Meeting Khaled Hosseini: "And The Mountains Echoed" Book Tour (and My 21st Birthday + The Great Flood of 2013!)

#DailyWings: "When I was a child my mother said to me, 'If you become a soldier, you'll be a general. If you become a monk, you'll be the pope.' Instead, I became a painter and wound up as Picasso." 
-Pablo Picasso

A couple weeks ago, I read John Green's "The Fault in Our Stars," one of the best Young Adult novels I've read in a long time. (If you haven't done so already, I highly encourage you to read one or all of John's books and/or check out the awesome vlogbrothers, a YouTube video project he coordinates with his brother Hank.) One of the book's subplots involves the characters traveling to Amsterdam to meet the writer of their favorite book in person. 

After I finished reading the book, I Skyped my boyfriend — who shares my passion for good literature and was the one who introduced me to John's work — and said to him, "Wouldn't it be so cool if we could just meet our favorite authors like Augustus and Hazel do?" 

Two days later, I found out Khaled Hosseini was in Raleigh. Now, those of you who know me very well or have been following The Red Angel for a long time know how much I love Hosseini's novel, "The Kite Runner." It's publicly been one of my favorite novels for a long time (publicly, meaning when people ask, 'What's your favorite novel?' I say, "The Kite Runner.") The book is set in Afghanistan and follows the friendship between a wealthy boy and the son of his father's servant, which is changed forever by a single act of violence. It's a story of redemption and love, of friendship and forgiveness. You can read some of my old reviews of the book here and here. 

Khaled Hosseini, a medical school graduate and the founder of a nonprofit that provides assistance to people living in Afghanistan, also wrote "A Thousand Splendid Suns." Hosseini's stop in Raleigh was part of the book tour for his third and most recent novel, "And The Mountains Echoed." 

When I saw the event announcement on Twitter, my heart jumped into my throat as I thought about how cool it would be to meet Khaled Hosseini in person and listen to him speak. But that jump-in-the-throat reaction was followed by a sigh, and I knew there was no way I could drive to Raleigh myself. 

My luck turned when a good friend of mine, who, consequentially, knew how much I loved "The Kite Runner," called and told me he and his friends were going to see Hosseini in Raleigh — and that I could come with him and his friends if I wanted. (If I wanted!) Before I knew it, I was riding in the backseat of a friend's friend's car and on my way to Quail Ridge Books. I don't remember much about the car ride, except that I had Subway and kept repeating the words, What is my life? over and over in my head. 

I'm holding my copy of "The Kite Runner," which world-renowned author Khaled Hosseini had just signed for me, at the "And The Mountains Echoed" book event in Raleigh, N.C., on June 15.

Before the book signing, NPR's Frank Stasio did an interview with Hosseini, touching on subjects from the writing process to character development in "And The Mountains Echoed" to the culture of and life in Afghanistan. 

During Questions From the Audience Time, I plucked up the courage to stand up and ask Khaled Hosseini: "Since you started writing 'The Kite Runner' up until now, how have you changed as a writer, an educator, a person? And, if at all, how have these books — these characters you've created — changed you?" 

"And The Mountains Echoed" is much more complex than his other two books, Hosseini said. Over time, he's become more drawn toward characters who are conflicted. Instead of revealing themselves completely, the characters are mysterious and self-scrutinizing. 

"What drives me to write is the drama, the human element in these stories," he said. "The motivations for the way they behave."

Before Hosseini thanked Stasio on stage for coming to interview him for the book event, he left me and the audience with this: 

"Stories close the gap and reconcile between what we want life to be and how it actually is," Hosseini said. "That's what stories are for." 

~ ~ ~ ~ 

In other news, I turned 21 years old on June 22. I didn't go out and party all night. I didn't drink 21 shots (as the tradition demands). But I did go shopping at Southpoint, Skype my loved ones and tear open the presents that I had sworn I wouldn't peek at until the big day. 

Here are just a few of my excellent birthday presents (left to right): Gray goose vodka (I'm 21, y'all!), a martini plastic "glass," my first shot glass from Mount Vernon and a feather quill set complete with an ink bottle, fountain pen and nibs (!!!). Just, wow. 

I couldn't have asked for a better birthday, or a better month of June, which is ironic for me to say because of The Great Chapel Hill Flood of 2013. 

