The Training Continues...

I never thought I would be the girl who enjoyed working out. I did it because I felt like I was supposed to, and I knew it was good for me, and my parents bought me a membership...every reason except actually wanting to. I never had fun with it, and I couldn't understand the people who thought it was fun. I thought they were out of their minds...lunatics. Working out? Puh-lease. I've got better things to do. Like read. Or sit around. And that bag of potato chips is calling my name. Kidding. Potato chips and I are no longer on speaking terms.

ANYWAY.

After a few training sessions, by Saturday I was ready to work out by myself. Everyone around me all seemed to know exactly what they were doing. And to make matters worse, they all were really good at it. I was feeling kind of hesitant, and pretty incapable, but my new workout pants were rooting me on. Cardio! Start with cardio! Get that body warmed up. I made my way over to the treadmill. A word on treadmills: they used to terrify me. I was never a runner, (when I tried cross country track in high school, they had to send people out on the trails to look for me), and my ankle/toothpicks don't like the pressure of running. But there I was, happily warming up on the dreaded machine. And you know what....it was kinda fun. Yup. There's that word...FUN.

After twenty minutes of interval walking/running, I was ready to get to the good stuff. I headed onto the floor, and went straight into the routine I had done on Day 1. My muscles were burning in protest, but I felt good. I did set, after set, focusing on my legs and abs. They weren't too thrilled about it, but I told them to suck it up and keep kicking ass, which they did.

After my whole floor and weight routine, I headed back to the evil(?) treadmill for more interval walking/running. Only this time, I noticed a change. The first 4 or 5 times I treaded the mills, I really struggled to maintain a steady pace. My trainer had me walking a lot, and then jogging in short spurts. But this time....oh, this time...I found that my endurance had increased. I was able to jog for a solid 5 minutes with 1-2 minute walking intervals between. And it was AMAZING. As my workout came to an end, I realized 2 hours had passed since I arrived at the gym. Wait what? Hold the phone....Erkle here, did I do that? Seriously. Did I really do that? Did I just spend two hours at the gym without realizing it?

And then did I squeeze in another workout on Sunday night, after coming home from working a 12 shift waitressing? And then did I go back Monday morning for an hour and a half? Yup. I did. And despite what I ever thought possible, I am loving it.

Today, the trainer told me I have a strong core. Who, me? I thought, chuckling to myself. Impossible. Yet there I was, doing weighted sit-ups like it was no problem. He should have seen me two months ago, when I could barely manage ten minutes on the elliptical. After three months in bed, my body was kind of like jello. (Which I ate in excess, and hated every bite. Sorry, but food shouldn't jiggle like that.) I've been finding motivation to push harder in so many places. Today, it came to me where I should have known it would always be. Penn State is home of the world's largest student run philanthropy-THON, which raises money to fight pediatric cancer. Every year, thousands of students participate. After months of fundraising, it all culminates in a 46 hour no sitting, no sleeping dance marathon. It benefits The Four Diamonds Fund, and the children who are supported by The Fund are absolute superheroes. They fight cancer. As I struggled to maintain a plank, (my arms were actually shaking) I remembered those children. I remembered what they go through every day, and suddenly, plank was easy. The rest of my workout was a breeze. I keep these children in my heart, and they push me to do more. They push me to be better.

I am on the path to becoming my best self. I am happy. I am contemplating going to the gym for a second time today. (Seriously, who am I?!) But above all, I am grateful. I have this body, this one body. And no matter how sore I get, or how much another set hurts...I will continue to push myself harder, because I can. Because it feels awesome. Because it's my body, and it's time I took care of it.

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Graduation Season, 2013

This time of year always makes me nostalgic. Endless streams of caps and gowns march across my news feed, statuses are filled with hopes and well wishes for the future, and I'm searching youtube for a dose of commencement style inspiration.

It's been three years (!?) since I donned my cap and gown, marched across a stage, and was handed a piece of paper which would serve as proof that I got an education. Three long, confusing, terrifying, wonderful years. And I am no where close to where I thought I would be.

I thought that by now, I'd have a few small stage and film credits under my belt, because nothing could stop me. I thought I'd have a great job with a theatre company as a literary manager. I'd be living in an apartment in Manhattan, and spending my Saturdays at the park.

Instead, I am none of the things I described above. The long and terrifying path I've travelled since graduating, has led me down a road I did not expect.

I'm a writer.

I weave words, and paint pictures in your mind. I observe the world, I ask questions, chase answers, and travel to incredible faraway places.

