Thinking About Writing a Book in 30 Days? (Here's a bit of advice to get you started...)

Last week I did a presentation at two local libraries for writers interested in taking the NaNoWriMo challenge this year. NaNo, in case you are wondering, is a cool writing site where participants pledge to write a 50,000 word novel during the month of November. It costs nothing to join and you get to be part of a cool community of writers all chugging along on the same crazy journey. At the end of the month, if you meet your goal, you win a virtual badge (WOO HOO!) and the satisfaction of knowing you've got a finished first draft to play around with later.

Tracie, the awesome librarian at the Upper Arlington Ohio library who'd asked me to give the presentation, introduced me as a writer with lots of wisdom to share.

I had a hardy laugh about that. Yes, I may have won the virtual NaNo badges (For the record, I wrote four novels during previous NaNos and one of those novels turned into--after multiple revisions--my first published novel.) but in many ways I am still a beginner. Each day's writing is just as hard (if not harder) than the day before, and if I have learned anything over the years, it is that I always have more to learn.

Anyhoo, a few writers emailed to say that they could not make either of the presentations but would love it if I could share my notes. I'm not sure how useful these will be, but in the spirit of sharing "wisdom," here goes:

1. The nitty gritty. Get out a calendar page of the month of November. Look at the days you will realistically be able to write. Count them up. Divide 50,000 words by that number. The answer equals the number of words you will have to write per day if you want to win. To put this in perspective: if you plan to write all 30 days, you will need to write 1667 words per day. I NEVER could do that. There's Thanksgiving to think about. As well as life in general. My daily word count goal was always something nutty like 2800 words.

2. Every book begins with an idea (or two).

• There's a saying that it takes two sticks to light a fire and two ideas to create a story. Sometimes these ideas are unrelated on the surface. For example, my book Thin Space began with the idea of a girl moving into a creepy old house AND the Celtic belief in thin places, where the wall between our world and the world of the dead is thinner. 
• I read once that there are only two basic plots--the hero takes a journey or a stranger comes to town. That's it. Every story, movie, book you've ever heard boils down to either of those two plots. The hero takes a journey, for example, would be like Luke in Star Wars or Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz. An example of a stranger comes to town is Jaws. That story, of course, has both plots. The stranger (Jaws) comes to town, and the hero (Chief Brody) goes on a journey to kill him. 
• Another way to look at your story is to ask a question. Will Luke defeat Darth Vader and restore balance to the universe? Will Dorothy find her way back to Kansas? Will Chief Brody overcome his fear of the water (and what a goofball that guy is living on an island!) and kill Jaws?
• You can also ask yourself: Whose story is it? What's happening? What is at stake? 

3. Once you've got your ideas/basic plot/questions, the next step is

To outline

Or

Not to outline

It's perfectly okay during this pre-NaNo time to outline your story. I'm not talking the formal outlines you did in seventh grade with Roman numerals. Simply write out a list of your characters, a few of your ideas, the conflict and questions. Chart out scenes, etc. Some writers I know write very detailed outlines that go one for 50 pages.

I am not one of these writers.

The beauty of NaNo is that you can start writing your book with very little plotted out in advance. Take your two ideas or your question or your basic plot idea and just see how it all plays out as you write.

4. Now, for the BIG SECRET TO WRITING A BOOK.

Once upon a time I went to a writing conference where the brilliant author Jane Yolen told the audience of 1000 people that she was about to share her secret to writing a book. She paused, and you could hear all 1000 people holding their breaths and leaning forward eagerly.

The answer, Jane Yolen said, is BIC.

Another pause.

And then she smiled and said, "Put your Butt In the Chair and write."

Yeah. The truth is there are no short cuts and no magic answers. But know this about NaNo, and about writing a book in general (and this probably applies to anything in life--such as running a marathon or losing 20 pounds): if you chip away at your goal by writing those 1667 words per day, in the end you will make it to the finish line.

5. To get yourself warmed up each of those days

Read books on writing. (See the list below for helpful books on craft, inspiration, writer's block, etc.)

Before I begin a writing session, I read a chapter from one of these books.

Or journal the junk out. Every morning write for ten minutes--all the gibberish-y stuff clogging up your brain and keeping you from thoughtfully beginning your work for the day. Anxieties, snippets of dreams, arguments you're having with the comment section of a Yahoo news article, bills you've got to pay, etc. Get it on the page and out of your head.