Basically, my apartment got completely flooded earlier today and I was forced to evacuate to higher ground. I left the flat with only a few essential belongings, thinking that the rest would be floating in rainwater by the time I came back. But most of my stuff is completely unharmed, and while the carpet is soaked and damaged beyond repair, my home is still here. And I've still got my brain and my lungs and my heart, the three things that gotta' keep me going. 

Even though there are some things that could be much worse than a flood, and also some things that could be more awesome than meeting the author of your favorite book, I can't help but think: So this is what it feels like to be the luckiest person in the world. 

Wendy Lu

Meeting Khaled Hosseini: "And The Mountains Echoed" Book Tour (and My 21st Birthday + The Great Flood of 2013!)

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Call for Submissions: Wander Magazine Wants "Travel Horror Stories" From YOU!

#DailyWings: “I am on the alert for the first signs of spring, to hear the chance note of some arriving bird, or the striped squirrel's chirp, for his stores must be now nearly exhausted, or see the woodchuck venture out of his winter quarters.” 

- Henry David Thoreau, Walden

Earlier today, we were greeted -- as if "greet" is the right word -- with a flurry of snow. On my way to class, the wind and snow almost knocked me over! Either North Carolina weather is being ridiculous or I need to start eating meat again. What is going on, y'all? I mean, it's almost April. 

Now that we've established the peculiarity of April snow, I wanted to share an awesome opportunity with you: Ever wanted to be published in a magazine? 

One of the best things about being a student at the UNC-Chapel Hill School of Journalism & Mass Communication is getting involved with various media projects in a professional news setting. This semester, I'm on the staff for Wander travel magazine, a JOMC 456 class project that has just released a call for submissions. My wonderful readers, if you have studied abroad (or currently are), spent a holiday somewhere exotic, conducted research in different parts of the world or engaged in other all-around cool things while traveling, this might interest you: 

We're looking for memorable "travel horror stories" from people who have traveled abroad outside the United States. This includes cultural food first-times, language flubs, awkward moments, you name it. We're in search for fun, amusing and quirky anecdotes from anyone at all -- you don't have to be a UNC student! If you've got a good story you'd like to tell, just comment below or email me at wendylu@live.unc.edu. 

Submissions should be no more than 100-200 words long. They're really just short snippets -- a few sentences about a "horrifying" experience you had while traveling abroad. 

Other details: Some folks have been sending in longer entries; if it's just a little bit longer than the 200-word limit, that's fine. The design of this feature also depends on how many submissions we receive, so if we have fewer entries to choose from then having 200-word forms would work. 

Wendy Lu

What's the weirdest, wackiest, scariest thing that has happened to you while traveling abroad? Share in comments below!

Call for Submissions: Wander Magazine Wants "Travel Horror Stories" From YOU!

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Halloween House of Horrors Blogfest

#DailyWings: "There is something haunting in the light of the moon; it has all the dispassionateness of a disembodied soul, and something of its inconceivable mystery." - Joseph Conrad

This past weekend was a very special weekend for the Romantic Friday Writers, as the Halloween House of Horrors challenge took place Oct. 19 - 21. I know, I'm late. But when you've got four writing assignments due in less than a week and the flu to battle, your priorities tend to shift around. But hey -- better late than never, right? I won't be winning any awards with this piece (I wrote it in less than two hours, all the while wagging a disapproving finger at my own head for putting myself in such a time crunch), but it was still fun to write and come up with at the last minute.  

So what exactly was the challenge all about? 

RFW: "We’re looking for chilling stories of ghosts and haunted locations – and maybe even love from beyond the grave. A romantic element is essential, but we’re looking for stories with a thrilling edge of fear to add to the romantic tension building between our hero/heroine."

The maximum number of words is 1,000 but I'm afraid I went over quite a bit (it's hard to stop after you start, you know!). 

~ ~ ~ 

The Wife's Return

Anne-Marie didn't like where she was. Everything was dark and claustrophobic. She was inside some sort of case, which was musty and smelled of carcass. Where was she? The last thing Anne-Marie remembered was pounding on the glass window of her bedroom as smoky fumes filled her lungs and flames flickered against her ankles. Before she was  engulfed in fire, Anne-Marie had caught a glimpse of her husband, Kenneth, running across the front yard with his hands waving frantically. She'd been so sure that he had gone for help...

