Velveteen Mind

The Time Traveler's Wife: Tears for Fears at the First Showing

No spoilers...  unless you would be surprised to learn that the time traveler falls in love and gets married...  in which case, I can't help you.  You shouldn't be allowed to go see movies.

My eyes are still puffy from all the crying I did during today’s first showing of The Time Traveler’s Wife.  Miracle of miracles, it was showing while the boys were both still in school, so I knocked out all of my work and high-tailed it to the theater in time to squeeze in a respectable amount of nachos and tears. 

Pregnant women are entitled.

Pregnant women who call The Time Traveler's Wife their favorite book are doubly entitled.  Just ask the people that sat next to me on the plane as I recently re-read it.  I’m fairly certain they’d let me get away with eating a Krispy Kreme franchise with Slim Jim chasers, so long as I’d stop freaking their geeks with my silent sobbing.

Ahem.  I love that book.

As such, I went into the film version of The Time Traveler’s Wife with low expectations.  It could never hold up to the emotion-fest that is the book.  Rather, I looked at is as a treat for lovers of the book.  Had someone asked me, after finishing the book the first time, “Would you like to see a handful of your favorite scenes recreated with gorgeous actors and pretty cinematography but not much else?”…  I would have said yes.  A thousand times “yes.” 

Because it’s better than nothing.  Particularly if you aren’t a details-obsessed X-Men fanatic that throws a fit because the director changed the color of Mr Snazzy Hands’ hair.

Or, say, changed the ending of your favorite epic.

As a stand-alone movie, I’m not sure how well The Time Traveler’s Wife holds up.  Although I started crying within the first 3o seconds, I also began to doubt the translation from approximately second number 72.  I spent the next half hour feeling like I was watching a train wreck of editing fiascos (and I knew what was going on) and felt sure that anyone that hadn’t read the book must be close to walking out.

“Heavy handed” is an understatement.

But let’s look at the underlying problem: The Time Traveler’s Wife is a delicate and glorious love story built around a hefty sci fi framework.  The beauty of the story is the relationship between Henry and Clare, but the plot is classic science fiction.  You can’t get around that.  Nor should you want to, as my favorite scenes from the book are those closely interlaced with the details of time travel.

I had a sneaking suspicion that the film makers were going to see the sci fi factors as an obstacle, though, and I’m not sure that I was wrong to suspect that.  What I felt we ended up with was a combination of a rushed love story (because it’s all about the love! the love! bring your date, it’s love!) and a half-mumbled, forced suspension-of-disbelief science fiction plot. 

Some of the most cringe-worthy bits of the book for me were when Henry had to tell people outright that he was a time traveler.  In the book, it leaned just this side of subtle and necessary, but in the movie it landed like a thud for me.  I felt like they were saying, “Crap, let’s just get this over with already.”

Henry’s time traveling was beautiful in the book.  It felt clunky in the movie.

But what did I expect?  Going in prepared, I didn’t expect anything short of clunky.  I just had my fingers crossed that 80% of my favorite scenes were left intact.  And they were.  Out of order?  Yes.  Seemingly not making sense had you not read the book?  Sure.  But if you look at it as a gift for your imagination, then you are set.

If you haven’t read the book, but plan to, should you see the movie first?  I would carefully say no. 

The book is so emotional, so gut wrenchingly moving, it would be a shame to miss some of the moments of surprise that the movie does give away.  I can’t stress enough what an endearing book The Time Traveler's Wife is.  I once said that I felt as though the book smashed my heart into pieces and then put it back together stronger than before. 

Upon rereading it, I would say this is even truer than I first guessed.  It’s that kind of book.  The kind you might want to just keep in your bag for when you unexpectedly get caught in a long line somewhere…  full of strangers, because wow, your friends will think you are insane for bursting into tears mere moments after opening its pages.  Who cares what strangers think, right?

If you can wait, read the book first.  If you think you’d like to experience the movie first, I’d love to know if it made sense to you.  Actually, I think many of the important points are delivered as delicately as a hammer cracking eggs, so “made sense” might not be the right question.  Was it enjoyable for you?  Did you ever feel swept away?

That said, would I go see it again?  If you have a ticket and a babysitter to share, I’ll be there tonight.  I daresay I’ll enjoy it more the second time around because my butt cheeks won’t be slightly clenched as I anticipate mild slaughtering of key scenes.

I want to believe that the endlessness of Henry and Clare’s love translates in the movie for audiences that have not read the book.

I would have looked around to see for myself, but it appeared that a leak had opened up in the ceiling directly above my head during the show and I didn’t want to cause a scene.  Because each scene, in and of itself, was my book.  I cried during the movie for the moments that each scene represented, but did not necessarily deliver as they glittered alone on the screen.  I cried for my love of what I know it is.  For me.