I never thought I'd be a writer, except for a brief moment in the second grade. I told my Grandma "When I grow up, I wanna write books!" She warned me of the unstable lifestyle, so, I decided to be an actor instead. But I've always found comfort in words. During my darkest times, they were my only hope. I scrawled angry words, sad words, hurting words on page after page after page after page. I challenged my own beliefs, and found my own answers. I faced reality, and wrestled with each letter as I spelled out my journey.

After I graduated, I started writing stories. Or...half-stories. I never knew how to end them. Until I did. I finally finished a story, and my life was changed. I started calling myself a writer, even got published, went on a mini-book tour, and sold a lot of books. I kept writing. Collecting words, and turning them into something beautiful.

Graduates, your life may turn out to be nothing like what you are expecting. But I can promise you that the road ahead will lead you to where you are meant to be. Don't fight it. I spent two years fighting my urge to write. I was determined to prove myself as an actor, but I couldn't stop scribbling on scraps. I couldn't admit to myself that maybe, just maybe, I was supposed to do something else. You must embrace life as it unfolds before you. Do the things that make you happy, and you will find your way.

Last night, I took a little stroll down memory lane. I went to see my cousin in her final high school theatre performance, and as I walked through the doors of my former high school (which felt remarkably small), I was flooded with memories and emotions. Seven years have passed since I walked those halls. When I saw my High School theatre teacher, she gave me a big hug. We quickly caught up. She told me that she'd heard about my book, and was so excited for me. She then took my hand, and said exactly what I needed to hear. "You always were a storyteller."

I replied, "That's all I ever wanted to be."

I took my seat in the theatre, and remembered the four years I spent in there learning how to tell stories. In that room, I learned how to bring characters to life. I learned how to believe in the unbelievable, and create the impossible. In that room, I learned what I was capable of. And last night, it was in that room that I remembered what I am capable of.

You have no way of knowing where your journey will take you. All you can do is trust it. It will take you where you're meant to be.

 

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Good art, bad art, and everything in between

Years ago, one of my acting professors told me that in order to make something good happen on stage, you had to first dig through a pile of crap. Or something like that.

The idea is there though-in order to produce good art, you must first get the lousy art out of the way. In order to be good at something, you have to suck at it first. So, I've been experimenting with that recently. The past few days, I've been writing with my inner editor turned off. I had a silly idea for a story, and instead of dismissing it, I decided to write it. I've written about 500 words so far, and to be honest? It sucks. And I love it. There is ONE sentence in all of those words that I actually might use. One. But that's how it works! In order to be a writer, we must read a lot, and write a lot. You have to dig through the mines to find the gold.

I'm having so much fun writing without being concerned about whether or not it's good. It is more liberating than you could ever imagine. I'm writing it to entertain myself, not to pitch it to editors. I think that when we turn off the fear of "will my story sell", we are more honest in our writing. I think that the one sentence I got from this lousy story will lead me into another story--a better one. It's simmering in the back of my head, and I can't wait to taste it.

I've kept my promise so far to read an essay, a short story, and a poem every night. I really am enjoying it! You know, it's like a cheese platter. A few bites of delicious, rich, creamy words followed by a sample of something fresh, and light. Then a small serving of something tough, with a sharp aftertaste that sticks with you for hours. A sampler platter of words. Does this take anyone else back to the word and letter market in The Phantom Tollbooth? Each letter had a different taste, and you could combine them to make even more flavorful words? I remember the first time I read that passage. Maybe that's why I always compare reading to eating.

Anyway, I've been devouring the stories in my giant book of Ray Bradbury shorts. Every night, I go to the table of contents and pick a random title that sounds intriguing. The other night, I read "The Burning Man." I had trouble falling asleep after that one. I find myself absolutely furious when I reach the end of certain stories, because I need to know what happens next. How can he deprive me of that? What do you mean I never find out what happens to Doug, and his Aunt Neva? My mind runs wild with all the possible scenarios. And then, when I've exhausted my imagination, I can't help but think "Bradbury, you wonderful genius." And then I'm up for hours, still stuck in the story.

For essays, I've been working out of Emerson's "Nature." I love it, because I often find myself shaking the book, wanting to shout "Yes! Exactly! I feel that, too!" It amazes me how connected I feel to his thoughts, and ideas. I think I am going to go back and re-read it when I'm done, just to delve a bit deeper into it. On a first reading, you only touch the surface. I want to go scuba diving, not snorkeling. I want to explore these ideas in a submarine, not a kayak. It's such a joy.