Her arms lifted, and a gasp escaped from Anne-Marie's lips. The gasp came out strange, though. Icy, almost. Anne-Marie stared at her arms -- they were transparent, as if they weren't there except as a ripple in the air. She moved her fingers one after another, and there went five ripples. She glanced down, and realized her long, once beautiful blonde hair was also transparent, like cellophane noodles. And so was her floral dress, the one Kenneth had bought her for their anniversary months ago. The one she had been wearing the day of the fire. 

"W-What am I?" asked Anne-Marie to no one in particular. Her voice had also changed -- it was several octaves higher than it used to be. "What have I become?" 

Anne-Marie moved to the side, feeling claustrophobic, and looked at the bottom of the case.  She screamed. There, right beside Anne-Marie was her own corpse, more than half-decayed. She was in her own coffin. 

* * * 

Three weeks had passed since Anne-Marie climbed out of her grave and discovered that she'd come back as a ghost. Waking up next to her own body wasn't the only surprise. Returning to earth as a disembodied spirit had its advantages -- Anne-Marie could now walk through solid objects, walk through the air and become invisible at will. If she didn't want humans to see her, they didn't. And if she wanted to move an object or walk through it, she could. The afterlife had so much to offer. But all Anne-Marie wanted was to know about Kenneth. Was he all right? How did he escape? Did he miss her, and if so, what did he say at her funeral? 

It didn't take long for Anne-Marie to figure out where to find her husband. The day she awoke, she'd realized that her grave was located in Breyer Meadows, the cemetery just a few miles from her home. When she returned, Anne-Marie found that her house had been burned to the ground. The fire had destroyed everything -- her piano, her favorite family photographs, her china and parlor furniture. All of it was gone. 

"No," Anne-Marie whispered. "No!" That night, she filled the town with her screams, cursing the name of God and terrorizing children in their sleep. She watched from behind windows as mothers rushed to their young's beds, holding tiny heads against their chests and assuring them it was only a bad dream. Her heart hardened at the sight. Nobody was there to hold her, or tell her that everything would be okay. 

Her only consolation was that Kenneth was still alive -- he had to be -- and that he would surely reach out to her if only he knew she was here. In some form, at least. 

Anne-Marie could bear it no longer. The next day, she went into the city and floated up to the seventh floor of the investment company where Kenneth used to work, hoping that he was still there. Sure enough, just as Anne-Marie reached the glass window of Kenneth's office, she saw him. 

There he was, standing against the door in a gray pantsuit with his hands in his pockets, looking flawless as ever. There was that dark brown hair and caramel skin, long nose and curled mouth. The fire hadn't left a single burn on Kenneth, at least none that Anne-Marie could see. Her eyes drooped and she cocked her head to the side, smiling dreamily at the man who had asked for her hand. Kenneth was alive and well. And still so handsome. The sight of him was enough to make her feel almost warm again. 

Then, movement on the other side of the room, behind the curtains that blocked part of the window, caught Anne-Marie's eye. The smoothing out of a skirt. The adjustment of eyeglasses. A woman came into view: a pretty blonde woman with long legs and red lips. Anne-Marie watched as she walked toward Kenneth, her heels making a small clicking noise against the tiles, and gave him a kiss. 

Kenneth put one hand around the woman's waist and the other around her neck, and kissed her back. With overlapping lips and tongue and passion that he had never seemed to put into the kisses he'd once given Anne-Marie. They were locked in a tight embrace now, as if they were determined to put as little space between them as possible. 

Disgusted, Anne-Marie looked away. Being a ghost was living hell now, for try as she might, she just couldn't get tears to come falling down her cheeks. How could Kenneth do this? It had barely been three weeks since the fire, and here he was kissing another woman. Hadn't he missed her, or at least wondered what she would think if she saw him right now, cheating? No, he probably hadn't wondered that, and -- as much as she wanted to think of it this way -- he wasn't cheating. Everyone thought Anne-Marie was dead. 

I am dead, Anne-Marie thought, angrily. Her life as a human being was long over, but Kenneth's wasn't. He had already moved on and left her behind. I can't let that happen. I can't let him do this to me.

She waited until Ms. Long-Legs left the office, her poker face on and her hair clipped into a tight new bun as if nothing had happened behind closed doors. 