Amazing how a good book can move you.

~~~

Buy the book at Amazon and tell me what you think:

The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger

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Mother of All Accomplishments: First Day of School

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...

I wake up at 6:00 a.m. every morning now.  I used to wake up at 7:18 a.m.  Don’t bother telling me that the “:18” isn’t significant to share.  It was.

Welcome to the first week of the rest of my life.  We are now beholden to a school district’s schedule.  Forever.  For. eh. vah.

At least it feels that way.

Q, just turned five, started kindergarten last Wednesday.  Let me not moan and wail to you about “Whatever happened to summers that lasted 3 months?!”  It won’t be pretty.  Goose, just turned three, returned to pre-K the same day, beginning a Monday/ Wednesday/ Friday schedule.

Mere months ago, I was bemoaning the fact that our new baby girl would eliminate my few free days each week to myself.  Now I am rolling around on the ground, crying out that I have a few free days each week to myself until the baby is born. 

Though it comes out sounding more like, “The school has stolen my babies!”

Picture the school dressed like a dingo and you’ll have a fair idea of what I look like emotionally these days.

Fortunately, I am alone in my distress.  The boys are doing fabulously well.  Nary a tear has fallen from eyes first opened this decade.

They are proud.

As parents, we often want to shield our children from pain and difficult challenges, but in doing so, we shield them from pride.

Goose announced this morning that, while Q is very brave at his new school, Goose would not be going to school any longer.  He was very much, “Eh, I’m over it.”  I said that this sounded like an interesting idea and discussed it further with him as I helped him navigate the complicated landscape that is shoes and socks.

Goose:  I not go to school today.

Megan:  I hear ya.  Let’s talk about it in the car on the way to school.

Goose:  Okay, but I not want to go to school any more.

Megan:  I know, I know.  But it’s good for you to go.  It’ll make you stronger.

Goose:  I’m already strong.

Megan:  I know.  I can see that.  But sometimes when we do something we don’t want to do, it makes us stronger.  How ‘bout this:  From now on, we’ll say, “I don’t want to go to school, but…  (and then you take a deep breath and say) I’m going to go anyway because it will make me stronger.”

Goose:  I don’t want to go to school, but…  testing out the über cool deep breathing…  I’m going anyway and it’ll make me stronger.

And then he smiled.  His interest in becoming strong like his dad won out over his interest in hanging out with his mom.

As we crossed the railroad tracks off the beach, the point that always signals that there is no turning back, I heard him chant his mantra from the backseat.  “I don’t want to go to school, but…  enthusiastically deep breathing…  I go and make me strong.”

And then he smiled.  To himself.  Because he was proud of his mission.

I may want to cry.  I may insist on secretly pouting.  But allowing my boys to accomplish a difficult lifestyle change without engaging in a lot of drama is only going to make them stronger.

The easiest way to make life hard on your children is to make it soft for them.  This applies far beyond school.  It starts much earlier than school, as well.  Remember this when you are sleep-training them.  (Assuming your goal is not to co-sleep.)  Yes, it is easier to just let them sleep with you, but those easy fixes may be doing long-term damage.  Sure, you’ll all lose sleep for the few days it takes to establish sleeping in your own beds, but sooner than you’d expect you’ll all be sleeping better. 

Then, unexpectedly, you’ll witness a toddler wandering into the kitchen the next morning, sporting a new acquisition:  pride.

It hurts to see them struggle, particularly when you can end their pain so easily.  However, it is invaluable to recognize that what you are ultimately protecting them from is confidence.

Pride in your mothering is one thing.  Pride in your children’s self-assuredness and confident self-reliance is the mother of all accomplishments, though.

Q’s school recommends that parents of kindergartners walk their children to class the first week.  After that, they strongly suggest that you simply drop them off at the door.  They value self-reliance and know that it starts early.  They recognize that the choice is yours.

The whole reason we chose the pre-K Montessori that both Q and Goose have attended is because their core tenet is teaching self-reliance.  If their students can learn to self-direct, not wait on a teacher’s guidance or assistance, then they can flourish in any environment.  They will be neither slowed by fellow students that take longer than themselves nor lost among students that catch on more quickly.  They learn to set their jaw and forge ahead.  Problem solve before assistance-bail.

As I watched Q stroll down the blue hallway line that leads the way to the kindergarten hall this morning, with not so much as a glance over his shoulder at my “Where the hell is my goodbye hug?” face, I knew that he had found his own way. 

In more ways than one.

