See, I'm not crazy.

One of my really good writer friends was severely disappointed with me a few months ago when I admitted that I always read the last page of a book, first. Okay, not always, but almost always. If it's a Jack Weyland or Anita Stansfield novel, I don't. Why not those two, you ask? Because they pretty much guarantee a satisfying ending. I've never been disappointed by either one of those authors ( I even liked 'Charly'), so I feel safe in taking a chance on their book. When I go to Wal-Mart or Barnes and Noble and see a promising book, I'll flip it over and read the copy on the back. If that looks good, I flip open the cover and read the prologue or first page. If I'm still interested, I go to the back page. If that book can pass all three tests, I MIGHT buy it. If I'm in the mood and have the money. But if that book fails my last page test, back on the shelf it goes.

For example, last week I picked up 'The Last Song' by Nicholas Sparks. I want to like Nicholas Sparks. I really, truly do. He writes the kind of stuff I dig--romantic, heartfelt, fairly clean. But for a long while now, I've felt ripped off by him. He definitely makes you cry--which I enjoy in a book--but he's always killing people off and not just any people but main characters who I'd thought would be around for that ending. But I bought 'The Last Song' because it passed my last page test. Yep, a happy ending. And I'm happy I did. I read it in one sitting. It took me five hours and I was smiling when I put it down. Very satisfying.

Anyway, my friend made me question this practice a few months ago when I admitted that this was my habit. She was horrified. "Don't ever, ever read the last page first!" Truly, I've never seen her this upset. I wondered about it for a couple of months but I kept reading the last page first. I have to--it's ingrained.

But then this morning I got on Facebook and another friend of mine posted this: [I] finished Elizabeth Gaskell's "Wives and Daughters" last night, and I say 'finished' in a loose sense of the word- can you call it finished when you get to page SIX HUNDRED AND EIGHTY THREE only to find a note that the author died before she could write the last couple of chapters! I guess I should have read the introductory notes before I committed myself.

Yup, I feel totally justified now. Seriously, I think I have every right to read the last page first. It's a commitment of my time to read your book and I don't want to spend the money or time on you if you're going to let me down.

To be fair, It's not Gaskell's fault that she died before she could finish the book, so I did recommend that my friend watch the mini-series. That has a very satisfying end.

But I will be keeping my practice up of reading the last page first. More importantly, I'll no longer be feeling any guilt as I do it.

Ouch

Someone didn't like my short story. I think I felt my first real pain over a bad review. Shaking it off. The rest of the people who read it, loved it. Just goes to show, you can't please everyone.

Fifteen kids

I have no idea how pioneer women did it.

5 out of the 6 people in our family celebrate their birthday during January, February or March. That's a lot of partying smooshed all together.

My son turned ten yesterday. It was also the day of the Cub Scout Blue and Gold banquet. So, we had his party today. I wasn't going to do a big party for him this year, since my daughter is turning eight and will be getting baptized. That's enough work alone; I wasn't adding any extra. "But," my son reminded me, "we might be moving and it will be the last chance I get to have a party with my friends here." So true. We are probably moving. Like a 99% chance. So I gave in and let him have his party.

Back to the pioneers. I just had fifteen kids over at my house for a video game themed party. You would not believe how intense these kids get over some video games. Will got the Wii Sports Resort. So the kids decided to have a Sword fighting tournament--complete with brackets on a dry-erase board. There was screaming and chasing and shouting. Tears, and hugs and congratulations. It was pure and complete wildness!

I usually think my own kids are out of control, but once the last straggling child had departed, I turned around and looked at my own four, calm, beautiful sweet children and sighed. And then I fell into a chair.

Seriously I'm getting back to the pioneers. Hats off to those women who knew how to juggle a dozen kids. It's a dang good thing I wasn't born then. I wouldn't make a good pioneer. Four is plenty.

Maybe my ears will stop ringing by the time I wake up tomorrow.

If only life were really like a Soap Opera

I killed someone yesterday.

Okay, not really. I killed off my first character yesterday. But, I cried like he was real. I really like this character so it was nothing personal. He was the best--an amazing brother, devoted boyfriend, perfect son. An all-around good guy. He was even a starter on the high school football team. But he had to go. It was vital to my story.

It took me three hours to write and I bawled like a baby the entire time.

