I read the entire Hunger Games series in a week. I can’t believe it’s already over. It was pretty incredible. I am not quite done processing it to write a review, but I will. I want to get back to blogging but haven’t yet figured out how to make it a habit. More to come […]
Deus ex machina is a literary device that introduces God or the gods into the plot to solve all of the problems at the story’s conclusion. It’s considered bad practice and the easy way out. It translates from Latin to mean “God in/from the machine.” It’s extreme form of divine intervention in storytelling. If deus ex machina is used in what ever story you are reading/watching/listening to, you feel a bit cheated in the end that your characters didn’t have to earn their happy ending or work to triumph over evil.
People swear I’m part Canadian. I took six years of French and I love hockey. I thank Disney for that one. I don’t know what I thought was so inexplicably cool about The Mighty Ducks. Maybe it was the Flying V—an impressive feat on screen, but maybe not the most practical hockey play. Maybe it was the coolness of Emilio Estevez. I don’t know. Whatever the source, I’ve been hooked for 17 years, hockey pun intended.
On to one of the oldest forms of story—the written word. By far, the best gadgety purchase of 2009 for me was my Amazon Kindle. I convinced myself that I didn’t need one. I have an iPhone. There’s a Kindle app. I was good to go. After a week of my thumb feeling really tired from swiping pages every 8 seconds when reading on the little screen, I decided I might benefit from the 6-inch eInk wonder.
I am a TV addict. I have a tape somewhere of my second birthday. My parents came in to my bedroom toting a video camera. I think it was one of those over the shoulder numbers that used beta. So they wake me up in my crib with my fluffy red fro. I open my eyes, still filled with sleep, and they say “Happy Birthday.” I stare at them blankly. Cut to the living room. Camera is directed at the hallway. I come wandering out with my mom and head towards the front door. Then I turn and stop at the console television and say “TV! TV! TV!” motioning for them to turn it on. I sit down entirely too close and watch Maya The Bee.
I’ll see if I can make this relatively short. I was born in the West Texas minor city of Abilene. It’s not too big, but not too small. My parents had their hands full with their two kids. Most of that was on my part. Hey, it’s not my fault I have ADHD. I couldn’t sit still. I asked a million questions and wouldn’t shut up. Many would say not much has changed. Thankfully, my Kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Pemberton, realized that I just needed to be challenged academically and had me tested for the gifted/talented program despite my affinity for eating the homemade peppermint play dough at “centers time.”
I am a storyteller. I haven’t always described myself as such. I mean I went to film school and all. That should have made it pretty obvious that I liked telling stories. I’ve recently been thinking a lot about what I want to do with my life and what I’m supposed to do with my life. Am I doing it now? If I’m not doing it now, what does it look like? Is it vocational or recreational? Why does it matter?