SHIVER – Just Finished This Minute Reviews

There’s a lot to like about Maggie Stiefvater’s Shiver. I’ve been pushing the book for years, because it came from Andrea Brown’s literary agency, and Laura Rennert is Ms. Stiefvater’s agent, and I love all them people.

So I’m biased. But I’ll tell ya what I think. Just between you and me, world. Other worlds don’t need to know.

A lot of it worked for me. And heck yeah, I’m still gonna recommend it. The idea is intriguing: werewolves don’t change because of the moon, they change because they get cold. So during wintertime, our hero Sam is a wolf. Summertime, he’s a boy who meets our heroine, Grace. There’s love. There’s angst. And the nice hook. Sam is going to change back into a wolf forever once winter hits. It’s his last autumn as a human, and he just found true love? Dammit! I hate when that happens.

Nice thing about Ms. Stiefvater, girlfriend can write. Here’s an example.

My parents didn’t even know. The morning after Sam and I—spent the night together, it seemed like the biggest thing on my mind was that my parents had no idea. I guessed that was normal. I guessed feeling a little guilty was normal. I guessed feeling giddy was normal. It was as if I had thought all along I was a complete picture, and Sam had revealed that I was a puzzle, and had taken me apart into pieces and put me back together again. I was acutely aware of each distinct emotion, all fitting together tightly.
–Shiver, Page 300

And Ms. Stiefvater quotes Rilke:
And leaving you (there aren’t words to untangle it)
Your life, fearful and immense and blossoming,
so that, sometimes frustrated, and sometimes
understanding,
Your life is sometimes a stone in you, and then, a star.
– Rainer Maria Rilke

I loved Sam, Sam’s voice, Sam’s memories of his parents and his becoming. All of it well done. Grace didn’t quite work for me, but it wasn’t bad. I’m not saying it’s bad. Am I saying it’s bad? No, but…

As Pee-Wee Herman once said, “We all have a big but.” Here is mine. I needed more whiz, bang, pow action and tension and conflict and villains and explosions and shining moments of high drama. Not necessarily end of the world type stuff; I didn’t need, in the words of that immortal ghostbuster, Peter Venkman, human sacrifice, cats living with dogs, mass hysteria. Hey, I initially wrote cats living with gods, mass hysteria. Cats Living With Gods. That’s gonna be my next book.

Anyhow, Shiver is a bestselling book, in some ways, the heir to the Twilight empire, and so what do I know? A lot of the book is Sam and Grace, together, loving one another. There are some moments of tension, but they aren’t milked for all their worth in my nothing opinion.

Keep in mind, I like me a good soap opera. And what was the genius\idiocy behind soap operas? Milking conflict for weeks on end. Like on All My Children (God rest your soul), the Erica Kane, Dmitri, Edumud love triangle lasted like six months. Ah, Edmund the stable boy, Dmitri the rich landowner, Erica caught in the middle. Love that Susan Lucci.

So then, of course, I take all of theslowness of Shiver very personal. What if my books don’t sell because I do try to milk my conflict? I do aim for the cats living dogs mass hysteria? What if the audience is looking for nice calm books about sorrowful werewolves holding nice girls with family problems?

Here is the reality, oh world of mine. There is enough room for all books. All will have an audience. Some will have an audience of millions. Some will have an audience of one. I will write my books, Ms. Stiefvater will write hers, and in the end, we’ve both contributed to the libraries of human existence. We’ll both end up in that Alexandrian Library in the sky.

Chasing after someone else’s voice or plot or whatever is a dangerous thing to do. Doppelgangers tend not to live very long. Even though they are a 4d8+4 HD monster.

Dungeon and Dragons, Rilke, Ghostbusters, and All My Children in the same blog post. I frakkin’ love what I write.

Zealot in the Buffet Line

I was at a Juice Plus event, and I was talking to a food zealot. Man, I love zealots. Of course I would. I like intensity, high drama, and conflict and those things follow zealots around like hounds tumbling after a poodle in estrus.

So I ask the zealot something that bothers me. I have a hard time being “that guy”. The guy who orders a salad. The guy who doesn’t eat the cookies when they are passed around. The health nut, whack job guy. I’ve never been a man’s man. Never. Ever. Ever. I just can’t turn off all my emotions and grunt and watch sports and scratch myself. I can do some of those things, some of the time, but I can’t do them all at once. Not stoic enough. In my next life, though, Clint-frakkin-Eastwood.

So I ask the zealot the question, “How do you handle being ‘that vegan guy’?” And he said something very interesting. He said that he does it for other people, to be an example, to be the change he wants to see in the world. Yes, he does it for himself, to be healthy, to live longer, to perform in his life better, but in the end, it’s so he can foster a healthy environment for other people.

I really wish it was easier to eat better. Even if there was tons of social pressure to eat well, we’d all still hit Taco Bell and gulp down donuts, at the same time, burrito donuts, hmm, because that food tastes so good and is so fun. Eating rotten is fun and rebellious. Hurray, donut burgers.

In my environment, there is social pressure to eat poorly. So maybe, if I can be the example, if I can be the guy who orders a salad, who skips the cookie, who risks being labeled whacky, I can help other people make the hard choices when it comes to food.

Leaf on the Wind

I didn’t go straight home last night from my business trip from Toledo, Ohio. I had a few things to do first. I had to watch Steve Jobs die. And I had to finish reading Atlas Shrugged. Oh, I’m gonna blog all day long about Ayn Rand, and I’ll blog about Atlas Shrugged, and literature, but today, let’s talk about the tree outside of my window at my Marriott hotel. I went to bed, looking at the wind shake the tree, and it was shadows and wind and light. It was very pretty and soothing.

In the morning, it was also pretty with sunshine, soothing with dawn. Someday, I’ll be dead, and I won’t be able to look at the trees any more. Both Ayn Rand and Steve Jobs, their days of tree-gazing are over.

In the hotel, I watched the Steve Jobs Stanford speech. Yes, I should have been writing, or working, or doing all the things that fill my days, but I knew this moment wasn’t going to come around again. Let’s be clear, I am not an Apple guy. Microsoft all the way. I enjoy the freedom of PC’s to the imperial chains that Apple has. Don’t get me wrong, love Apple products, but I’d rather go ghetto than be imprisoned in pretty graphics and smooth userability by the man.

Stay hungry. Stay foolish. Steve Jobs is one of those guys Ayn Rand would have drooled over. True story. Come on. He was an entrepreneur. He was driven. He was a captain of industry. He followed his dream.

Now he’s dead and all over the news. The Marriott Breakfast Woman, all capital letters, said she was tired of hearing about him. Is she following her dreams? Am I? Am I hungry and foolish?

I never did foolish well. I was too busy getting stuff done for foolishness. And hungry? I learned early to feed myself so I didn’t have to take chances on asking anyone for food. So I haven’t been hungry and foolish, but I want to be. I long to be.

The problem is, I have kids now, and kids need structure and a stable environment. Especially the James-Bond-Super-Villains-Posing-As-Little-Girls I’m trying to raise. Or is that what I’ve been told? Maybe the forces of nature would do better if there were more chaos. I don’t know.

This is the year of discernment. By August, 2012, I am going to wrestle the truth out of God and I’m going to know what the next thing to do. It’s probably not going to be the 9 to 5 I’ve been livin’.

From Firefly, Wash would say, “I am a leaf on the wind.” I am going to be the leaf on the wind. I am not going to cower with the other dying leaves in the gutter. I refuse. And if I die penniless, well, every writer needs to die penniless. That’s part of the deal.

Stay hungry. Stay foolish. In the end, scream it out loud, we all die. Every single one of us.