Came across this article on Toasted Cheese, a pretty awesome online literary journal, and it's had my head a' spinnin since I read it. It's not groundbreaking or anything, but it mainly seems to be addressing this sort of "me-me-me" trend that many writers and journalist are latching on to, mostly in the form of personal first person stories, memoirs, etc. and while I have a slight about the way the whole issue is presented (in my humble opinion the author might benefit from drawing a more definitive line between memoir/essay writing vs. journalism because it sort of comes off as if he's criticizing the practice of including a kind of...narcissism ...in the reporting that journalist are doing nowadays, whereas the writing an essayist/memoir writer is a little different--and really they benefit more from being a bit navel grazey if that's the medium they are writing in) I think I get the underlying gripe.
If he were to make the distinction a little more clear, I think he may be trying to say that many journalist latch onto this self focused type of writing that isn't really representative of what it is a journalist is meant to do. People as a whole love first person accounts of whatever, be it the time you survived almost being castrated in a freak bear attack or broke up with your high school sweetheart. It allows that feeling of almost being there, of listening to the average person recounting something either mundane or otherwise and walking away with that feeling of having a peek into someone's personal life. Being almost a "voyeur" as the article puts it. And since it's always more interesting to look at the crap of another person's life, burgeoning writers flock to this practice in the hope to make their stab in the market.
So I got that much from the article and for the most part I'd have to agree. Anyone who thinks they could sustain a whole writing career on mere twists and turns of their own accord alone might be in for a doozy of a ride. As Nolan put it, "There is nothing more painful to watch than a writer desperately
grasping at ever less-important aspects of their own lives in order to
make word counts, until they must simultaneously eat lunch and be
writing about eating that lunch at the same time." Certainly, if you'd built your whole career around people consuming all the tidbits of your ups and downs so that ultimately you've become this character whom people expect to showcase their fuck ups to even be considered relevant...yeah, that's a problem.
At the same time though, I think Nolan kind of glazes over the fact that even as a journalist whom is reporting "someone else's story" you're still apt to present it subjectively. Unless you're just a journalist who is simply writing the facts as they are and leaving it at that, how could you NOT include some of your own personal viewpoints? "Presenting someone else's story" means that you have to in a sense be a storyteller and tell the world about something you've learned, but obviously--even if it isn't your own personal story--you may tell it rather differently simply from the fact that you're the one writing it. If that person had the chance to tell their narrative, isn't it possible they'd say something else completely? If anything that happens all the time--a journalist may report the events of a separate experience in a way that would either be celebrated for being closely accurate, or otherwise doing just what Nolan accuses--being narcissistic.
Again, I get that he's touching more on the fact that it's become easier and trendier to grab a reader's attention by presenting your own life story with lines like, as Susan Shapiro wrote, "In December my husband stopped screwing me" 'cause, yeah, who wouldn't want to read that story? But there are better, more interesting stories out there and the mass market is more willing to ignore those in favor of some woman's failing marriage--I get that. I'm no journalist by any means, but from what little I managed to learn about the craft you're still a storyteller but in a different way than, say, J.K. Rowling is. You can still be narcissistic without writing about yourself, because I think a little subjectivity makes its way into your writing simply because of the fact that YOU'RE A WRITER.
Anyway, when I scrolled down to the read the comments of this article one mentioned blogs falling apart if you become too personal about writing.
O.O
Oops.
I guess that's what I've been trying to get at with this post---am I too personal, too gripey about my writing?
Yeah, I suppose on many levels I definitely am. On one hand, I kinda hate that. While I'm trying to use this blog as a place to sort out my feelings about so many things--my writing included--I constantly, as you know, worry if I come off as too me-me-me about everything. I want to definitely achieve a level of narrative consistency, but my saving grace (and ultimate excuse) is that I kind of have to tread the waters and drown a couple of times before I can swim freely (BAD ANALOGY I KNOW).