I love poems, but my experience with them is minimal. I'm thinking about switching them to a morning read, that way my mind is sharper when I open my anthology. By the time I get to the poem at night, I just want the shortest one I can find, so that I can read it, do my nightly writing, and go to sleep. I don't let myself taste the words, even though I know how delicious they can be. I like the idea of starting my day with a poem. I drank coffee for a year in college, only because I liked the idea of starting my day with a cup o'joe. I eventually replaced it with juice, water, or tea. Instead of coffee, I think I'll have a poem. Yes, I'd like a grande Poe. I'll take it black.

(ba-dum dum.)

In any case, I'm really enjoying my new writing and reading routine. I encourage you creative folk to give it a try. Feed your brain, and stuff your head. Thank you, and goodnight.

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Stuff Your Head, fool!

Happy Daylight Savings! I hope you all enjoy your extra hour of daylight, as spring continues to creep up on us. This morning, I was sitting on my front porch, desperate for some fresh air and sunshine, when I noticed gorgeous green buds pushing through the dirt. My heart smiled, as I filled my lungs with spring. My favorite part of this season is the smell of the earth. It is so rich, and full. Everything smells like life. It is invigorating, and beautiful.

I was really craving that breath of fresh air, because I've been sick for the past three weeks. Nothing horrible, but enough to keep me bed-ridden for almost a month. In April, I am having my tonsils removed. Normal tonsils will act as part of your immune system, but mine are not normal. They are evil. Evil tonsils get you sick rather often. Hence, my month in bed. The first week was spent mostly sleeping, followed by a week of watching TV and movies. I didn't have the mental energy to write, or read yet. But this past week, my mind has been itching to disappear into other worlds, to meet strange new people, and see wonderful new places. My creative bug was back, and it was time to start writing and reading. I was so relieved to finally feel up to it. It has been such an exhausting few weeks, and knowing that my creative energy was coming back made me feel better physically, and mentally. It was coming back, but it wasn't quite there. It needed a little kick, or for someone to start its engine.

I was browsing through the endless world of the internet, when I somehow stumbled across a speech Ray Bradbury gave at a Writer's Symposium in 2001. I started reading Bradbury a few months ago, and thought, "This may be exactly what I need to hear." It was. It was exactly what I needed, and more.
Here is the link for it...I highly recommend taking the time to watch it. It is truly a gift.

I hope you watch it, for all of this sounds much better coming from Bradbury. I could never quite match those charming little "heh's, and hmm's" that marks the end of each thought. I took away so much from it. He says we must stuff our heads with information. Fill them with new ideas, and metaphors. Every night we should read one short story, one poem, and one essay (from any field).

For short stories, he recommends:

• Roald Dahl
• John Cheever
• Richard Matheson
• Nigel Kneale
• John Collier
• Edith Wharton
• Washington Irving
• Melville
• Poe
• Nathaniel Hawthorne

For Poetry, he recommends:

• Alexander Pope
• Shakespeare
• Robert Frost

For Essays, he recommends:

• Aldous Huxley
• Loren Eisley
• George Bernard Shaw

Fill your mind, and STUFF your head with ideas and metaphors. Devour them. And while you're at it, write one short story per week.

I see a machine. We input the poems, stories, and essays into our mind. Our brain absorbs the ideas, and processes them. We file away some ideas, perhaps for a rainy day, or perhaps for when we least expect it. Some of them stick with us. The ones that stick...that haunt us at night while we lie awake trying to make sense of the world, we have the joy of turning into stories. Input. Process. Output. They become our story of the week.

This is such an excellent habit for writers, and other creative folk to develop. Input. Process. Output. We are always learning, always creating. STUFF YOUR HEAD, fool. The world is rich with knowledge, beauty, and ideas. Use your big, brilliant brain. I'm starting today. I can't wait. I can look at my bookshelf behind my bed, and find everything I need to start. Poetry anthology? Check. The Works of Poe? Check. Emerson, Thoreau, Aristotle, Dante, and Shakespeare. I cant wait to eat them all. I suffer from book collectors syndrome. I buy books faster than I can read them. I need to own them. I crave a well stocked book shelf. I look at a book, and see an explosion of ideas. I dream of my future home, not because of the life it will mean I have created...but so I can think about where to put my books. I've known since I was about 14 that I would have a huge home library someday. Ideas, stacked neatly on shelves, waiting to burst! How exhilarating! Bradbury said it himself: "Live in the library," and "stuff your head."

He goes on to explain, that "It's the age of communication, but does anyone ever call you?" We shouldn't get so distracted by our devices, and gadgets. We don't need a fancy computer to write good stories. "You don't need anything but a pad and a pencil, for chrissake!" How right he is. I often find myself guilty of thinking "if only I had a better this, or the latest that. Then, I can really do my work. Then, I'll be a writer." Take all the devices away, and you'll still be a writer. A better one, at that! Less distractions.