~~~

*Updated to point out (thanks to the comments)...  This post is not about your family and your family's choice to co-sleep.  That's why I said "Assuming..."  There are endless pros and cons to both sides, none of which I am interested in for this post.  But let me assure you, if you have chosen not to co-sleep and then end up co-sleeping, it can most definitely add some hassle to your nights....  So says the person writing this blog about said person's family.  Trust me. 

The example about co-sleeping has everything to do with sticking to your guns once you've made a decision.  It has nothing to do with your choice to co-sleep/ breastfeed/ go organic/ teach your baby to sign while sitting in the lotus position.  Ya dig? 

And if ya'll insist that I dumb these posts down to the lowest-common denominator, you are going to start hating my writing.  It will be twice as long and three times as dull, just so everything is spelled out to the nth degree so as not to offend even those reading with half their brains tied behind their backs.  Sound like fun?  Yeah.  No.

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Writing Well Is *Not* Enough Anymore. Damn It.

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...

Out of context quotes from the panel I moderated at BlogHer are exhausting me. 

In the “Have you found your Mom Blogging Tribe?” panel, I said:

“Writing well is n0t enough anymore.”

At the time, in context, the room nodded in agreement.  Because it was in context, surrounded by paragraphs of other words.  Now, sent out into the world to fend for itself without any explanation, that single sentence is haunting me.

Allow me to explain.  Excuse the mild teeth grinding.

A long time ago, in a galaxy far far away, there were, like, five blogs.   If you wrote well, someone would eventually find you, stick around, and maybe tell others about you.  It wasn’t hard to find you.  There were five blogs.  Google helped a lot.

Maybe, just maybe, you never had to tell a single soul that you even had a blog.  Sigh.  Maybe.

Light-years later, there are five gajillion blogs.  You could be the reincarnated blend of Dorothy Parker and Walt Whitman, but without a little direction it is nearly impossible to find you.  Google can’t decipher what all those 1’s and 0’s mean on your blog, as it can’t tell the difference between your brilliance and the brilliance of the other 5 spafillion bloggers out there.

When someone Googles “blue poop,” Google has to have a little help in deciding how to order its search results.  It has too much to choose from now and doesn’t really care that you write really really well.  It just cares if anyone else thinks you write really really well.

Which means people have to read you first.  Which means they have to find you first.

People have to find you first.

Before anyone reads you, they have to find you.  Before anyone tells their friends about you, they have to find you.  Before anyone comes back to read your brilliant writing a second time, they have to find you first.

People have to find you first.

Writing well isn’t enough anymore, people.  You need to, at some point, let other human beings know that you are out there.

This is not an attack on good writing.  Are you freaking kidding me?  Did you honestly think for a second that I was suggesting that strong writing is irrelevant?  Honestly?  Did you, for one second, think that I value popularity and rank over writing well?

If so, please leave.  Yesterday.  Because I’m only going to explain this once.  Again.

You could write the most brilliant pieces of nonfiction ever articulated, all while cozy and warm in your deep dark cave, but no one is ever going to find you and read that brilliance if you don’t send out a few smoke signals.

Fancy yourself the next Emily Dickinson?  That’s fantastic.  Can you explain to me one more time how it is that everyone knew to come knock on her door and ask to read all that secret writing she had under her bed while she was alive?  You know, the really fabulous stuff she never told a soul about?

They didn’t.  

Writing well is everything.  In the long run.  But if you want anyone to read it and give you a chance at any form of a “long run,” a single soul other than yourself (and honestly, if you are publicly publishing it, I’m putting my money on that you do), then you need to let people know where to find you.

Add your blog to your signature on emails and message board posts.  Share posts on twitter.  Comment on other people’s posts.

If your writing is strong and you let people know where to look for it, you are headed in the right direction.  Writing well may even be enough.  Maybe you’ll only ever have to tell one person in the entire world about your blog and they’ll take it from there.

Maybe.

But if you think for one second that even one person is going to be sitting at home and magically conjure your URL in their head, I have a dot com startup to sell you.

In the session, I said that your tribe is busy.  They want to meet you, but you have to help them.  They will probably adore your writing, but you need to help them find it first.

I know it’s not fair.  Writing well should be enough.  Just hitting publish should be enough.  People should be psychic.

I love you.  I love your writing.  But I’m not psychic.

Help me find you first.

Because writing well isn’t enough anymore, damn it.

***

Related Posts:

I Got Soul But I’m Not a Soldier  (…this is the one about why your plain blank blog template is like a book cover with just a title, no synopsis, no blurbs, and buried in a bookshelf at Barnes and Noble…  and how I’m amazed that you are amazed that it’s not flying off the shelves.)

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