Do whatever you need to do to get your daily word count done. Set an alarm. Flip an hour glass (my little trick). Leave the house and write in a coffee shop. Stay in the house and lock yourself in a closet. Or mix it up and try a different motivational strategy each day.

Don't forget to reward yourself at the end of a session. Writing 1667 words in a day may not seem like that big of a deal, but do it today, and the next day, and the day after that... and you deserve a piece of chocolate. Or a bag of Doritos.

6. Biggest nugget of wisdom I know: Resist the urge to revise as you go. NaNo is about quantity NOT quality. Get the words down (crappy as they may be) and worry about fixing things later. If it helps, keep a notebook on the side of all the things you want to delete/change/fix later. DON'T WORRY ABOUT THAT STUFF NOW.

And finally, remember E.L. Doctorow's true words of wisdom:

“Writing is like driving at night in the fog. You can only see as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.”

Good luck. And meet me back here in mid November for a middle of the month pep talk.


Some helpful books on writing

Writing Down the Bones, Wild Mind, and Thunder and Lightning by Natalie Goldberg
The War of Art by Steven Pressfield
Making a Literary Life by Carolyn See
One Continuous Mistake by Gail Sher
Wired for Story by Lisa Cron
Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott
On Writing by Stephen King
The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron
Elements of Style by Strunk and White

PS. Here's a post I wrote last year on why you should NEVER EVER send your "finished" first draft out to a publishing company or an agent on Dec. 1.

What's the Difference Between Being Published and NOT Being Published? (Also, a Brief Digression about Fleas)

It's been roughly one month since my first book Thin Space was released and lately I've been thinking about the differences between the Before I Was an Officially Published Writer ME and the After Me.

Before I was published I ruminated over the question too. I'd been writing and pursuing publication for years and truly believed I was on the verge of publishing almost as long, but somehow the ever elusive finish line kept moving out of reach.

When it finally happened--the book deal--it almost seemed anti-climactic.

The Pre-published Me struggled to sit down every day and write. That Me set goals and the majority of the time accomplished those goals. I'd figured out over the years that it's hard to write the first draft of a novel, and that the "finished" draft will need to be revised multiple times, and all of that will take a long time.

I was plagued by self doubt. There were days when I hated what I was writing. There were days when I thought my work was brilliant, but then I was plagued by the fact that no one would ever read this brilliant work because I couldn't seem to snag an agent--and later, when I had snagged an agent, she couldn't seem to catch the attention of an editor.

I kept writing.

I wrote ten books. I wrote multiple versions of these ten. The despair of finding readers for any of these grew exponentially. I kept writing anyway. I vacillated daily, sometimes hourly, between hope and despair.

So that was the Me then.

The me now is the same.

I still struggle to sit down each day and write. I still have terrible days when I think that what I am writing is horrible, that I will never be able to pull strands together, and that if/when I do, I won't be able to sell the damn thing.

I have been through the angsty painful process so many times that I know I will finish the project eventually. I also have an agent now who will read it. But there is no guarantee that she will like it and want to sell it. And there is no guarantee that an editor will want to buy it.

The differences:

One is promotion. I might want to spend all my time hunkered down with my WIP but I have to promote Thin Space (a book I finished writing five years ago). I am not complaining about that, just stating the reality. I am traveling around to schools and bookstores. Which is fun and gratifying and cool but also tiring. (see: I am an anxious traveler).

The biggest difference has more to do with perception and response from other people--and it's why being published had always been so important to me. I had made my peace with being a writer who wrote for the sake of writing itself. I love writing (even when I HATE IT) and know that if I never published another word, I would continue to write. But I will be the first person to admit that it is very nice to know that people are reading what I write.

I visited Middle Tennessee State University last week when I was in Nashville to sign at Parnassus Books and I talked to a lot of the students. The first question I asked was "Are you a writer?" Each one gave a hesitant reply.

Yeah, um, sort of...
Well, I hope to be but...
Um, I'm working on that...

I totally understand that hesitation--it's amazingly difficult to say out loud what your dream is--to say unequivocally Yes, I am a writer because the usual response from the questioner is something like, "Oh, what have you written?" (which really means, Is your book published/Can I find it at a bookstore?) and then the writer will have to hesitate again. Um, well, I'm working on something but, um, no, not yet.

It took me ten years to answer simply: "Yes."

It took another ten years to write something worthy of publication.

I told the students: Just save time, skip ahead ten years, and say I am a writer. If you write, you are a writer and in the end the only difference between being published and not being published is ... being published.

