A Cage Match: 1

I finally saw the new Star Trek trailer. You know, the one with BENEDICT CUMBERBATCH. This trailer is especially delightful since it heavily features the dulcet tones of Mr. Cumberbatch. If the entire film were like the trailer (a montage with his voiceover), I'd still go see it.

And this week, I'm going to see The Hobbit. You know, the one with RICHARD ARMITAGE. Based on the trailer I saw, he will be singing and I will be loving every minute of it.

So if the voice of this fine actor

got in a cage match with the beautiful voice of this actor,

who would win?

This is the kind of question that keeps me up at night.

Girls [Flip, Swim, Lift] the World

I'm kind of bursting with pride right now for my fellow women. The Olympics always do this to me.

Contrastingly, I always have a hard time watching the Olympics. The pressure! The anguish! I mean, somebody's dream of winning will inevitably be crushed. That's the nature of competition. There's always a loser.

I should also add that I get sweaty palms when I watch. Gross.

Back to the topic.

Let's talk about Gabby Douglas. Is she adorable, or is she adorable? Check and check. Of course I'm proud of all of the Fab Five. They handled their upsets with grace and poise and not without a healthy amount of emotion. But Gabby Douglas: wow! She's going to go far. I know nothing about gymnastics, but the pure athleticism she brings to her game is all colors of awesome. No one else on that team can get air like she can.

You go, girl.

Second: Ye Shiwen. Ye Shiwen. Let's remember her name.

*Calming breath*

A girl (a teenager, even) swam the 400 meter individual medley faster than Ryan Lochte did in the same event. (Trust me, I wanted to italicize so many more words than I actually did.)

I remember having an argument (not just a heated discussion) with a co-worker when she claimed that women shouldn't serve in the military or as firefighters because they are physically weaker than men. There are so many things wrong with that argument, but that's not the point of this post. This is what I want to say:

Ye Shiwen, I salute you. Not all of the female swimmers could beat Ryan Lochte's time (and that's okay! I don't mean to cheapen their achievements. They're all fierce). But you did. "Women are weaker than men" is a convenient little box that some people wanted to stuff you in, and you came out fighting.

Related to this idea, I saw a tweet the other day that made me smile:

My favorite part of the #olympics is watching the world get stunned at what teenage girls can do.
— Ally Carter (@OfficiallyAlly) July 31, 2012

(Tweet by author Ally Carter, obvs. You should read her books. They're about teenagers who do things most adults couldn't. Some call it fiction. I call it art mirroring life.)

Last, another link, this one talking about Holley Mangold, a 350-lb American weightlifter who's competing in the Olympics. Mangold, the butt of a joke by Conan O'Brien. Bad, Coco.

http://www.salon.com/2012/07/30/holley_mangold_makes_conan_look_small/


Another successful woman who doesn't fit into the tidy little box of what a woman "should" be? God bless you, Olympics.

Follow the link to read the article.

Then, whether you be old or young, male or female, small or large, GO BE AWESOME. Because you are.

DFTBA.

And the Crickets Continued Chirping....

...in my mind.

There is nothing, really, going on in my life at the moment. But I decided to jaunt on over to my internet home, only to realize that I haven't posted since April.

Shame on me.

But really, there's nothing to blog about, so I'll just tell you about a song that I'm OBSESSED with at the moment. There are two, but I'll save the second song for a different post on a different day. Then maybe it will actually look like I'm a blogger. A real blogger.

Introducing: Lianne La Havas and her song "Gone."

Any guesses where she's from?

*whistles "God Save the Queen"*

ENGLAND!!!!! Huzzah for the mother country.

Listen:



That's it.

Proud of Who I Grew Up to Be

(1) I graduated. The end. (Pics to come soon-ish).

(2) Pottermore opened to the public this April, but I made the responsible, grown-up decision to wait until finals and graduation were over until I signed up. Then, I spent a lovely evening immersed in Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. And I was sorted into...

 Ravenclaw! Which is cool, although Gryffindor would have been my first choice. For anyone dying to know, my wand is cedar with a phoenix feather core. If you want to add me, message me for my user name! (I'm anticipating that no one will message me: I have the strange feeling that no one, my age at least, is as excited about Pottermore as I am.)

Ravenclaws are clever, quirky, and independent, or so says the welcome letter on Pottermore. Maybe I kinda fit those things. Definitely the independent part.

 (3) I was telling this to my family, and my mom asked which characters were in Ravenclaw. The only two I could think of (that she'd know) were Cho Chang and Luna Lovegood.

Then she told me that it (my sorting) made sense. "You could be Luna's older sister."

Guys. My life is made. My mother thinks I could be related to Luna Lovegood.

This?

Totes okay with me.