Kenneth was alone in his office now, straightening his sleeves and walking toward his desk. Now was Anne-Marie's chance. She slowly floated through the glass window and right into the room until she was hovering above Kenneth. It took him eight seconds to realize he wasn't alone, and he whipped around to find a rippling Anne-Marie by his side. He let out a sound between a yelp and a wail. 

"Darling," Anne-Marie purred, and put one icy hand on his shoulder. Kenneth jolted out of his chair. 

"Who--who are you?" he said, wide-eyed and transfixed by her lucid presence. "What are you?"

"Oh, my dear Kenny." Anne-Marie watched as he flinched at her old nickname for him. She took a leap toward him, and he took several steps back. "Kenny, don't you know who I am? I'm Anne-Marie, your true love." 

"No, that's not possible. Anne-Marie is dead," Kenneth said, shaking his head back and forth as if trying to get rid of what was right in front of him. "She died in that fire." 

He took another step back, and Anne-Marie realized he was barely a few feet away from the glass window she'd spied on him through. Her eyes darted to his temples, where beads of sweat had begun to form. She smiled sweetly. 

"I've come back for you," Anne-Marie said. "Soon, we'll be together forever and you won't leave me again. You won't have a choice, if you're just like me." 

"Just--just like you? But, no," Kenneth stammered. "You're not real. This isn't happening." 

"Oh, but it is. You made this happen, honey, when you decided to leave me behind in that terrible house." Anne-Marie's tone was suddenly icy. "Now it's your turn to know what it feels like to be left behind by your entire world." 

"No!" Just as Kenneth turned his back, Anne-Marie swooped down and pushed him with her icy fingers until his face met the glass window. 

Blood everywhere. Broken shards flying in the air. From the seventh floor down, Anne-Marie was falling, falling, falling with Kenneth. Her hand held onto his shoulder, refusing to let go. And even as the wind blew roughly against his broken and ensanguined skin, he turned his head ever so slightly and saw her face plunging forward next to his. Seconds before Kenneth's body hit the pavement, he looked at her in the eye and seemed to notice her for the first time. He uttered his last word as if it was a question, "Anne."

I will be visiting RFW House of Horrors blogfest entries during the next couple of days. Thanks to those who have already stopped by to visit! Can't wait to read and get spooked!

Wendy Lu

Halloween House of Horrors Blogfest

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"Flying High": The Roarin' Twenties Begins! (Blogfest + Giveaway)

#DailyWings: “Treat singlehood and your twenties as the time when you get to fall in love with yourself. If you look with loving eyes, you will find that your most loyal companion lies within you.” -TSM

When I stepped onto the airplane for my flight to Ohio yesterday, I thought this was going to be an uneventful quickie. I've been traveling for years, ever since I was a little girl, and the longest on-air trip (including a connecting flight) I have ever been on lasted for nearly 18 hours. I love it. I love flying. When I'm in the air, it feels like time has stopped and there's nothing but me in the clouds. It feels like a dream. Yesterday, I found yet another reason to love airplane flights, but it was nothing I could have expected or prepared myself for.

On most flights, I take a window seat or aisle seat and bury myself in a good book or my journal. I'll enjoy my plastic cup of cranapple juice and bag of salted peanuts, then perhaps take a few pictures of the clouds. This time on the connecting flight (to Atlanta first), I sat in the middle. Before I could whip out Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, a middle-aged man wearing a dark-blue suit and carrying a business knapsack approached the seat to my left. Five minutes later, a short woman with curly brown hair and wire-rimmed glasses claimed the seat to my right.

I soon came to discover that the woman was going back home after a business meeting, and the man was a surgeon who was on a way to one. The woman told me she was eager to get home to her three beloved dogs and two cats, and I nodded knowingly. My friend is taking care of my turtles, I told her. Somehow we started talking about our love for animals, and the woman mentioned she had had to give up her own turtles a few years ago while undergoing chemotherapy.

Our conversation turned, and it occured to me how much this woman had been through. Yet, here she was as alive and energetic as ever, living her life with as much love and fervor as anybody. The surgeon, in turn, told me how he had come to develop a passion for medicine and healthcare. I listened, fascinated, to these two strangers who had become my friends in a matter of two hours. By the end of the flight, I hadn't even unzipped my backpack for Zen. I bid my newfound airplane buddies farewell, and the woman even patted me on the shoulder.

On the final plane to Ohio, I got the aisle seat on the Exit row. Finally - some peace and quiet! Not that I hadn't enjoyed my conversations with fellow surgeon and cat lady, but the night would be a busy one for me and I needed some rest.