But if we find ourselves constantly distracted, and never writing, perhaps...that's not what we should be doing. Bradbury claims to have never worked a day in his life, for "if it feels like work, stop, and do something else." We should feel complete joy when we write. Why else would we do it? Certainly not for the money. Nowadays, anyone can achieve their 15 minutes. So we don't do it for the fame. We do it for the sheer joy of storytelling.

But what happens when you don't know what to write about? Well, that goes back to input, process, output. When you fill your mind with so many ideas, something is bound to stir up a story. But if it doesn't, here are some excellent prompts to get your gears turning.

1. "Make a list of 10 things you love madly, and write about it."
2. "Make a list of 10 things you hate, and kill them." **
3. "Make a list of the things you fear, and write your own personal nightmares."
4. Write about the things that your not sure actually happened to you. Trust your intuition.

**Number 2 reminds me of a favorite Stephen King quote from his book On Writing. "Kill your darlings, Kill your darlings. Even when it breaks your egocentric little scribbler's heart, kill your darlings."

These four prompts really got me excited, particularly #3. How delightfully terrifying, to write about the things that scare you. Reminds me of when I played a vampiress in Dracula a few years ago. (Shout out to my Drack Pack!) Vampires creep me out. I can't explain why, but they just give me the heeby-jeebies. They're one of my top 2 irrational fears. If you can guess the other, you win. But back to the point. While playing a vampire, I had to take what scared me most about them, and apply it to my performance. In my mind, they seem to move on a cloud of smoke. Their feet don't touch the ground. Their motions are fast, and fluid. Their eyes are deep, yet empty. Did I succeed in portraying this? No clue. But it sure as hell helped me get into character, and it was wonderfully scary. Write your own personal nightmares. Yes, this will be fun.

Most importantly, we must always be willing to surprise ourselves. I hear so much about how to outline, plan, plot...and while I do believe that it can be remarkably useful (eg: J.K. Rowling's outlines for Harry Potter), it may not be the best way to write every story you ever set out to do. I haven't been able to successfully draft a story yet. Maybe it's a lack of experience, or my indecisive nature. Perhaps someday, I'll master the art of outlining. But right now, I prefer Bradbury's method of surprise.

"You don't know what's in you until you test it. Until you word associate. You've been writing self consciously, intellectually for too long. The deep stuff, your true self, hasn't had a chance to come out. You've been so busy thinking commercially what will sell, what'll I do, instead of saying 'Who am I? How do I discover ME?' You word associate."

His idea of word association, sitting down and writing whatever comes to mind, is a fantastic one. You get all the junk out of your head, and then suddenly the thoughts click. The words work together, and characters emerge, setting becomes clear. Surprise!

Yes, this was exactly what I needed. For the first time in three weeks, my mind feels sharp. I feel alive, invigorated, and ready to create. So, here I go. From here until eternity, I will read one short story, one poem, and one essay per day. I will write one short story per week. Time to start developing some good writing habits, or as Bradbury called it, hygiene. I can't wait to see what surprises are in store.

Sidenote: My brain may have just exploded. As I typed the last sentence of the previous paragraph, I turned my head and saw the fortune I got after last weeks take out. I had taped it to my bookshelf for inspiration.

"There are many unexpected and thrilling surprises in store for you!"


I love it when the cookies are right. :)

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THON

Greetings friends! Here I am, in Happy Valley, PA. It's the third weekend of February, and thousands of Penn State students are taking a stand against pediatric cancer.

It's the annual Penn State IFC/Panhellenic Dance Marathon, more lovingly known as simply: THON. THON is the world's largest student run philanthropy--a year long fundraising effort, that culminates in a 46 hour dance marathon. Last year, we raised $10.6 million for the kids. Money raised goes to the Four Diamonds Fund, which covers everything that insurance doesn't. It's a pretty remarkable organization, and they are truly making a difference in the efforts to CURE pediatric cancer.

I fell in love with THON in 2007. I was on GenePool's Rules and Regs committee, and was so awestruck by what was going on in the Bryce Jordan Center that even when I had a few hours off, I stayed to watch. For me, THON became more than a fundraising effort. It became than the 46 hours. It became a way of life. THON came to me months after my Grandpa's sudden passing. It pulled the rug from under my feet, and shattered my world. I was hurting, confused, and depressed. There was a veil over my eyes, and I couldn't see the beauty that surrounded me. When I walked into the BJC that weekend in February 2007, everything came into focus. When I witnessed the courage, wisdom, honesty and strength of those little superheroes...those amazing kids....I found my courage, my wisdom, my honesty and my strength. The kids inspired me to overcome what I was going through, and in that way...I guess you could say that THON saved me, too. I live my life by the four diamonds.


