On that stage, you’ll discover your place in this madhouse. Within this building—this architectural monstrosity that looks more like a prison than a place of education—you’ll meet and bond and fall in love with people who will remain your friends throughout your entire life.
You may think they are lying to you at freshman orientation. Your memories won’t include homecomings or basketball or dances filled with balloons and an endless loop of Duran Duran, Pat Benatar, and Huey Lewis. Nonetheless, your memories will root you to this place. To this moment. To this stage. To these people.
These days will not be the best of your life. (They can’t rival the day you first set foot in Africa, or the day you married your best friend, or the moment when you first met your children, or got the call saying your novel was actually going to be published.) But they won’t be the worst days either; they don’t compare to the day you get battered on a deserted African road, or the day when you learn about your dad’s cancer.
The truth is that your memories of these days will inspire you. They will perpetuate your love of literature—Ernest Hemingway, John Steinbeck, and Tennessee Williams. They’ll remind you how to try your hardest, even when facing failure. They’ll give you a taste for the unusual, and for diving into things just because they’re new.
These days may not be the best days of your life, but like it or not, these days will define you. Live them.
Katherine Longshore is the author of Gilt (2012), a novel of gossip and betrayal, queen bees, and treason, set in the court of King Henry VIII. Growing up, Katherine wanted to be an actress, but after a university semester abroad, she created her own major in cross-cultural studies and communications, planning to travel and write. Forever. Four years, six continents, and countless pairs of shoes later, she went to England for two weeks, stayed five years, and discovered history. She now lives in California with her husband, two children, and a sun-worshiping dog. Visit her at KatherineLongshore.com and at YAMuses.Blogspot.com.
WINGING IT
Ken Lowery
Dear Teen Me,
It’s me—that is, it’s you, about thirteen years into the future. You have a great job that you love, you’re happily married, and Bean is still the same cat that she was thirteen years ago. A black guy is president, and you voted for him. Craziest of all, you’re internet famous—at least among a certain subset of professional word-fanciers and grammar pedants.
Now that I’ve blown your mind, let’s get down to brass tacks: You’re on your way to a major, depression-fueled meltdown. Some of that will be driven by simple, treatable biology; the rest, I’m sorry to say, has to do with some unhealthy notions you’ve got about what it means to be an adult.
The good news is that with a whole lot of therapy and some supernaturally wonderful friends and family, you will make it through to the other side. The bad news is that your unhealthy notions about adulthood still cast a shadow over everything you say and do.
Here’s the source of your problems, in a nutshell: You believe that if you make it through high school, get into a good college (doesn’t matter which one), and get your degree (likewise doesn’t matter), you will then “grow up”—which to you means simply going through a kind of ceremony (after which—presto, you’re mature), instead of actually evolving. Then, once you’re among the ranks of the Mature Adults, you imagine that you’ll know, more or less, exactly what to do for the rest of your time on earth.
This notion of life lived on autopilot seems like bliss to you, because it means an end to the struggle, an end to doubt. You will no longer cut classes or skip out on work for no reason. You will no longer stay up till 4:00 am and sleep in until 3:00 pm because you can’t think of anything else to do. You will no longer respond to that beast of a question, “How are you feeling?” with your usual “I don’t know,” because your complete inability to articulate what goes on in your head will no longer matter.
This is a childlike vision of happiness, but it’s also a vision of oblivion. In this vision, happiness means no longer having to think about, question, or make a decision about anything ever again.
Two things: One, outside of an airplane, there is no such thing as autopilot. All the other adults are making this shit up as they go along. They’re winging it. The advice you’ve received from your elders and betters has helped you through a lot, but guess what: They were winging it, too. Adults and parents do not appear, fully formed, from Central Casting.
Two: The “winging it” stuff is okay. It’s preferable, in fact, to the rosy-tinted nihilism you fantasize about now. Because being an adult means knowing that you’re winging it, and being okay with that. Eventually, you’ll realize this. Eventually, you’ll see that “growing up” is an ongoing process, not a finish line. And you’ll look back on what you’ve accomplished, what you’ve done, and what you’ve simply survived, and you’ll trust yourself to move forward.
Life is full of uncertainty, yes, but art is born out of the same stuff. What you can and will be certain about, however, is that you can handle the uncertainty. That is a real strength
But credit where credit’s due. You did get one thing right: All you have to do is hold on.
Ken Lowery is a co-creator and co-writer of the web television series The Variants, a co-creator of @FakeAPStylebook on Twitter, the editor of the @FakeAPStylebook spinoff book Write More Good (2011), the creator of @FakePewResearch, and just generally a dude who never met an idea he couldn’t turn into a Twitter account. He is also a husband, which is surprising to him, and a copywriter in advertising, which is very surprising to him. Please do not give him more to do.
THE BALANCING ACT
Kekla Magoon
Dear Teen Me,
Put down that book and pay attention for a minute.
Someday soon, you’ll live an amazing and very different kind of life than the one you’re living now—but you’ll have to put the books down and get out into the world before that can happen. I know how lonely you are. I know that what you want most is to have a best friend, someone that you can trust with your secrets and be real with, and who will hug you and tease you and accept you for who you really are. (Whatever that means.)
