Posted on August 11, 2010 - by sarahsamudre

My Very First Novel

Every time I say “my first novel” it sounds more like a children’s craft kit that I could buy for my three year old goddaughter rather than the achievement that it actually is. I keep picturing a printed copy of my book, with a title page etched in bright crayon, hanging on my mother’s fridge.

But even with the desire to downplay what I’ve done, I am sensible enough to realize this is a big moment. It’s a moment I may never get back, because it is “My Very First Novel” and as silly as it makes me feel to prize that distinction, I’m going to. This last Tuesday morning, at 3:09 am, I finished my seventh draft of The Ashes.

The Ashes is the story of 23 year old Chloe Wright, who follows her mother to the small town of Monarch to fix their broken relationship. Her mother grew up in Monarch and has come back after decades of absence to take care of her aging and death-obsessed mother, Anne. Anne was, at one time, the most influential woman in town, and her house where she lived with her husband Peter, was the most important house in town. Once in Monarch, Chloe forges deep relationships with the outcasts of the town and discovers deep hurts and rumors from her grandparents’ past that continue to affect the town and her family. Her struggle between figuring herself out and living up to a newly-discovered legacy pushes her family and the town to confront its own divisions. But the pull of tradition and past legacies may prove to be too much.

Keep reading after the jump…

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Posted on July 29, 2010 - by sarahsamudre

Literary Rome

“The World is a book, and those who do not travel read only one page.” – St. Augustine

I’m heading to Rome this fall and I don’t just want to visit or sightsee. I want to wander and let the experience change me. I’m looking for things to read, thinking about what lies ahead, what Rome is, how it works and who built it. And if you’re here, I either begged you to read this or you googled a “Rome reading list”.

Traveling, whether it’s thirty minutes away from your house or thirty hours away, can be a transformative experience if that’s what you’re looking to have. I think the secret is giving yourself time to wander and reflect. For me, writing, reading, wandering around getting lost and seeing things you haven’t read about yet is the key to transformative travel.

My first time in London was a whirlwind four day trip. I saw the city, but I didn’t get to know it. How could I? By the time I’d adjusted from jetlag, I was back at the airport, boarding my return flight. My second and third trips to London, however, were nice and long. My husband and I took time to get ourselves lost in the city and towns we visited. We wandered foggy streets, read the works of artists who’d created there, visited spots that are hallowed to writers and book geeks like me, contemplating the history and culture of the place. Sometimes, this was done all from leaning against a bridge rail, staring at the Thames, thinking about Joseph Conrad’s reflection in Heart of Darkness:

“We looked at that venerable stream not in the vivid flush of a short day that comes and departs forever but in the august light of abiding memories.”

Other times it was done by wandering into a pub not listed in any guidebook, or wandering through an ancient graveyard. Giving ourselves time to reflect, wander and get lost, London became as much a part of us as our backyard.

So this fall, my husband and I head to Rome for 5 weeks to film a documentary for our cinema studies major, as well as several scenes of our first film. I want to have as much of an experience, and really, much more so, as I had in London. I was struck by the title of an early travelogue by 14th century Moroccan Muslim scholar, Ibn Battuta, whose book is literally entitled, “A Gift to Those Who Contemplate the Wonders of Cities and the Marvels of Traveling”. I thought, This is exactly what I want my trip in Rome to be. A gift to me for contemplating the wonder of cities and the marvels of traveling. I don’t just want to see Rome. I want to contemplate it and the act of traveling through it. I want to become a part of it and leave with a bit of it stuck in my soul. So, to that affect, I’ve been compiling a reading list before I head over, a Literary Journey before my actual one.

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Posted on July 24, 2010 - by sarahsamudre

The Writer’s Life: To Live or to Let Others Live

“So much of what I see reminds me of something I read in a book, when shouldn’t it be the other way around?” – Nora Ephron’s You’ve Got Mail

One of the most annoying things I’ve ever been told is that I’m not a writer if I’m not writing every day.

This gem of wisdom was handed to me, six years ago, by a guy who used to come in and work on his writing when I worked as a barista at my local Starbucks. I was in community college, part-time, working at the coffee shop, and traveling. He asked me what I wanted to do one day, and I said I was a writer, and that I was working on my first novel. I confessed that, if all went well, I’d like that to be my vocation.

He immediately, and sharply, asked how many hours a day I spent writing. I replied that it was zero at the moment, but that the book was being worked on in different ways. Mentally turned over, again and again, hit from different angles when I was out hiking, driving, working or exercising. He shook his head, as most people several decades older than you, who spend their days in a Starbucks, are want to do, and said, “Sarah, Sarah, Sarah. You’re not a writer. Writers write. If you’re not filling up notebooks everyday with stories and essays, then you’re not a writer. You won’t be one until you do that.”

I told him I had a blog that I wrote on everyday. I carried a quotebook around with me everywhere I went and wrote down observations and poetry and prose… whatever crept into my head and pounced on my synapses as I was out and about. He shook his head again. Told me that I needed to be doing writer’s exercises and writing stories and working for at least five hours a day and then, and only then, would I be able to one day write my book.