Should I be more focused, more objective in what I'm presenting? Telling my stories, whatever they are, and keeping the personal narrative to a minimal nil? I'm certainly running into the problem of finding little to talk about at times, doing the whole blow by blow thing. After all, as I said earlier, you sort of want to simultaneously roll your eyes and punch someone in the face if they're continually reporting their daily toast intake and what they wore to work on what day. Do I want to be known for my plucky opinions on the episode of Breaking Bad I watched, or my own story about a character's descent into antagonism? (WHICH IS WHAT MAKES THAT SHOW SO AWESOME BTW!!!)
Okay. So I'll end all this by saying that I will definitely consider what I'm posting to the world from now on. After all, there really is more to me than just moan and groaning, ya'll. I promise.
Monday, January 7, 2013
Saturday, January 5, 2013
On another winter morning...A prompt
On another winter morning Dad would be here.
They had come. They came every eighteenth day of every month, every year, and they always wanted the same thing--whatever was in the lacquered black box by the door.
We didn't know what was in it. We didn't know what he was giving them, but whatever it was it saved us. I know that much. It kept the house warm, food on the table, and the outlaws away from our door. It protected us, kept me and the girls in school. I depended on that box, even though it was as innocuous a thing to me as a piece of antique furniture, something ordinary I passed every time I went out the door.
Now Dad was gone, missing for days and we had no idea where to find him. Mama wouldn't let us go out looking. She was scared, but she just decided to assume he'd be home soon, but I knew better. If Daddy wasn't back on this eighteenth day, knowing how important it was, then something was wrong.
And so they came. They stood outside our door, silent as shadows. We couldn't open the box because Dad had the key.
I tried to help. I thrust the box at them after so many moments in hope they would just take it and leave. They let it drop at their feet and wordlessly shook their heads at my admission. There was only one way they would go and that was if it was opened and they got what they wanted.
Dad was gone. The box would not be open. He had the key. On another winter morning, if it were any other winter morning, Dad would have been here.
So I realized with a horrifying clarity that those mornings were gone, just like Dad was gone too.
We were alone and at the mercy of these silent benefactors who stared at us with deadened eyes that grew colder as the minutes ticked by and the box remained closed.
WHAT. THE. HELL.
This...I don't even know what this is.
Right, so I'm trying hard to keep this space relevant by posting something of the writely type everyday and creative prompts seemed to be the way to go. This one in particular ("On another winter morning...") I got from Patricia Ann McNair's website where she had a whole bunch of prompts from last year posted. So everyday I'm going to try and use either her prompts or any others I find and post them. Whether or not I stay faithful is up for debate but, damn it, I'm going to try.
This sucks I know, but I'm not married to it or anything. I couldn't really figure out where to go with it, but I managed to squeeze out this idea of an absent parent and something ominous happening and-- you get the picture. I may post another later.
On another note, I've been reading Elfquest and it. is. AMAZING. I already mentioned The Masque of the Red Death which is another take on the short story by Poe, all written by graphic novelist Wendy Pini whom I have come to adore. If you love the story by Poe check out her comic, and if you're into high fantasy featuring elves and gorgeously drawn artwork, please read Elfquest. I was skeptical at first but now I'm a believe-ah.
So that's it for now. Again, maybe more later.
They had come. They came every eighteenth day of every month, every year, and they always wanted the same thing--whatever was in the lacquered black box by the door.
We didn't know what was in it. We didn't know what he was giving them, but whatever it was it saved us. I know that much. It kept the house warm, food on the table, and the outlaws away from our door. It protected us, kept me and the girls in school. I depended on that box, even though it was as innocuous a thing to me as a piece of antique furniture, something ordinary I passed every time I went out the door.
Now Dad was gone, missing for days and we had no idea where to find him. Mama wouldn't let us go out looking. She was scared, but she just decided to assume he'd be home soon, but I knew better. If Daddy wasn't back on this eighteenth day, knowing how important it was, then something was wrong.
And so they came. They stood outside our door, silent as shadows. We couldn't open the box because Dad had the key.
