else will be dressing according to the weather in gray and navy. I'm the kind of girl who will walk up to a customer in the store I work in and ask them if they need help and then give them service with a smile--the kind of smile that many of my co-workers have to fake. I also happen to be the kind of girl who sometimes forgets that she's allowed to be a shopper--the kind of employee who has to clean up other stores, too. Which probably isn't a bad thing, but it's funny to see the looks I get from employees in random stores when I start folding t-shirts on their tables.

I'll always be someone who can be looked at for a little bit of sunshine, and that's how I like it to be. And I hope my optimism and brightness come across in my novels; even when things aren't going very well for the characters, there always has to be hope.

And yes... tornadoes scare the crap out of me.