I countered, inbetween making beverages for customers, that I’d been writing since I was 12. I’d written two books (neither of them anything to brag about) by fifteen and thousands of poems and short stories. But at that moment, in 2004, it was the time to casually write. I was focusing on living.

The older gentleman shook his head again and looked at me sadly, and pronounced his judgment, “You’re not a writer then. A writer never stops writing. A writer can’t. We’re addicted. And if we don’t write, we’re reading. If you can live your life without doing either, then writing is just not in you.”

To that, six years later, as I finish the novel that I’ve been working on for seven years, I have a hearty, well-thought out reply:

Bullshit.

Yes. Some writers do live by the creed the man in the coffee shop tried to foist on me (him, as well as countless others I’ve met). But that’s not for me. A storyteller has to go out and live life. Reading and writing (a lot) are necessary to write well. But a great writer isn’t just a wordsmith. A great writer is also a storyteller, and the only way to find stories to tell is to live. Now, coffee shop writer was right about what a good writer does. A good writer writes all the time. Every day, every week, every month and every year. When they aren’t writing, they’re reading. And they have a great grasp of prose, an excellent handle on grammar and man, do they ever know what narrative forms are “in” at the moment.

But what do they have to say?

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Posted on April 20, 2010 - by sarahsamudre

Filming in Rome & What It Means to Get There

I am so excited to break this news finally: Vasant and I are going to Rome to study Italian cinema, film a documentary and our first *serious* film.

Read more…. (more…)

Posted on February 26, 2010 - by sarahsamudre

Once Again, Through the Looking Glass

Alrighty, alrighty, alrighty. Lost’s episode “The Lighthouse” was just as good as I thought it would be. In that episode I guessed (in these comments on John Cabrera’s most excellent Lost post) that this episode would be about Jacob bringing people to the Island. I also commented, after my husband Vasant made this epic catch, that Jack’s number 23 on the cave wall corresponded to an often-referenced psalm: Psalm 23. “The Lord is my Shepherd.” This, I believe, is proof that Jack will be the new Jacob and last night’s episode confirmed that for me.

Not only was Jack lead to the lighthouse by the dynamic duo of Hurley and Jacob, he was meant to do what has pissed off thousands of fans worldwide. Now, I know that there are a lot of people who cared more about how the lighthouse would work, but I’m one of the few who seemed to care more about the fact that Jacob smirked at Hurley’s concern. Jacob seemed to not only have intended Jack to have a freak out, smash the mirrors and storm off, it seems he also got a big kick out of it.

Because in my opinion, Jack is the not only going to end up as the new Jacob, but he, Jack, is also one of the people whom Jack is going to help get to the Island.

(If I maybe just blew your mind, or if you think I’m absolutely nuts, or if you have nothing else to do, read on…)

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Posted on February 1, 2010 - by sarahsamudre

A “bloop” in time…

Alright, so now that I’ve broken the blog in for 2010, let’s get down to business.

LOST STARTS TOMORROW.

I’m not going to get into the intricate theories until after I see the season premiere. Honestly, since the producer’s said they won’t be focusing on DHARMA and a lot of other aspects, I want to wait to see the first two episodes to even get a feel for what Lost WILL tackle in their final season. There is so much for them to do plot-wise and character-wise, and a good fan will be accepting that not all areas of interest will be explored in the 18 episodes we have left.

But one piece of plot exposition I’m confident of seeing is, of course, the mysterious The Black Rock: how it came to the Island and WHY.

We’re all pretty sure this is the ship we saw on the horizon at the end of season five, as Jacob and the Man in Black discussed the nature of man and an age-old battle waged between them over who was right. But what we don’t know is, if it is the Black Rock, how did it get into the middle of a mountain-filled, densely forested island looking like this:

That ship was not blown there via tsunami or hurricane. It would’ve been ripped to shreds.

Well, I believe the answer came last week during a Lost recap on ABC. You know, those annoying pop-up episodes that say things like, “This is Kate. She is also a survivor. She likes to run away from things” or “This is Jack. He is also a survivor. He likes to fix things.” I know a lot of fans skip those episodes, but if you’re one of those people, you’re making a mistake. ABC throws a lot of redundant information in there, but every so often there is a gem.

Keep reading to find out what…

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Posted on January 31, 2010 - by sarahsamudre

Sometimes It Takes a Month to Start a Year

I wanted to start the blogging year off with a personal post about the way I view New Year’s goals and hopes. In the following post, you’ll read nothing about the weight I hope to lose or the habits I’m giving up or the regimen I’m placing myself on. I know I’m young, but I feel I’m old enough to begin to grasp that external goals set in January can be an incredible exercise in frustration. There are things I hope for this year, and things I will hold myself to, but they’re of a different quality than the kind of resolutions I used to set. With this post, I just want to reflect on the way last year ended and what’s taken me so long to even blog about it in the first place. Life is always tougher and stranger than I plan for at the start of every year and month and week. So this year, I’d like to start out differently.