I tried to help. I thrust the box at them after so many moments in hope they would just take it and leave. They let it drop at their feet and wordlessly shook their heads at my admission. There was only one way they would go and that was if it was opened and they got what they wanted.
Dad was gone. The box would not be open. He had the key. On another winter morning, if it were any other winter morning, Dad would have been here.
So I realized with a horrifying clarity that those mornings were gone, just like Dad was gone too.
We were alone and at the mercy of these silent benefactors who stared at us with deadened eyes that grew colder as the minutes ticked by and the box remained closed.
~~~
WHAT. THE. HELL.
This...I don't even know what this is.
Right, so I'm trying hard to keep this space relevant by posting something of the writely type everyday and creative prompts seemed to be the way to go. This one in particular ("On another winter morning...") I got from Patricia Ann McNair's website where she had a whole bunch of prompts from last year posted. So everyday I'm going to try and use either her prompts or any others I find and post them. Whether or not I stay faithful is up for debate but, damn it, I'm going to try.
This sucks I know, but I'm not married to it or anything. I couldn't really figure out where to go with it, but I managed to squeeze out this idea of an absent parent and something ominous happening and-- you get the picture. I may post another later.
On another note, I've been reading Elfquest and it. is. AMAZING. I already mentioned The Masque of the Red Death which is another take on the short story by Poe, all written by graphic novelist Wendy Pini whom I have come to adore. If you love the story by Poe check out her comic, and if you're into high fantasy featuring elves and gorgeously drawn artwork, please read Elfquest. I was skeptical at first but now I'm a believe-ah.
So that's it for now. Again, maybe more later.
Thursday, January 3, 2013
Random Scary PC Game and Noticing Stuff
Ummm...
Okay so here. Ran across this game last night on lovely Kotaku. Creepy as hell? Uh, yeah, but I kinda like Poe and am totally in love with The Masque of the Red Death after this webcomic which was as darkly decadent and tragic as it's synopsis boasts. Seriously, it's good ya'll. I've been meaning to track down some Elfquest and see if I can't read some---
Annnnd I just found out that they've got the whole series online. Hello new daily distraction! But I'll still try to update as much as possible with, er...random stuff and...
Ugh! That's what's so frustrating about this whole blog thing! I don't really know what I'm doing with it. For now I'm just trying to stay relevant by posting link and little tidbits and blurbs and whatever, but man! I feel so boring. This blog is as boring as my life. Officially.
Okay. Enough whining. What else?
Uhhhhh--well, the scholarship hunt is coming along. Sorta. Have run up against a bit of an impasse, but I think I'll get through it. With luck I'll have at least half my bill cut down and then if I find a job I can take care of the rest.
Welp, that's it for now.
Oh, and one other thing---watching my niece right now. I am SO not having kids. At least not for, like....EVER.
>:(
Okay so here. Ran across this game last night on lovely Kotaku. Creepy as hell? Uh, yeah, but I kinda like Poe and am totally in love with The Masque of the Red Death after this webcomic which was as darkly decadent and tragic as it's synopsis boasts. Seriously, it's good ya'll. I've been meaning to track down some Elfquest and see if I can't read some---
Annnnd I just found out that they've got the whole series online. Hello new daily distraction! But I'll still try to update as much as possible with, er...random stuff and...
Ugh! That's what's so frustrating about this whole blog thing! I don't really know what I'm doing with it. For now I'm just trying to stay relevant by posting link and little tidbits and blurbs and whatever, but man! I feel so boring. This blog is as boring as my life. Officially.
Okay. Enough whining. What else?
Uhhhhh--well, the scholarship hunt is coming along. Sorta. Have run up against a bit of an impasse, but I think I'll get through it. With luck I'll have at least half my bill cut down and then if I find a job I can take care of the rest.
Welp, that's it for now.
Oh, and one other thing---watching my niece right now. I am SO not having kids. At least not for, like....EVER.
