The first thing they teach you about writing, is to write what you know. Figures, most people will have some common knowledge and be able to relate. That was my logic at least when I began thinking about my senior writing project, to write what I know and cross my fingers that someone finds my work readable.
So what do I know? I know I’m 21. I know that after nine years of piano lessons, I play mediocre version of “Desperado” by The Eagles, which I am very proud of. I know, I’m not the neatest person, but granted, few emerging 20 year olds are. And I know I can bake the meanest cupcake, this side of Mount Laurel, NJ has ever seen. However, none of this is engaging enough for the required 70+ page thesis. Delicious, though.
I thought about drawing 70 smiley faces with happy words written underneath like “babies” or “Jimmies.” “Sprinkles” for those who cannot accept that “Jimmies” do exist. If you visit the Kohr Brother’s at the Ocean City Boardwalk, it’s written blue as day, “Jimmies: $.75.” It would be creative and isn’t that what I decided to major in? Creative writing.
I took a lot of heat for declaring creative writing as my major. I catch myself still mumbling it under my breath when people ask me what my major is. It isn’t the most, what’s the word? It isn’t the most secure career path to enter, especially considering most college students don’t pick up one of the x number of books that cost them almost $500.00 to buy each semester. If young people can’t pick up a book required for class, why would they do so for their own enjoyment? I guess part of me wants to change that in young people, seeing as I am a young people and would be depending on their love of reading to fund my future electric and water bills. I want people to read. Specifically, read my books at a Twilight-like pace. And make them into Lifetime movies, maybe big screen movies, staring Emma Stone and Penn Badgley because she’s corky and endearing and he’s, quite frankly, grating cheese on those abs and I haven’t met a cheese I didn’t like, especially with a face like that.
I think people still want books because stories are one of the only things in life that are permanent. Though I hate to admit it, 50 years from now, Lifetime channel may be taken over by Oprah and she’ll be too busy airing episodes of her dogs bathing in gold that no one will know gems like, “The Pregnancy Pact” or “The Boy She Met Online” ever existed. However, 50 years from now, Harry Potter will still be in the hands of every child because it is the “new classic.” It is the new “Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.” Both started off controversial, both being banned form schools and libraries, but both still finding their way into children hands and hearts. Stories can’t get cancelled because they don’t have enough viewers. Stories can’t get censored by the FCC because someone described a little nip slip during the Super Bowl. And stories can’t get lost in the abyss that is the Internet.
I’ve derailed a bit. I have five days before I need to come up with something I know and present it as a strong start to a thesis. I thought strong, timeless and relatable. I thought Poppy. My Poppy was nothing but strong. His life, nothing but the timeless story of an American boy. And his attitude, nothing but what any person should hope to relate to. He is too good for Oprah and Lifetime, and the Internet, but he is perfect for the shelves that hold Huck Finn and Harry Potter.
So I chose Poppy. Maybe someday soon, what I write about Poppy will be on the New Arrivals table at Barnes and Nobel. Maybe a girl, who thinks she hates reading, will pick it up before vacation and while sitting poolside, discover that she loves reading. Maybe a boy will come back to school one September and have written a book report on it. I like to think that maybe I can change the way people read if they read about a person as enjoyable and relatable as Poppy. And it is only natural as humans to want to relate to something.