Every night, my kids have been requesting that I read what I wrote that day. I warned them last night that what I would be reading to them was sad. Like, really, really sad. Even with the warning, Emma cried. I had to crawl in bed with her and discuss death and all of that. I was feeling pretty low after I was done, wondering if maybe this person's death, was just too emotional. But, I decided, I write realistic stuff and death is real. It happens to everybody. And almost everyone has to deal with losing a loved one at some point in their lives. So, it's only fitting that I write about it.

This morning, my son, Will, said, "Mom, can't you just resurrect Bobby, in your book? That would be like this awesome miracle!" I explained to him, that unfortunately, that wasn't an option. "Why not?" he asked.

I'll tell you why not. It all stems back to my 'Days of Our Lives' watching period, when I was a freshman at BYU. A friend got me hooked on the Bo/Billie relationship. I'm a hopeless romantic, so every day at four o'clock, I would wander down to the basement--where the only available television in 'T' hall (R.I.P T Hall)was located-- squash myself between the masses of girl's waiting to see if today was the day Bo and Billie finally got together, and watch away. Sometimes, I would even skip class if it cut into my 'Days' watching time. (It was a direct reflection on my grades, but I'll write about that post another time) Needless to say, I was hooked.

For a few years. Until it got too ridiculous. I mean, how many times can Samantha fall in love and get married? And how many times can Deidre Hall cry those real tears over losing John? And, how many times can Stefano die and come back to life? Are we really supposed to believe that kind of stuff. Maybe some people don't care that they're watching complete fluff, but I do. So, I gave up my love affair with daytime t.v. and moved on to bigger and better things like...Alias. Yup, because that's more believable.

My point is, I write message driven stuff. If I want people to believe me, and trust me, I can't be killing people and then bringing them back to life. It would be an awesome scene to write, but I just can't do it. Even if it does make everybody completely happy.

So, Bobby will stay buried six feet under, I'll keep wiping my tears whenever I kill a character off, and my kids will keep learning about life. From me. Their mom. The writer.

I'm really just an actress

When I was a kid, I loved to act and sing. I was in the community theater's musical almost every year from kindergarten on. From Sound of Music, to Fiddler on the Roof, to Joseph and The Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat--I danced and sang my way through my childhood. And I loved it. The acting part. I thrived off the energy from the audience. It was an outlet that I really needed and still feel like is a big part of who I am.

So do you remember when I said that I'd tried to give Cole a story a while back? (I promise this is relevant to the previous paragraph-keep reading) Remember how I tried nine times, wrote over a thousand pages of blah and finally realized it just wasn't going to happen for him? Maybe you don't, but I do. Talk about discouragement. I was actually beginning to doubt myself as a writer, beginning to think that Emily's story was a one time thing, that maybe I only had one good story in me.

I was soooo wrong.

Here's a secret I've learned about writing. It's a lot like acting. You have to feel your character's joy, pain, sadness, frustration, etc. It would be hard to act a certain emotion if you've never felt that emotion. Likewise, it's hard to write through the eyes of a character who just got her heart broken by the boy of her dreams if you've never been crushed in that way.

I'm starting to wander so let me get back on track. I'm finally seeing a good use for all the frustration and heart ache I experienced as a teenager. You'll see it in my writing WHEN my books get published. Do you know why Stephenie Meyer could write Bella so well? Because Bella is a part of Stephenie. Ender is a part of Orson Scott Card. Anne is a part (or was) of L.M. Montgomery. These characters are a part of their creators. Those authors have felt most of what their characters are feeling, or at least something close to it.

When I wrote a story about a girl who got raped, a couple of my friends pulled me aside privately after reading it and said, "Susan, were you raped? You nailed the emotions so perfectly."

That was seriously the biggest compliment they could have given me. No, I haven't been raped, but I do know what it's like to keep a secret. (As I think many teenagers do) I do know what it's like to have my heart broken. To have my life completely shattered and then have to put it back together. My point is, that to write a good story you have to delve into the life of that character. Emily is me and I am her.

Now I'm writing about Sarah. At first it was good but not great. I had to back track and revamp what I'd written. I had to put myself and my heart into her character. Now she's great and spectacular and wonderful.

I do have other stories to tell, but I'm learning that sometimes I have to stumble around until I figure them out. Not every story is going to work. But I won't quit. Because they're there.