>:(
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
Over and Out
No idea what the title means but---
Spent most of the night and some of the morning in the hospital yesterday and today. Mom was pretty sick...and I officially hate hospital smell. Seriously: anticeptic, bandages, dried blood, rubber gloves, alcohol swabs---hate it.
On the upside though, I scored an awesome cranberry pecan oatmeal cookie which tasted a lot better than it probably sounds. Otherwise, I did lil else---came home and went to sleep and spent an hour or so hunting down food. That's bout it, ya'll.
Although, I did manage to write something today so I guess that counts a little as far as being more proactive about my writing. A little.
We'll see what happens tomorrow.
Spent most of the night and some of the morning in the hospital yesterday and today. Mom was pretty sick...and I officially hate hospital smell. Seriously: anticeptic, bandages, dried blood, rubber gloves, alcohol swabs---hate it.
On the upside though, I scored an awesome cranberry pecan oatmeal cookie which tasted a lot better than it probably sounds. Otherwise, I did lil else---came home and went to sleep and spent an hour or so hunting down food. That's bout it, ya'll.
Although, I did manage to write something today so I guess that counts a little as far as being more proactive about my writing. A little.
We'll see what happens tomorrow.
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
First Update of 2013! What?!
I'm actually...posting something? Really? What alternate realm is this that makes such a thing possible?
I didn't get up to much today--surprise, surprise--but I just felt compelled to do SOMETHING. I am getting increasingly worried that I'm becoming nothing but a lazy slob in my "hiatus" from school so the least I could do amid my passionate job hunt and scholarship searching is type up some crap to this blog and hope someone, somewhere actually gives two shits about the boring, slow-as-molasses life that is mine.
But it's a new year so new beginnings and whatnot. We'll see what I get up to--or don't get up to as it were.
I didn't get up to much today--surprise, surprise--but I just felt compelled to do SOMETHING. I am getting increasingly worried that I'm becoming nothing but a lazy slob in my "hiatus" from school so the least I could do amid my passionate job hunt and scholarship searching is type up some crap to this blog and hope someone, somewhere actually gives two shits about the boring, slow-as-molasses life that is mine.
But it's a new year so new beginnings and whatnot. We'll see what I get up to--or don't get up to as it were.
Sunday, December 30, 2012
Uhhhhh...Where Did My Writing Go?
Seriously. Help me find it someone.
I don't know what my problem is. I'm just not motivated to do much of anything these days aside from Netflixin', worrying about scholarships and finding a job, and driving. That's 'bout it. I guess this counts for SOMETHING now but let's see if I can actually finish the entry. Oh boy...
Yeah. I don't want to write. I do and then I don't. I sit down, open up a blank Word doc, sit and stare at it for a few secs and then I'm back on tvtropes.org wasting the hours away. I don't care enough about it. Yeah, I'm scared to death that I will waste all my time procrastinating, wasting precious time I could be devoting to writing on doing nothing but then I'm not that worried--not that worried because I don't care. I don't want to care about it right now. I don't want to try or concentrate or focus. I do and then I don't. The urge to turn away, to run and hide, is what's strongest right now. I don't really care about much--other than wasting time and avoiding writing. It's bad, I know, but I guess if I really cared I'd be doing something about it.
Man. I use to feel so guilty when I was in class back at Colum. All these people would be waxing about their writing, how they were doing, where they were going with it, and I would sit and feel like a piece of shit: here I am in this expenisve ass art school, in this really cool hipstery city, and I'm doing nothing but going to class everyday, avoiding my homework, and watching Netflix. What the hell, me?
I don't know. It's a fear thing, I know. I want to do it, but I'm both overwhelmed, afraid, and too lazy to take the reins and just keep going. It's a sad thing. I'm a sad thing right now.
I guess I'll bounce back. This is helping a bit, but why do I hate everything I write right now? I can't even get excited about smutty, guilty pleasure writing that involves gratuitous amounts of buttfuckery and...well, other sleazy things. I can't excited about that stuff. I don't care about plots, characters, themes, what have you. I think I just need to care about writing period, in whatever capacity that may be.