For years I had imagined the big release day of my first book. I'd be chatting on the phone or on social media with well-wishers. Maybe I'd visit a few bookstores and bask in the glow of my beautiful book faced out on the shelves.

Here's how I actually spent the long awaited for day:

Locked out of my house.

A couple of days before I'd discovered that my dog and cat were infested with fleas. Not sure how I'd missed this because the $*^&# fleas were all over the place. The morning of the Big Day I carted stuff out onto my back porch--open food containers and tooth brushes and pet food and the litter box. I corralled my anxious old cat and my skittish puppy (who even after a year of co-habitating still loathe each other) out there too. My neighbor and I ran around my house setting off flea bombs and screaming as the poisonous stuff spewed into the air.

We raced out the back door to find the cat hissing and the dog crying. My neighbor, no dummy, went home. I sat out on the porch picking fleas off my pets as they whined to me about their proximity to each other.

Did I mention it was the hottest day of the year?

While my house was being poisoned, I combed out fleas. I sweated like a pig. The animals finally settled down and in exhaustion and possibly under threat of heat stroke, they flopped out at my feet and fell asleep. I worked on my latest manuscript. My phone dinged every once in a while.

"Congrats on your book!!" said the well-wishers. "Enjoy your day!"

Ah, just as I had always dreamed.

I swiped the perspiration from my eyes and whacked dead a hopping flea, then I wrote back to each one: "Thanks!"

Just out of curiosity, why in God's name would there ever have been a child's game called "My Dog Has Fleas"? 

Teen Guest Post: WHO AM I? by Olivia B.

As promised here, I'm hosting a guest blog series called WHO AM I? and have invited teen writers to contribute.  

And a shout out to my artistic teen neighbor Courtney Berger for designing the awesome banner.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Who Am I?

A Poem by Olivia B., guest blogger


The new school year starts to begin,
As the teenage identity crisis sinks in,
Am I the same as I was before?
Exciting or fun, or just a bore?

What college should I be going to?
As relatives ask “what do you want to do?”
Does what you do define who you are?
Boy, your sisters really set a high bar.

Maybe I should stop talking about crew,
BUT AFTER CREW WHAT WILL I DO?
Do I want to row in college first division,
Or does my height already confirm that decision?

Is watching Gossip Girl on repeat a waste of time?
Should I be saving the world? Am I at my prime?
Does appearance matter when I’m just running to the store?
Will they think I’m not who I was before?

I know who I was, and what I want to be,
But what about the current me?
The past and future create an identity dent,
As you can never quite tell who you are in the present.

First impressions never seem to satisfy,
Whereas second impressions are a biased lie,
And even the closest don’t know everything, do they?
Is it supposed to be that way?

You read books telling you you can be whoever you wish,
All of the falsified information 1st grade teachers dish,
You are who you are, not who you choose,
You can hide, but the real you will win and the fake you will lose.

So why do people still pretend it’s okay,
To lock the real them far away,
Who am I? Is dropped day to day,
But what is that really meaning to say?

I don’t know, and I don’t think I will for a while,

But until then all I can do is just smile.

--Olivia B. is a 17 year old writer living in Ohio

On the Book Tour Road: Confessions of an Anxious Traveler

Tomorrow I'm off to embark upon the second leg of the Thin Space Book Tour--otherwise known as the "The Tour through All the Places Where I've Lived slash Know People."

The first stop on this tour was Lexington Kentucky, my home for ten years, where I raised my kids through their pre-school/ elementary/some of middle school years, taught at an awesome creative and performing arts school, and experienced the hey day of my PTA-Carpooling-Uber Volunteer stage of life. (Update: I had a blast returning to my former school--where I did my first ever Power Point presentation. I loved catching up with old friends--my book club, PTA moms and dads, local writers and teachers and librarians and former students--and the signing at Morris Book Shop was so well-attended the store ran out of copies of my book. Woo!)

Stop Two is Nashville, and I must admit I am anxious for a variety of reasons, none of which have anything to do with the actual Book Signing/School Visiting/Public Speaking aspect of a book tour that might make other writers nervous.

The truth is I always get nervous before I travel. I love traveling but what I don't love is the actual getting to the new place part of the process.

I'm not thrilled with flying (the potential for missed connections/cancelled flights/lost baggage weighs on my mind. Also, plane crashes.) But I hate driving too. I think it's the combination of intense hyper-alertness intermingled with the mind-numbing boredom.