But first, background. How did the last year end for me?

So a little over a month and a half ago, Vasant and I finished our apartment. He and my father started working on this four years ago (although serious construction started in 2008). While we’ve been going to school and working, every spare minute of Vasant’s time was invested into our place. And this Christmas, we finally woke up in our cozy hobbit hole of an apartment.

Keep reading below the link: (more…)

Posted on November 24, 2009 - by sarahsamudre

Thanksgiving (updated with pictures!)

So it’s almost here! One of my favorite holidays of the year! The preamble to the Christmas season! The holiday that kicks in the teeth of any diet you’re on and says “Sorry sucker! That stuffing smells too good to pass up!”

This year I am in a rush to finish up my novel (91,000 + words, currently) and Vasant is in a rush to get us into our new place by the beginning of December (carpet and fireplace go in this next week, and hopefully we’ll get a housing inspection by the first weekend of December). In fact, while I tend to the turkey on Thanksgiving, Vasant and my Dad will be in the apartment working. Between school, catching the swine flu in October, and being behind on our ever-pressing deadlines to finish this book and construction by December, we’re spread unbelievably thin.But despite the craziness of this fall, there is so much to give thanks for. When I turn 28 this December, I’ll be able to say I’ve completed a novel. We’ll be in our own place, that Vasant BUILT. We’ll be closer than ever to graduation, and with so many projects off the table, we’ll be able to start working on screenplays for Vasant & I’s grad school portfolio. Ever onward and upward.

For more Thanksgiving update and the elaborately thought out Thanksgiving menu, click ‘more’…

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Posted on September 23, 2009 - by sarahsamudre

5 Years Ago

… 5 years ago I fell the first bit in love with my future husband, after years of not-really-caring about him. This post is to celebrate that.

5 years ago, I had already known Vasant Samudre for a couple years. He was best friends with my best friend Todd. Our acquaintance had been a Mr. Darcy/Elizabeth Bennett type of acquaintance. We’d been introduced, by our gregarious, red-haired, Bingley-esque friend Todd, but hadn’t gotten along. I thought Vasant was proud. While all of Todd’s other friends quickly became my friends as well, Vasant stayed withdrawn, didn’t talk at parties, didn’t talk to me when I hosted the parties. I assumed he didn’t care for me as a person, which meant, of course, I didn’t care for him that much as a person.

That was the first two years of knowing each other, from 2002 through 2004. It was cool indifference that could, at times, be extended to pleasant socialization, if forced by Todd, to interact with each other.

But on September 23rd, 2004, something changed…

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Posted on September 11, 2009 - by sarahsamudre

Eight Years Ago Today

9/11 Memories:

Was looking through a photo album of 9/11 and began to cry again. Like I have, like we all have, every year for the last eight.

I was in bed that morning, and as odd as it sounds, I woke up feeling something was wrong. I went upstairs and turned on the TV, a sinking feeling in my chest. I don’t watch the news in the morning. I usually read. But that morning I felt I had to turn on the TV, and flip to CNN. As I turned on the TV, I remember thinking how strange I felt, breaking my routine, listening to a nagging feeling in my gut, wondering if there really was something wrong.

Something was incredibly wrong.

The first tower had been hit.

I sank to my knees in my living room, my hand held up to my mouth until it was between my teeth. I began to call my parents, my friends, and told people to turn on the news or radio. No one could believe what we were seeing. But then the second plane hit.

And both towers fell.

I stayed in front of television for hours. Until that evening. And I hated that I was in front of the television, when people were injured, scared out of their minds, and threatened in New York. It didn’t feel like it was enough to just watch and feel sympathy. It was a sickening feeling that took hold, as the hours went on and the news cycle began to repeat on itself.

I remember kids that night on the street corners waving flags and holding candles. I remember the wave of patriotism and grief that united us, even if the unification was brief. I remember feeling simultaneously bonded with everyone, and small and cut off as well. We all wondered what was next, we all felt grief, and everyone not in New York, DC or Pennsylvania, felt unsatisfied with just watching the news. We felt powerless if not there to pitch in. We volunteered, waved flags, and marched to war.

I remember today. I remember the brave men and women who died to save those who were dying. I remember that a nationally unifying wave of patriotism led us into a war that had nothing to do with today. I remember that a moment as great as 9/11 can feed our fear, make us frenzied and easy to manipulate. I don’t want to forget how people came together to help each other in the days that followed. I don’t want to forget the stories of those who died, who survived, who sacrificed. And I don’t want to forget what happened the next year. I don’t want to forget how the wrong type of patriotism can creep in so easily with the pure type of patriotism. I don’t want to forget.

Because we all know that if we forget history, we will repeat it. And while this day should never happen again, if similar circumstances ever befall our great nation, I hope we will have the same courage, the same devotion to each other, but remain calmer when it comes to doling out reactionary, misapplied retribution.

That is my September 11th remembrance.