It'll happen, peeps. Just stick with me a lil' bit.
I don't know what my problem is. I'm just not motivated to do much of anything these days aside from Netflixin', worrying about scholarships and finding a job, and driving. That's 'bout it. I guess this counts for SOMETHING now but let's see if I can actually finish the entry. Oh boy...
Yeah. I don't want to write. I do and then I don't. I sit down, open up a blank Word doc, sit and stare at it for a few secs and then I'm back on tvtropes.org wasting the hours away. I don't care enough about it. Yeah, I'm scared to death that I will waste all my time procrastinating, wasting precious time I could be devoting to writing on doing nothing but then I'm not that worried--not that worried because I don't care. I don't want to care about it right now. I don't want to try or concentrate or focus. I do and then I don't. The urge to turn away, to run and hide, is what's strongest right now. I don't really care about much--other than wasting time and avoiding writing. It's bad, I know, but I guess if I really cared I'd be doing something about it.
Man. I use to feel so guilty when I was in class back at Colum. All these people would be waxing about their writing, how they were doing, where they were going with it, and I would sit and feel like a piece of shit: here I am in this expenisve ass art school, in this really cool hipstery city, and I'm doing nothing but going to class everyday, avoiding my homework, and watching Netflix. What the hell, me?
I don't know. It's a fear thing, I know. I want to do it, but I'm both overwhelmed, afraid, and too lazy to take the reins and just keep going. It's a sad thing. I'm a sad thing right now.
I guess I'll bounce back. This is helping a bit, but why do I hate everything I write right now? I can't even get excited about smutty, guilty pleasure writing that involves gratuitous amounts of buttfuckery and...well, other sleazy things. I can't excited about that stuff. I don't care about plots, characters, themes, what have you. I think I just need to care about writing period, in whatever capacity that may be.
It'll happen, peeps. Just stick with me a lil' bit.
Sunday, November 11, 2012
Back in the Saddle...?
Well, maybe.
Haven't posted in a long time. This thing lost its glamor, but I may pop back. Just feel like I should be promoting this more, but really I want to kind of keep it for myself for a while until I'm sure what it is I'm trying to accomplish here. A lot of everything besides writing is happening here so I'm not sure how on board I am with complete strangers seeing what I'm thinking.
Anywho, I did want to go on about YA love interests.
Why? Well, I'm reading a lot of YA lately (kind of...I have a lot of books I requested through my college library that I plan on reading along with two books, Feed by MT Anderson and Finnikin of the Rock by Melina Marchetta--both of which I've barely begun) but I'm trying to sink my teeth into them hoping to both gain some clarity on a market I may one day be publishing in and to recapture some of my lost adoration of the genre (or market). I don't know...it's both a guilty indulgence and engrossing study.
So the love interests. Yeah. What's up with those?
I think the general consensus is that we've got too many love triangles and swoon-woobs going around. Our main character is either a very independent, gruff wrench wench who is so able to tote her own load that she has no need for anyone's help, or she's the self aware, cute, snarky, "plain" heroine who has a magically destiny power thingy that she didn't know she was born with and the guy who comes to guide her is a hot angel/demon/vampire/werewolf/elf person with a body too hot to handle and---you get the idea.
I think it's a lot of wish fulfillment on the author's part. She's not so much crafting a character as she's inserting some dude she'd desperately like to be in love with. That, or she/he is catering to the demographic in a way they think is effective, given that, yeah, a lot of teen girls (and boys) like the idea of a hot guy being at their side when peril is afoot. Sometimes I wonder if it's a security thing on the girl's part (boy's too depending). I mean, when I was a teen I kind of fell head over heels with characters whom I viewed as strong and supportive because I always felt so alone and in need of company. I don't know...when these male love interests are so strong with rippling pectorals and shimmery green aquamarine eyes that shoot out lasers, I can't help but feel that some of the appeal is in their ability to protect.