Milestone and Goals

I just hit the 50,000 word mark on my novel! Hooray, hurrah, huzzah! Let's celebrate with as many celebratory words as we know! Auguri! Mazeltov!

...more?...

I feel as cool as this guy obviously is.

It feels good on this side of impossible.

And yet, there's still so much work to do on the story. It's 50,000 words of the zero draft (the draft in which I tell myself the story. Not polished. Not publishable at all).

But 50,000 words!!!!!!!!!!!! That's over a hundred pages in MS Word. Single spaced.

I love accomplishing!

Here are some other post-graduation, summer goals:

(1)Finish this novel
(2) Write another
(3) Find a job
(4) Make friends that like me and will hang out with me in Kaysville (or SLC) since most of my friends live in other states. Or Provo. Which is like a different planet (I kid. Mostly).
(5) Turn 25. Be happy about it
(6) Hang out with my awesome family

I'm thinking number 6 will be the easiest to accomplish.

P.S. I might need to make this blog private. I still want you, my friends and family, to read it though, and I feel that making a blog private seriously deters accessibility. What do y'all think?

There Is No Title for This Post

I'm been busy not doing what I'm supposed to be doing.

I don't have much to say, but here's some excellent music I've heard lately. Enjoy.



And:


Finally:


That last video was recorded for AUDIO-FILES, a new show from BYUtv. It's actually a really good show. If you love music (especially indie music), you'll want to at the very least check out the Imagine Dragons episode on byutv.org

Peace.

That One Time When I Was a Hostage

March has been a crazy month. Crazy, crazy, crazy.

A wedding, a writing retreat, school winding down (AH! I'm graduating!!)

Life has been busy.

So yeah. The wedding was wonderful (more on that later), but the writing retreat is what I really need to talk about.

Our New York trip, due to unforeseen circumstances, got cancelled two weeks before we were supposed to go. So instead, Rick (the author/professor I work for) suggested that we do a planning/writing retreat at the cabin of a friend of his. I was excited, because how cool does "writing retreat" sound?

Okay, it's probably just me that gets excited about that.

The cabin was swanky. "Cabin" is a complete misnomer. Try "palatial winter home akin to Robert Redford's."

At the palatial winter home, we set about planning how to take over the world (good news for another post, but I'll give you a hint: e-book company) and where the best place to schmooze with editors would be (ALA conference in Anaheim this June). Then we set about enjoying the elevator (yes, there was an elevator) and lounging in the library, writing! Huzzah!

At this point in the day, I realized that I forgot to tell my family and friends (read: Mom and BFF Katherine) that I didn't have cell phone reception. We did, however, have wi-fi, so I shot off this email:

Hey I'm on a mountain in a cabin and my cell phone has no reception. There is wi-fi, so you can email me or facebook me and I'll check. I only emailed you too because you're the only ones who ever call me!

Love,
Meg

An hour later, I decided to take a break and check facebook. Abbi, my little sister, had messaged me.

Thus began an interesting conversation:

Abbi: Megan Mom needs you to call home right now!
Megan: I can't, I have no cell phone reception! What's going on?
Abbi: First, who is your youngest sister named after. Just answer and ask questions later
Megan: No one. But her middle name is for her aunt Laura.
Abbi: yes it was your old childhood friend. who was that?
Megan: Abby [Last Name]
Abbi: good. ok you passed the test. what mountain are you on what cabin are you in who are you with?
Megan: I just emailed Mom and told her. Is she freaking out?
Abbi: yes she thought someone was either holding you hostage or your computer was hacked because you had misspelled words in your email and it didn't sound like you at all.
Megan: That's funny. I typed it fast. I'm not being held hostage. I'm here of my own free will. My third grade teacher was named Ms. Alston.
Abbi: Ok. but she still wants to know where you are, who wth, and why, and when you'll be home.
Megan: [I tell her where I am, what I'm doing, who I'm with. Also deleted for privacy reasons.]
Abbi: Ok sorry for the fuss. Please be safe. And call mom if you get reception ever. let cyndi know your safe too. mom and mike practically traced her online to get her number and then called her to see where you were.
Megan: Cyndi knows already. She was there when I left. All this because I spelled "two" as "too." Let that be a testament that editing is important.

Moral of the story: NEVER misspell words. Especially if you don't want a full-scale manhunt mounted on your behalf. If I'd written for another hour, who knows what kind of swat team would have pounded down the door?

p.s. my sister's impromptu security question made me chuckle. It reminded me of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince:

Mrs. Weasley: Arthur, is that you?
Mr. Weasley: Yes. But I would say that even if I were a Death Eater, dear. Ask the question!
Mrs. Weasley: Oh, honestly...
Mr. Weasley: Molly!
Mrs. Weasley: All right, all right... What is your dearest ambition?
Mr. Weasley:To find out how aeroplanes stay up.
[Mrs. Weasley goes to open the door]
Mr. Weasley: Molly! I've got to ask you your question first!
Mrs. Weasley: Arthur, really, this is just silly...
Mr. Weasley:What do you like me to call you when we're alone together?
[Mrs. Weasley's face turns bright red]
Mrs. Weasley: [whisper] Mollywobbles.