When you try to blend in it doesn’t really work, does it? You’re the only biracial girl in your class. That ‘fro can’t hide from nothin’. You don’t feel black, so you don’t fit in with the “real” black kids, but you don’t look white, so you stand out among the white kids, too. But, when it comes down to it, you really don’t need to try so hard to fit in. People actually like you. It’s okay to be yourself and let down your guard.
It’s not just being biracial that makes you feel different. Remember the time in gym class when that girl said you were probably a lesbian? Of course you remember. You thought about nothing else for weeks after, and it scared and confused you. Let it go. It scared you because it might have been a little bit true; it confused you because it wasn’t totally true. You’re going to love some guys in your life and you’re going to love some girls, too, and that’s fine. Most people aren’t going to understand this about you, but you’ll have to get used to that feeling, because it’s never going to go away.
Everything about you is a little bit different. The way you look, the way you act, the way you are. You just have to remember to look at yourself in the mirror every morning and see yourself as beautiful. If you can manage to do that, the rest will take care of itself. It might be hard to believe that you will ever find your place in the world, but you will—once you start being truly yourself. Sometimes by just relaxing a little you can accomplish a lot.
There are going to be a lot of crazy ups and downs—once, for instance, in the course of a single week you’ll go from crying on the floor of your apartment wondering where you’ll get the money to pay your electric bill, to standing among a crowd of Hollywood celebrities, walking the red carpet. I kid you not.
Your whole life will be a balancing act, between having money and not having money, betwe
en being noticed and being ignored, between looking black and feeling white, between liking boys and liking girls. The key to finding your balance is feeling the earth beneath your feet and taking one step at a time. That will keep you grounded. Then, find the courage to stretch your arms a bit, and reach out for the things you want. Take some risks! Yes, this means showing your true colors, but it also means unfurling your wings. It’s scary, but it will help. You won’t ever feel surefooted, but you won’t topple either.
This daily balancing act will turn you into your own kind of person: strong enough to stand alone, and unique, with a voice that rings out like morning thunder. And to think, they used to tease you for being so quiet. Your dreams are going to come true, and it’s going to blow your mind.
Kekla Magoon is the award-winning author of YA novels The Rock and the River (2009), Camo Girl (2011), 37 Things I Love (2012), and Fire in the Streets (2012). She teaches writing to teens and adults, speaks at conferences, and visits schools and libraries to share her work. She lives in NYC… and at KeklaMagoon.com.
WHAT THE BULLY STOLE
Mari Mancusi
Dear Teen Me,
I’ve got an update for you from the future: Alex A. wrestles alligators for a living, and he loses every time.
Okay, okay, my update isn’t completely nonfictional; I don’t know that for sure. He might have ended up as a partner at a highly successful law firm. Or invented the inexplicably popular PajamaJeans (as seen on TV). For all I know he could’ve retired at twenty-nine after making a killing on his Apple stock. I don’t know what he’s actually doing these days, but I have to admit: I like to imagine his clothes reeking of swamp and defeat at the end of the workday.
I know, I know. It’s not very nice to wish such misfortune on a former classmate. Especially one who might be off digging wells right now, so that thirsty children somewhere can have clean water to drink.
But I can’t help it. I look back at the way he treated you in junior high and it still makes me furious.
Back then, not too many people talked about bullying. And even fewer did anything about it. If anything, parents had this crazy idea that whatever didn’t kill you would make you stronger.
What total BS!
As if it wasn’t hard enough for you to make the transition from a small private school to a huge public one. To leave your friends behind and get swallowed up in a sea of strangers. The only thing that made you feel at all safe was your art. The only place where no one could hurt you was a hand-drawn world of your own creation.
But did Alex A. understand this? Did he allow you to quietly escape your troubled reality for a rich hideaway of your own imagination? Nope. He crashed in, uninvited, invading your private world and publicly ridiculing you and your art. He exposed you and humiliated you in front of classmates you already had difficulty relating to. And when he had finished, you were so embarrassed you ripped up those once-precious drawings and threw them away in tears. You never picked up a pencil again.
You let Alex A. take something important from you. Something that mattered. Something that gave you comfort and hope. Today I can’t draw to save my life. Alex stole that from me. From you. From us.
I don’t know why Alex A. targeted you back then. Maybe he was feeling bad about himself and needed to rip into someone else to save his own self-esteem. Or maybe he sensed a sweet, sensitive soul who would take his cruelty to heart, giving him power for the first time in his life. But in the end, it doesn’t matter why. He hurt you, and the experience didn’t make you any stronger. It didn’t make you a better person. Anyone who says bullying builds character can suck it.
But don’t worry. In the end, you grow up to write a novel about bullying. You dig deep into your own psyche and fictionalize the pain you once experienced for real. And the best part? You give your heroine a happy ending. The kind you didn’t get in real life. She rises above her haters. She doesn’t let them rob her of her passion for art.
And the book winds up inspiring tons of teenage girls! Girls currently in junior high (and who are facing their own Alexes on a daily basis) take the time to write you e-mails telling you how your character’s courage has helped them find some courage of their own.