Moving on. I haven't really ran into a very well crafted male love interest as of yet, though I will give a quick shout out to Peeta Mellark of the Hunger Games fame because I've come to realize that in the course of my retrospective analysis of the series (retrospective?) that he's the most...well...down to earth love interest I've seen in a while. He doesn't have super powers, a really hot bod, he's not dark and angsty. He's humble, really sweet, and kind of solemnly accepts that Katniss has her eyes on some other dude and that he may only ever contend for second. This quote:
“We were five. You had a plaid dress and your hair…it was in two braids instead of one. My father pointed you out while we were waiting to line up. He said, ‘See that little girl? I wanted to marry her mother, but she ran off with a coal miner.’ And I said, ‘A coal miner? Why did she want a coal miner if she could’ve had you?’ And he said, ‘Because when he sings…even the birds stop to listen.’ So that day, in music assembly, the teacher asked who knew the valley song. Your hand shot right up in the air. She put you up on a stool and had you sing it for us. And I swear, ever bird outside the windows fell silent. And right when your song ended, I knew -just like your mother- I was a goner.”
Yeah. THAT quote, sums him up perfectly. I like that it isn't overly sappy (not completely) and he's not paying homage to her hair and eyes and cute face--Peeta loves her, but he realizes that he may never have her, so he decides to just be there for her in anyway possible, waiting. THAT's romantic because it's a little more realistic. It's not vain in the Bella/Jacob way where she plays Jacob like a fiddle when Edward is gone only to tell him that he'll always be last to her when she's clung onto his nutsacks for over a damn year (or something, the time flow in those stories are really fucked up).
In class last week, we had this discussion about authors writing for different genders or merely sticking to their own gender. I mentioned that in YA last year, I was asked a lot about the female characters in my stories because they were featured less prominently than my lead males were. As of now, I have a bit of a better handle on some of them (at least one) but before I never really looked at it as a kind of exclusion thing. I write for two male characters in one of my stories, but I don't really see it as that. I'm just writing about two characters. Who happen to be male.
I DO have issues with one of their love interests however, and only because I have no idea how she fits into the story or if I even want her there anymore. She's just this rude, violent, mute being and I don't really know her purpose, but that's for the writing to ultimately decide, I guess. It'll all come to me eventually.
But, yeah. My point is that love interests or--well, if you have a character that is merely functioning as a love interest than you have a problem. If their sole function is to stir your lead's loins and provide eye candy for you readers, then you have a problem. If you can't help but include some needless reminder about their beauty and sexiness and awesomeness--yeah, you have a problem. A vanity problem, possibly.
So my advice? Examine what they're REALLY there for and think about their purpose. What do they want outside of pleasing the fem/male lead? What about their lives, dreams, wants, needs, goals? Can they stand on their own as a character? Do they have a favorite food or TV show or song they're embarrassed to actually like?
Would Bella or Edward be half as interesting on their own without one another? Hmmm? THINK about it.
Haven't posted in a long time. This thing lost its glamor, but I may pop back. Just feel like I should be promoting this more, but really I want to kind of keep it for myself for a while until I'm sure what it is I'm trying to accomplish here. A lot of everything besides writing is happening here so I'm not sure how on board I am with complete strangers seeing what I'm thinking.
Anywho, I did want to go on about YA love interests.
Why? Well, I'm reading a lot of YA lately (kind of...I have a lot of books I requested through my college library that I plan on reading along with two books, Feed by MT Anderson and Finnikin of the Rock by Melina Marchetta--both of which I've barely begun) but I'm trying to sink my teeth into them hoping to both gain some clarity on a market I may one day be publishing in and to recapture some of my lost adoration of the genre (or market). I don't know...it's both a guilty indulgence and engrossing study.
So the love interests. Yeah. What's up with those?