There's other stuff that goes along with gearing up for a trip that puts me over the edge, and usually I drive everyone my husband crazy in the days before we travel.

Example 1:

Packing. What do I pack? What will I wear? What is the weather like? What if I forget something important? My husband's answer to this rant is something along the lines of "I could be wrong, but I think they have stores where we are going."

Example 2:

Cleaning. Okay, this is totally my own weird idiosyncrasy, but every time I am about to leave on a trip, I feel compelled to clean my house. It's this thing where you know that when you come home you're going to have a bunch of dirty laundry and you're going to be tired from the trip and wouldn't it be nice to walk into a clean home? This compulsion manifests itself in scenarios like this: My husband is loading up the car and I am running around with a scrub brush scouring the toilets.

He yells at me to put the cleaning implement down and help him load the car and I yell at him to understand my mania and help me rearrange the silverware drawer. Big shocker: we don't always begin our vacations in the most chipper of moods.

Really, I am trying to work on my traveling anxiety. Especially today, the day before I leave on my Nashville solo road trip. It's hard though. I have a mile long list of things to do:

1. Revise a chapter in my WIP
2. change the cat litter
3. finish and post this blog
4. clean off the kitchen counter
5. Answer a bunch of emails
6. Vacuum the upstairs bedrooms

You get the picture.

And look at me, all efficient and productive and just about to finish number 3 on the list!

Readers, please say a quick prayer for me tomorrow as I set out on my 400+ mile drive, and if you happen to live in the Nashville metro area, pop into Parnassus Books to say hello, Saturday, Oct. 5 at 2:00. With any luck I will be dressed appropriately for the weather and the store will not run out of books.

Interview with Alethea Kontis

Before I start this interview, I've got to set the stage for my first meeting with Alethea. It was in Los Angeles, a few weeks ago, at the very cool party thrown by my literary agency. I was sorta feeling like a fish out of water, standing there holding my wine and a plate of delicious-looking appetizers that I could not figure out how to eat, whilst also holding a wine glass, and in walks a stunning woman, dressed head to toe in what I can only describe as Glitter. She had sparkly, flowing clothing and glittery make up and elaborate glittery hair clips.

I think they were butterflies.

Of course I had to introduce myself. The stunning woman was Alethea Kontis. Turns out she had just come from Vid Con (I didn't even know what this was, so that just gives you an idea out of it I am and how IN Alethea is.) We talked shop and later I looked Alethea up and discovered that she is a popular and critically acclaimed writer--of picture books AND young adult novels, the first in her Woodcutter series, Enchanted, earned a starred review from Kirkus.

Her new novel, Hero, the second book in the same series, is out soon, and I'm chomping at the bit to read it.

Jody: Okay, Alethea, I've got to start with the obvious question: Where do you get your ideas?

Alethea: I have a butterfly net strung with silver that my great grandmother smuggled out of Turkey during the Great Fire of Smyrna. I use it to catch fairies. Once I have them in my clutches, I barter for fairy dust. I won't say exactly what I barter...let's just say fairies have peculiar tastes.

Jody: Ha. Well, that is not the answer I was expecting, but weirdly, it makes sense on some level. There is something magical about how ideas come to us. Didn't Anne Lamott say she got her ideas from a little kid sitting in her cellar? And I read an interview with Stephen King once where he described diving down into a deep dark pool. Now, I will add fairies and butterfly nets to the list.

So, once you've netted those fairies, what's your next step? Do you outline? Or do you just start writing and see where the story goes?

Alethea: I am an "Athena Writer." I tell myself a story over and over in my head until I have it down perfectly, and then I write it on paper. Short stories tend to spring forth fully-formed. With novels, I do use a list of logistical bullet points so that I'm sure certain things get mentioned in the correct order from the correct point of view, but that's all. So I'm a very structured writer...but not formally so.

Jody: I've never heard that term before, Athena Writer. I like it. Now I am picturing these stories popping out of your head the way Athena popped out of Zeus's head...

How many books did you write before you got your first book deal?

Alethea: Um...none?

Jody: WHAT?? You are only the second writer I know who has said that! Wow! So the very first story you wrote was published?

Alethea: I mean, I started writing a novel in the seventh grade (see Wattpad) and revised it in high school (see Wattpad also), but I never wrote the last chapter because I knew it wasn't good enough.