Fireside Chat with Aunty Meg

Thanks for the votes on the last blog. Sadly, there were less than ten, so no video for you! Not now at least.

What I had envisioned in my head was a real treat, but alas.

Fireside Chat with Aunty Meg: Part 1

I have to call attention to how ridiculous I feel about what I'm going to say. Not that the thoughts themselves are ridiculous, but I feel like a dork saying them.

Because come on! No one wants me to give them advice, hence the ironic (satirical? sarcastic? help me out here) title.

But really. I've discovered a key to life. Let me rephrase. I haven't discovered anything, just put an old idea to use in my life--and to great effect!

"I'm comfortable not trying things, because then I never fail."

As long as I don't try to do something at which I might fail, I haven't failed. It's safe. It's easier because I don't have to deal with the self-esteem backlash of the seven-letter f word.

To be accurate, I try many things and both fail and succeed. Mostly fail. But there are a few things that I'm truly passionate about that seem TOO BIG, TOO IMPORTANT to risk.

Writing and publishing a book might be first under that category. Music would be second. The boys I've liked but never pursued would be third (Gross. I'm getting waaaaay too personal now).

Back in November something changed. I'm not sure what. I'm not sure why. I'm just grateful it did.

I was freed from a moticum of the fear I felt about trying to do what I actually wanted to do with my life.

I finally felt that I, Megan, would finally write a book, let that book be seen by the world...and not care if they hated it. Which they probably would.

Not care if they hated it? Crazy talk. But really. As soon as I released myself from the anxiety and stigma attached with failure, I was free. Like this:

And that's what I want to tell you. Don't do things because they're the kind of easy that you won't fail at. Don't not do things because you're afraid that you'll be no good at them.

Gosh, it's a beautiful realization.

And it's paying off. I've fallen on my face, but there's something free-willy about accepting myself as imperfect and prone to falling down.

I've put myself on the line more these past few months and I have the bruises to show for it...

...but I also have a business card and pitch request from a certain publisher who launched the careers of multiple NYT bestselling authors...

So that's a step in the right direction.

I wish all of you many happy failures,
Aunty Meg

p.s. My "9(" key is working again. Apparently it saw me groveling and restored to me the power of parentheses (as some of you have surely noticed). I'm much obliged.

The Most Beautiful Lie

...that I can think of in this moment is that English men like this:

are just regular Joe Schmoes

walking around, sweeping American girls off their feet,

and saving the world.

And one more, because we should enjoy the lie while we can:

You're welcome. (And did I miss any?)

The Things That Be Happenin'

The author of this book

teaches my writing fiction class. We're organized into critique groups, so we do lecture and then split into groups. Last night was Brandon's turn to sit in on mine.

It went well. I was most impressed how he was able to say something nice about everybody's work AND also give significant constructive criticism. He was completely impartial, which I appreciated.

In other news, I had dinner with the author of this book:

He's also a class act, ladies and gents.

He and Rick went out to eat after Brandon presented in class on Wednesday, and Rick invited us (friend Tricia and I) along because he has a book idea he thought we'd be interested in hearing about.

It's been a good week in writer land. (Anyone wanting to enter an interesting discussion is directed to Shannon Hale's most recent blog posts about the missing girls of animated films. Very, very interesting).

p.s. My "9" key is not working very well. If that isn't a sign that I use too many parentheses in my writing, then I don't know what is.

Postscript to Previous Post

I found out this weekend that an old...friend...didn't send me an invite to his wedding, but he sent one to my old roommate (who he didn't know as...well...as he knew me) (I'm getting tired of all this vagueness. And ellipses. And parentheses. I'm dying from VAGUE PUNCTUATION!!!!!).

I'm not sure whether to laugh or sing the refrain of "Someone Like You."

(And, of course, as soon as I type the words, that very song starts playing on iTunes).

Please vote:

Should I:
A)Laugh,
B)Feel morally superior,
C)Listen to "Someone Like You,"
D)Laugh AND eat Ben & Jerrys? At the same time?

Vote carefully. Your word is my command.

p.s. If ten people vote on this, I will post a video of me singing "Someone Like You." Perhaps as my alter ego Mike Golf.