I think the general consensus is that we've got too many love triangles and swoon-woobs going around. Our main character is either a very independent, gruff wrench wench who is so able to tote her own load that she has no need for anyone's help, or she's the self aware, cute, snarky, "plain" heroine who has a magically destiny power thingy that she didn't know she was born with and the guy who comes to guide her is a hot angel/demon/vampire/werewolf/elf person with a body too hot to handle and---you get the idea.
I think it's a lot of wish fulfillment on the author's part. She's not so much crafting a character as she's inserting some dude she'd desperately like to be in love with. That, or she/he is catering to the demographic in a way they think is effective, given that, yeah, a lot of teen girls (and boys) like the idea of a hot guy being at their side when peril is afoot. Sometimes I wonder if it's a security thing on the girl's part (boy's too depending). I mean, when I was a teen I kind of fell head over heels with characters whom I viewed as strong and supportive because I always felt so alone and in need of company. I don't know...when these male love interests are so strong with rippling pectorals and shimmery green aquamarine eyes that shoot out lasers, I can't help but feel that some of the appeal is in their ability to protect.
Moving on. I haven't really ran into a very well crafted male love interest as of yet, though I will give a quick shout out to Peeta Mellark of the Hunger Games fame because I've come to realize that in the course of my retrospective analysis of the series (retrospective?) that he's the most...well...down to earth love interest I've seen in a while. He doesn't have super powers, a really hot bod, he's not dark and angsty. He's humble, really sweet, and kind of solemnly accepts that Katniss has her eyes on some other dude and that he may only ever contend for second. This quote:
“We were five. You had a plaid dress and your hair…it was in two braids instead of one. My father pointed you out while we were waiting to line up. He said, ‘See that little girl? I wanted to marry her mother, but she ran off with a coal miner.’ And I said, ‘A coal miner? Why did she want a coal miner if she could’ve had you?’ And he said, ‘Because when he sings…even the birds stop to listen.’ So that day, in music assembly, the teacher asked who knew the valley song. Your hand shot right up in the air. She put you up on a stool and had you sing it for us. And I swear, ever bird outside the windows fell silent. And right when your song ended, I knew -just like your mother- I was a goner.”
Yeah. THAT quote, sums him up perfectly. I like that it isn't overly sappy (not completely) and he's not paying homage to her hair and eyes and cute face--Peeta loves her, but he realizes that he may never have her, so he decides to just be there for her in anyway possible, waiting. THAT's romantic because it's a little more realistic. It's not vain in the Bella/Jacob way where she plays Jacob like a fiddle when Edward is gone only to tell him that he'll always be last to her when she's clung onto his nutsacks for over a damn year (or something, the time flow in those stories are really fucked up).
In class last week, we had this discussion about authors writing for different genders or merely sticking to their own gender. I mentioned that in YA last year, I was asked a lot about the female characters in my stories because they were featured less prominently than my lead males were. As of now, I have a bit of a better handle on some of them (at least one) but before I never really looked at it as a kind of exclusion thing. I write for two male characters in one of my stories, but I don't really see it as that. I'm just writing about two characters. Who happen to be male.
I DO have issues with one of their love interests however, and only because I have no idea how she fits into the story or if I even want her there anymore. She's just this rude, violent, mute being and I don't really know her purpose, but that's for the writing to ultimately decide, I guess. It'll all come to me eventually.
But, yeah. My point is that love interests or--well, if you have a character that is merely functioning as a love interest than you have a problem. If their sole function is to stir your lead's loins and provide eye candy for you readers, then you have a problem. If you can't help but include some needless reminder about their beauty and sexiness and awesomeness--yeah, you have a problem. A vanity problem, possibly.
So my advice? Examine what they're REALLY there for and think about their purpose. What do they want outside of pleasing the fem/male lead? What about their lives, dreams, wants, needs, goals? Can they stand on their own as a character? Do they have a favorite food or TV show or song they're embarrassed to actually like?
Would Bella or Edward be half as interesting on their own without one another? Hmmm? THINK about it.
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