Stories Are For Reading

Case in point: Richard Peck’s, “The Most Important Night of Melanie’s Life,” in which Melanie herself comments: 

“Mother, if you keep prying into my private life, I may have to go on drugs or something. Do I have to account to you for every minute? I’m fourteen.”

And though the story comes with a built-in ghost/love story within what becomes a ghost/love story, what sticks out is still age. What it’s like to be a teenager. The young boys in the story, one seven-year-old and twin nine-year-olds recognize the invincibility of being a teenager:

Ben’s hands were ice cold, but at sixteen you probably don’t even need to wear gloves.

When I was nine, I thought for sure sixteen year old girls would not have to sleep, and though I was close in my prediciton, when sixteen came, I found that once in a while, I did actually need sleep.

Amidst stacks of Young Adult novels, I’ve decided to squeeze in at least a few other forms of fiction, one of which is a short anthology of short stories by my favorite author (since 6th grade): Richard Peck. The anthology is titled Past Perfect, Present Tense, which I found clever in itself, and is divided into three thematic sections: Past, Supernatural, and Present (i.e. historical, ghost stories, and contemporary).

Through each Peck attempts to pack the full punch of a good story within the confines of a “short story” structure. One of the things that really worked for me in reading these stories was the precise descriptors. The above quote, “Grandma sighed a lot and wore Keds,” is the only descriptor we get about that particular character in the story, “Girl in the Window.” Yet it was effective enough for me to get that vision in my head of exactly what Grandma was like and never question it further for the rest of the story.

Quote = Q via Paper Towns

Truth = I should have thought this before I gave in and had a cigarette this morning after not having one for five months, after my car broke down on my last day of freedom before my big kid job, which starts tomorrow. I could have survived without it. And I’ll have to try harder to survive without it next time

So, it was really cool and all, how it came together that “paper towns” had multiple meanings, and it was all KACHAOW! here’s the tiny twist in the story that tells you why John Green would name this book Paper Towns instead of Where the Fuck Is Margo Roth Spiegelman? 

However, I feel like if you didn’t find this detail jaw-droppingly gasp-worthy, that would have been the end of both the suspense and the enjoyment in the chase. Which was pretty much the case for me. I mean the road trip was pretty sweet because what person anywhere doesn’t fucking LOVE a road trip?

I appreciate the details of that: the description of the vehicle as a tiny house (I totally call the den/office area on every trip ever, and if I get screwed, I take the second bedroom), the teeth-numbing edge of lack of sleep multiplied by energy drinks to the power of feeling like you haven’t blinked (blunk?) in a week, and the invention of entertainment which would be considered 100% unentertaining in any other worldly situation (i.e. “I spy with my metaphysical eye”). 

This leads me to the conclusion that I would freaking love a book about a road trip. In fact, I would love writing a book about a road trip. And maybe I will. Write one. I just took one two days ago and realized the one thing Mr. Green missed out on was capitalizing on the music factor. Music is key in contained vehicular travel. I feel like a road trip is the only legitimate excuse I’ve ever found to sing through the entire From Under the Cork Tree album by Fall Out Boy lyric by lyric, from start to finish. That’s right. I still party like it’s 2005. Unless you have the original Broadway cast recordings of Rent!, Wicked, or Avenue Q, which I will also gladly sing straight through with the accompaniment of  blurring pavement and crop-less fields. Also getting lost is necessary.

In conclusion, if I wanted to read a book titled Adventures in Cartography, well I’m not so sure that there ever has been such a book, but I’d have looked for it.

And I’m not even going to explain why, but she brought up the book Dancing in my Nuddy-Pants , from Louise Rennison’s series on Angus, Thongs, and Full Frontal Snogging. Has anyone read either of these? Would you recommend that I do?

In other news I finished Paper Towns and hated the ending. Hated it. Maybe more on this later, due to me being indescribably frustrated and disappointed.

I started Will Grayson, Will Grayson on the train here, and so far have only met the first Will Grayson. From what I’ve seen, I’d much rather a story about Possibly Gay Jane than Will Grayson. Maybe that’s sexist. But also maybe Will Grayson is already boring me. We get it. You’re a boy. Who doesn’t want to show emotions. Welcome to 95% of humans with penises I have ever met.