ABC, 123, Baby Baby... or Something Like That

A. I love Valentine's Day. I really, honestly do. My mom always gives us gifts on v-day, and who doesn't love gifts?!?!? Junior high through high school featured rad heart-covered socks (Mom: I miss those. Where did you find them?). This year, my mom and dad got me a beautiful bouquet of red tulips. Very nice and made me homesick for spring and gardens and joy! Ah. Anyways. HOWEVER (you knew there was a "but" coming, didn't you?). My friend Tricia suggested that we celebrate by not mentioning that it was Valentine's Day...so we went and got a cupcake after class and had a very excellent TUESDAY. We had a writing party, and I wrote about 2500 words on my novel in an hour (my personal best). Then we ate pizza. It was a lovely TUESDAY.

Which reminds me, the best part of Valentine's Day is to remember how much you love people. I sucked this year at remembering to tell people that. Everyone: I LOVE YOU! Dad, Mom, Carli (and Drew), Mike, Cassie, Spencer, Abbi, Sam, Grandma, Grandpa, cousins, aunts, uncles, friends, frenemies, enemies, acquaintances, you are pretty great.

B. Adele won 6 Grammys. That's my girl. I have something I need to say about the Grammys and music in general. But this is not the time for that. It's gonna be a big beast of a blog.

C. I graduate soon. What should I do with my life? I've applied to several jobs and internships in NYC (mostly editing, some agenting). I don't expect to get any of those, but I've put my best foot forward. I love editing, but the more I write this semester, the more I fall in love with writing. It's a first for me. I've always liked writing. I've always dabbled. But this semester, I've dived into a story, and frankly I don't want to stop swimming. (Enough with that metaphor. My apologies.) I love my story. I love writing it, which is more significant to me. It feels like...whoa. Now I have this quaint idea in my head where I get some kind of merely passable job that leaves me with plenty of time and energy to write and then I get published and a few hundred people like my story and I live comfortably for the rest of my life. Could be good.

D. I'm in a writing group. Two groups to be precise. One is for the class I'm taking from Brandon Sanderson (Writing Fiction). They're good people and I like them. My other writing group is outside of class. I call it "Saturday Writing Group." Very original title, I know. I should be a writer or something. (You respond: "or something." Thanks.) Greatly missed former member Denece called it "the perfect writing group." Seriously, though. It's pretty sweet. One day I thought that I wanted to start a writing group to give me an excuse to write. I told my writer/editor friend Tricia and together we pulled together a bunch of people we knew. It was a crap shoot, but things turned out well. We all get along really well, and what I thought would be a handy excuse to write has turned into something more serious, and I love it.

E. That's the update on my life. I am a horrible blogger, but mostly because I think that no one really cares what happens in my life. Most of it is boring, but at least now everyone who cares is caught up.

Goodbye: Another Part of Childhood Has Fled

When I was eight, I knew what I wanted to be.

I wanted to be Whitney Houston. I would have gladly mimicked Ursula and trapped her voice (the power!) inside a seashell. I would have made it mine forever.

Logic dictates that there's a first of something, right?

Right.

She was the first. The first artist that made my little-kid heart skip a beat, the first to make me realize that there was more in the world than playing with my friends, watching Disney movies, and going to school.

Laugh at me if you will. This post may sound horribly saccharine to you; I don't claim that it's anything more than sentimental. But indulging in a moment of sentimentality won't change the truth of what I say about her:

Whitney's voice lent the world beauty.

There's a reason that choirs of angels sing. They don't write. They don't edit books. They don't sculpt or paint or play the harpsichord.

I hope she's there now, wherever the angels live, singing a music I once knew and that one day I'll sing again.

My eight-year-old self wanted to be her. At twenty-four, I'd be content to just hear her sing again.

RIP, Whitney.

10 Signs You're an Anglophile

1) You own (as in paid for) at least one song by over half of the nominees of the BRIT awards (if you don't know what those are, you're definitely not an anglophile. Stop reading now). Includes: Adele (duh), Jessie J, Laura Marling, Coldplay, Kate Bush, Ed Sheeran, Florence + the Machine.

2) In any dating situation, you consider what Elizabeth Bennet would say. (She's sure to know who owns "the miserable half").

3) You say things to your roommates like "nude tights are in since Kate and Pippa started wearing them."

4) Your Plan B is to become an Adele impersonator in Vegas.

5) You practice your various British accents as you walk to school. You know, just in case you ever get cast in a BBC drama opposite Richard Armitage. Girl's gotta be prepared.

6) You laugh whenever anyone says "pants."

7) You're saving up for a pair of wellies.

8) You have nicknames for British monarchs: some of them more appropriate than others (like I'm gonna tell you mine).

9) You wish Posh would go back to England...but leave D.B. behind.

10) And speaking of Beckham, you stubbornly think of football and American football as two separate and distinct things.

11) You're intimately acquainted with at least one obscure British tv show (think old school Dr. Who, Monarch of the Glen, Robin Hood, etc.).

12) You unabashedly list 11 items on a 10 item list.

The last one doesn't count.