So now that I think of it, maybe you did get your happy ending after all. While that little bully, Alex A., is busy trying to outwit (or outrun) a thousand-pound lizard.
Emmy Award–winner Mari Mancusi works as a freelance TV producer and is the author of books for teens, including the Blood Coven Vampire series and Gamer Girl (2008). She lives in Austin, Texas, with her husband, Jacob, and their daughter, Avalon.
ALL THE WORLD’S A STAGE
Gretchen McNeil
Dear Teen Me,
You always needed the spotlight.
Not wanted. Not coveted. Needed.
Positive or negative, you needed the attention. You were the loudest kid at the party—the one most likely to accept a dare, or do something ridiculous to get a laugh. It’s possible you hold the world record for the number of times you had to write “I will raise my hand before speaking” in the course of sixth grade. And the same thing goes for the number of trips to the principal’s office (because you could never resist making that last witty comeback). Did you even consider how your mother would feel after the umpteenth time she was called in to discuss your behavior?
Your mom blames herself, but you both know it’s not her fault. Your need for attention is so deeply rooted in your personality, so tangled up in your complicated emotional relationship with your absentee father, that there’s no getting beyond it. At this point, you’ve spent so many years jumping through hoops to get him to notice you, that the behavior has become ingrained.
You got straight A’s in school. Did that make him call? You were the star of the soccer team. Did that help him remember your birthday? You sang at graduation. Did that force him to show up? No, no, no.
I’ve got some bad news for you: He’s never going to notice, acknowledge, remember, or even just show up. Never. But that doesn’t stop you from trying.
But here’s the good news: Extroverted attention-seekers have a perfect outlet on the stage.
Sure, you’ve been performing since you were a kid, but not in such a serious role, and never in a musical—with a curtain call all your own. Backstage, you’re lined up, ready to take your solo bow in the spotlight. As you run out onstage, you’re terrified, convinced that you’re about to run into a mass of stares, and a few polite claps. But then it happens—and you’ll remember that first curtain call for the rest of your life.
Is it just your imagination, or does the applause crescendo ever so slightly as you dip into a curtsy that would put Maria Callas to shame? You aren’t the star of Into the Woods, but you had that audience in the palm of your hand. How? Why? Doesn’t matter. Your heart is pounding in your chest, and you feel a powerful surge of adrenaline like you’ve never felt before.
You’re hooked.
Later that night you’ll remember that you invited your dad to come to opening night. You’d left messages on his home and work voicemails, messages that—as usual—would never be returned. It’s the first time, perhaps, that you don’t care. It’s the beginning of the end—you won’t jump through hoops for him anymore. The applause still echoes in your ears, the heat of the spotlight still burns on your cheeks. This flush of triumph is your new drug. From now on, you perform for yourself only.
The spotlight is yours.
Gretchen McNeil is an opera singer, a writer, and a clown. Her young adult horror/paranormal novel Possess debuted in fall 2011. Her second novel, Ten (2012) is a young adult horror/suspense about ten teens trapped on a remote island with a serial killer. Gretchen is a former coloratura soprano, the voice of Mary on G4’s Code Monkeys, and she currently sings with the L.A.-based circus troupe Cirque Berzerk. Gretchen is also a founding member of the vlog group the YARebels, where she can be seen as “Monday.”
THE PURSUIT OF (MOMENTS OF) HAPPINESS
Dear Teen Me,
I know how it is. Your parents are divorced, have been since you were four, and traveling between them is how you grew up. But now you’re a teenager with school, work, and practice, and you don’t have time to go back and forth. The days you used to visit Dad are now days you spend on your own, just doing your thing. Besides, Dad’s changed a lot in the last few years. Visiting him isn’t the same anymore.
Your dad is sick. You know it. You know about the alcoholism, the smoking, the diabetes, and the way he can get hurt by simply walking to the kitchen. You know he hasn’t been Dad since he lost his job; he can’t hold a new one, and his house is filthy. You know you don’t enjoy visiting him anymore.
Here’s what you’re not recognizing: He’s given up.
His kids aren’t kids anymore. The adult kids have kids of their own. You and your sister visit Dad sometimes. You clean the house. You hassle him about drinking too much and remind him that smoking will give him lung cancer one day. You complain with your sister that it doesn’t seem like he’s even trying anymore.
He’s not. He’s killing himself, and he doesn’t even care.
In a few years, you’ll get married and move away. You’ll try to talk to Dad on the phone, but you’ll be lucky if he answers. And toward the end—though you won’t realize it’s the end—you won’t be able to get hold of him at all. It’s going to make you angry. You’ll leave a lengthy voicemail about how he should answer the phone for his daughters if he wants to be involved in their lives.
You won’t hear from him until he’s found himself in the hospital, with cancer (yes, lung cancer) and a host of other problems. You won’t even have time to fly back home to see him. Your sister is going to put him on the phone. He’s going to sound heavily medicated (because he is), but you’ll tell him you love him and that he has to get better. All the anger, all the bitterness—it won’t matter anymore. You’ll let it go, because he’s your dad and you love him.
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