My first book deal (AlphaOops: The Day Z Went First) was a true Cinderella story: I wasn't even the one who submitted it to the publisher. A friend of mine did. I'm just lucky I wrote my name on the manuscript, or Candlewick wouldn't have even known whom to call. ALWAYS PUT YOUR NAME ON THINGS.

Jody: You have good friends! I'm almost afraid to ask, but have you gotten any rejections along the way?

Alethea: Oh, sure. I might not have finished a novel until I was thirty, but I've been a prolific writer since I was eight years old. I wrote and submitted to EVERYTHING. Local paper, TV Guide contests, Reader's Digest, Marion Zimmer Bradley's Fantasy Magazine, cereal boxes...you name it, I tried it. I even submitted a poem to the New Yorker when I was a teen just so I could say I'd been rejected from the New Yorker.

I would collect all my rejections in a shoebox, and then at the end of the year I'd throw it away because it was depressing. I've never been a fan of keeping rejections. Bad juju.

Jody: I'm with you on that. I hear about writers who paper the walls with rejections. Bluh. How depressing.

Tell me about your work schedule.

Alethea: On a perfect day, I get up with Joe and the girls and they drop me off at the gym at 8 am on their way to school/work. After an hour of running, I walk home and write until they get home. Then we hang out and I answer emails & update the internet until we go to bed around 10 pm.

Jody: That's a long work day...

Alethea: But perfect days happen maybe 15% of my year. For instance, I am typing this with a sprained-possibly-fractured left thumb because I slipped and fell in a giant puddle of vomit on the last day of Dragon Con...in full costume, two hours before my panel with Jim Butcher. That's right, folks: I AM THE REAL BRIDGET JONES. With material like this, it's really no surprise I'm a storyteller.

Jody: I'm not going to ask you what Dragon Con is. Pretend that I know.

So you're like many of us working writers, juggling writing and family and promotional stuff (although your promotional stuff sounds both exciting and potentially dangerous). How do you balance all of these obligations?

Alethea: On one foot. (Because my thumb is broken.) Also, fairy dust.

Jody: Ah, the fairy dust. Have you ever considered bottling that and selling it? I would definitely buy it. The marketing/promotion/social media aspect of the writing business can be overwhelming. What's your approach to self-promotion?

Alethea: I'm one of those weirdos who adores social media. I love finding new ways to meet new people who love the things I love.  The only down side is that there are so many that I'm spread SO thin--I don't have the time I'd like to spend on YouTube/Facebook/Twitter/Pinterest/Instagram/G+/Tumblr (especially Tumblr)...and now there's Snapchat! I need to check that out ASAP. The up side is: I AM UBIQUITOUS.

I probably don't push my own books as much as I should. My theory is that if people love me, they'll love my books...so I concentrate more on being awesome than flat-out "promotional." (Don't tell my publicists.)

Jody: Well, it's clearly worked for you. I mean, you literally sparkle when you walk into a room. Okay, last question before I let you go:

What are you working on now?

Alethea: I am currently working on Beloved, the third book in the Woodcutter series, slated to be out in the Fall of 2014. I love it because it incorporates all the bird fairy tales: The Six Swans, The Wild Swans, The Goose Girl, and Swan Lake...as well as a little Tristan and Isolde and A Weave of Words.

And I hate it because I should be finished by now...only, BAD THUMB. *ow*

Jody: Go bandage that thumb up because your fans (and I) are eager for you to finish. It sounds awesome.

Thanks so much, Alethea, for "chatting" today! And readers, if you'd like to know more about Alethea, check out her website: AletheaKontis.com

Thin Space Has a Playlist (also, a video!)

Thin Space has been out for a little over a week and I am still being surprised daily by cool bonus stuff that even in my dreams I did not see coming.

Example:
My editor's younger brother put together a playlist to go with the book.

In my editor's words:

"It's not necessarily a list of songs that Marsh would listen to (I think Marsh would be way too caught up in his own stuff to actually listen to music) but a set of songs that matches the tone of the book. The "bonus tracks" are songs I thought were good for the book, but lessened the cohesion of the list. Also, the songs are kinda sorta in the order that one would experience tonally while reading the book."

Let me say here that I scanned the list and --OLD FOGIE ALERT -- I only recognized a few of the songs. But I have listened to them since, and I LOVE them and totally think my editor (and her way cool younger brother) nailed it.