Courage. Honesty. Wisdom. Strength.

As I walked back to my dorm after THON that year, I made a promise to myself that whatever I decided to do with my life, it would involve giving back to my superheroes. It would involve coming to THON, and doing something For The Kids.

Seven years later, I am just as in love with THON as I was in 2007. It's now my third THON as an alum, and three years since I danced. This year, I've returned to Happy Valley as a best-selling children's author. It feels surreal to type, and say. But my debut Children's Book, "THE GRAY DAYS" has been as high as #7 on the Amazon Best Seller list for Children's Books. This afternoon, I'll be doing a reading of my book for the kids, at Webster's (4pm). A portion of proceeds from all books purchased at the event, and online this weekend will be donated to THON. I feel so blessed that I am able to fulfill my promise, and continue giving back to the Four Diamond Kids in my professional life. I hope that I can continue to do so, in the years to come.

For The Kids, forever and always.

Ariela

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Onward.

Hey friends! This has been an unbelievably exciting week. After the SCBWI conference, my book sales began to climb. Then, I got a phone call. "Onward State published an article about you!!"

A whole article?

"A WHOLE ARTICLE!!!!!!"

I had contacted them regarding my upcoming event, but I wasn't expecting a whole article! In case you haven't seen it, check it out!

I have an interview with The Daily Collegian tomorrow, and have two more school districts in the works for author appearances. It feels so surreal. A little girl recognized me on the street the other day from when I visited her classroom. A girl that lives down the block from me was asking me questions about how to publish a book while I was shoveling my driveway yesterday.

Now, I just have to start the giant pile of books sitting on my desk!

Happy Sunday! :)

 

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SCBWI pt. II

Greetings, friends, and Happy Thursday! (Thursday? Already?)

As most of you know, last weekend I had the absolute pleasure of attending the Society of Children's Book Writer's and Illustrators Conference in NYC. What an incredible experience. The community of artists who create stories for children are among the nicest people I have ever met. It was inspiring, and humbling to be surrounded by these wonderful, creative minds.

I always walk away from conferences with a revived sense of creative purpose. I remember why I do what I do, and am filled with the motivation to do it. Writing can be a lonely profession. I spend far too much time in my own head. Often, there are characters up there, dancing through the foggy streets of my mind. Their faces are obscured by the mist, and I can barely make out who they are. But then, I find myself in a room filled with writers. Their characters float around in their minds, sometimes bumping into mine. They interact, and slowly, the mist clears. For two days, I am breathing creativity. I am inhaling inspiration, and suddenly all of my ideas become clear. I know who I am, and who my characters are. I can see their world-it is defined, and beautiful.

"Aren't we lucky?" Wise words from the great Julie Andrews, who spoke at the conference. (I won't lie. When I met her, I burst into tears.) But seriously! How right is she?! We storytellers are so blessed. We can weave words into something magical. We can paint truth, and beauty. We can create worlds, and give life to creatures, and people. They dance off our pages, and into the imaginations of our readers. They hold a place in the heart of humanity, because the heart of humanity beats for them. They tell our stories. They teach us to see things differently. They show us who we can be. They are a gift, from my soul to yours.

Aren't we lucky, that we can perform such unique magic?

I spent Monday and Tuesday doing an author appearance at a local elementary school. The kids were incredible. Each classroom was a new experience, and the kids all brought something new to the table. We talked about the value of stories, and of imagination. We explored the power of imagination, through a visualization activity. Watching, as the children discovered what their own imaginations were capable of, was incredible. They lit up when I told them to write down, or draw what they imagined. It's a shame that kids need permission to use their imaginations in school--their schedules are so regimented, that they don't have time for creative writing. They were so excited to be able to just write! So many of them wanted to share, and even more of them said they wanted to keep working on it. After I read my book to them, they had so many questions. They were so curious to learn about what it's like to be a writer. They wanted to know if it was hard to be a writer, and of course, if it made you lots and lots of money. They wanted to know how to come up with ideas.

My final visit was in a fourth grade class. It was the end of the day, and when the bell rang, they crowded around me. Some wanted autographs, some wanted hugs. They wanted to share their ideas, and ask my advice on writing. It was so sweet, and so humbling.

The whole time, I could hear myself thinking: "Aren't we lucky?"

Yes. Yes, we are.

 

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