Listen for yourselves:

Bleeding Out by Imagine Dragons
Change (In the House of Flies) by Deftones
Born to Die by Lana Del Rey
42 by Coldplay
What the Water Gave Me by Florence and the Machine
On the Surface by Civil Twilight
Weak and Powerless by A Perfect Circle
Dead Hearts by Stars
Soldier's Eyes by Jack Savoretti
Flying Solo by Elenowen
Your Bones by Of Monsters and Men
Hurricane by MS MR
You Found Me by The Fray
Brother by Green River Ordinance
Memories by Within Temptation

"Bonus Tracks
Wherever I May Roam by Rockabye Baby
So Cold by The Vitamin String Quartet
Iris by Boyce Avenue
All Around Me by Flyleaf

While I am on the topic of music, I should mention that every day when I was writing Thin Space, I psyched myself up by listening first to Coldplay's All These Things That I've Done. I have no idea why the song resonated with me, but it played like a music video in my head, and all the while I could picture my poor tormented main character Marsh Windsor trudging along barefoot through the snow...

I will leave you with this (which, I think will make more sense after you read the book), a tribute video made by a fan. (Okay. It was made by my daughter):

Teen Guest Post: WHO AM I? by Beth B.

As promised here, I'm hosting a guest blog series called WHO AM I? and have invited teen writers to contribute.  

And a shout out to my artistic teen neighbor Courtney Berger for designing the awesome banner.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Who I Am

A Story by Beth B., guest blogger

“If you got to start over, what would you want to be?” Jake asked me, leaning his head back against the cell wall.

“We don’t get to start over.” I said. I had no interest in the conversation. “We chose what we wanted to be and now we’re paying for it.”

He frowned up at the grimy ceiling as we both listened to the steady dripping sound that echoed down the hall, a leak probably. It didn’t matter either way. The warden wouldn’t fix it. Why use the money on a building made for thieves, rapists, and murderers?

“Yeah I know.” His voice grew quiet. “But what if you could? What if we got a second chance?”

I stared up at the ceiling. “I don’t like those words.”

“What words?”

“What if.” There was a brown mold at the far right corner of the ceiling; it had over the past weeks made a slow, but deliberate march across the grimy surface. “What if, what if. I don’t see the point of wasting time thinking about it when there is no way it’ll ever happen.”

“Okay, but what else are we going to do?”

I rolled over on my cot facing the wall now. It was very much like me: dirty, unclean, and screaming for someone to come save it from this fate. I’m just like this wall, but we both have one thing that is different, and that is the wall knows it’s a wall, but I don’t know what I am.

Who am I?

“Andrew?” I felt Jake kick my cot with his worn boot. “Andrew? Fine. Ignore me.”

I heard him lie down, grumbling about unfriendly oafs. I raised my hand so it was inches from the wall's surface. “If who I am is what I have, and what I have is lost, who am I?” I whispered to the wall, willing it to answer me by pressing my hand against it and pushing hard.

“What are you mumbling about?” Jake asked, his cot creaking as he shifted. “Cause the food cart's not coming back until dinner, and that’s hours away.”

“Nothing.” I said, pulling my hand back, and closing my eyes, losing myself to darkness.

******

It’s been ten years since I had that conversation. Ten years to ponder who I am, and what it would be like if I got a second chance. What did I discover?

Nothing, well almost.

You would think ten years would be enough time to discover myself. That’s not easy, but I did think about it a lot. I even asked a few less violent jail mates. One said the same thing that I did: I was wasting my time thinking over something that would be worthless if I didn’t get out.

Another one said that who I am is up to me to decide. The last guy added to it by saying that who I was changed throughout my life, and there is no true answer for it.

The last one haunted me every night, and now that I’m out I realize what he means.

Who I am is never just one thing. You can try to limit yourself to one job, hobby, or sport, but the truth is that who you are is larger than you can dream, and confining that self is like shutting every emotion you have inside a small box.

So this time I’m not going to do that. I’m going to go out there and tell everyone who will listen that there is never only just one thing for you. That who you are is up to you, and you can be anything you want to be.

How do I know this is true? Well, if it wasn’t, I wouldn’t be here sitting at this old coffee-stained desk staring out at a sea of young faces. If I was the man still in jail, the faces would all look alike, but I’m not, and I can see that they all are harboring something special, and as their teacher I want them to share it.

I stand up, placing my mug of coffee down and picking up a black marker. I turn to them. “For today’s lesson I would like everyone to share what they wish to do when they are older. And if you don’t know, then tell me a hobby. Tell me what you dream to be.”

--Beth B. is a 13 year old writer living in Ohio.