But even as I sat down, I couldn't help but notice my left-side neighbor. An older man well into his 60s sat, tapping one giant sneaker against the rugged floor, with his head resting on one hand. I greeted him with a "Hi, how are you," and he shook his head.

"Not good," the man said. "Been up since 1 o'clock this morning."

"Oh no," I said. "Why were you up so late?"

The man told me his brother was in the hospital. He'd had a stroke. My neighbor had gotten the news while on vacation with his wife and grandkids.

"Oh no." I felt stupid for saying the same thing, but I was taken aback. Out of all the things I could have expected, this was last on the list. "Is he okay?"

The man shook his head.

I didn't know what to say. 'Sorry' seemed infinitesimally too small of a word, and a hug would be inappropriate in this situation. We sat together in what seemed like an uncomfortable silence for half an hour, and I debated whether to say anything else at all. Maybe I should just mind my own business, like usual. But the man just looked so sad.

He was the one to speak first.

"You from Ohio?"

"No, I'm visiting family for my birthday," I said. "How about you?"

"Yeah. You ever been to Rock and Roll House of Fame?" he asked.

The question surprised me. I said no I hadn't, but it was on my to-do list. The man said the term rock and roll had originated from Ohio from the very beginning. Alan Freed was the man who did it, he told me with a grin.

This seemed to take his mind off of current troubles, so I decided to keep on with the conversation.

"What's the best concert you've ever been to?" I asked, hoping that wasn't too random or weird.

"Oh, Elton John and Billy Joel's tour, hands down," he said. He began to list all the concerts he had ever been to and the biggest stars of the '60s - the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, ZZ Top, Elvis Presley. When he talked about music and 'the old days,' his eyes seemed to light up as if he were back in the Blossom Music Center. We chatted about famous landmarks in Ohio, rock and roll, and The Osbournes for the remaining of the flight. Twenty minutes turned into a couple of hours, and suddenly I was waving goodbye again at yet another new friend. I wished him and his family good luck, and told him I hoped his brother was all right.

As I walked into the Ohio airport, I spotted a female soldier clad in her camouflage military uniform. She crossed the hallway and approached a very old man--must have been in his nineties--with thinned blonde-white hair and large ear lobes. The soldier hugged the old man and whispered in his ear, thank you for your service. She squeezed his hand, and was gone.

I left the airport smiling.

Turning 20 has gotten me thinking deeply about what I want this upcoming decade to be about. Even though we are thrown unexpected surprises and crazy events every single day such that we feel powerless over our own lives, I think in the end we have a lot more control over our fate than we realize.

If there is anything that I learned from my day "in the air" (a day in the air out of many), it's that there is opportunity. Everywhere. The chance to make anything happen is right there in front of us, and it's our job to make sure we don't miss out. I think that's what I want my Roarin' Twenties to be about: taking chances and noticing opportunities. Being aware of my surroundings and the people around me. I never know who I will end up meeting on a chance encounter. Maybe next time I'm on an airplane, it'll be a cute guy with an Italian accent or something. Who knows? All I know is, never again will I bury myself in a book without first greeting my neighbor on an airplane flight.

Without further ado, here are my poems for the Roarin' Twenties Poetry Blogfest! Check out the rules here. The blogfest lasts until Sunday, so you can still sign up below!

A Set of Roarin' Limericks

Try #1:

There once was a girl named Wendy Lu,

Her popular nickname was Cindy Who.

Everyone thought she was thirteen, 

Which called for a post-teen scream,

All she wanted was some ice cream.

Ick......that was terrible! Let me try again.

Try #2:

There once was a girl named Wendy Lu,

Everyone called her Cindy Who.

Her friends said she looked young,

But really she was just full of fun,

Like them, she just turned twenty too!

Okay...that's better. One more try?

Try #3:

There once was a girl named Wendy Lu,

who ate her cake with a spoon.

She hung out at the speakeasy,

Even though alcohol made her queasy,

Never mind! This whole poem is full of poo!

Ack! I give up!

This blogfest is dedicated to all those writers who say they aren't 'good' at writing poetry. My 'literary forte' is with prose, but hey - ultimately there's a poet in all of us! I'm proof of that! :P

Thank you to all of the participants who signed up to celebrate my birthday with me! Much love to you all. Don't forget to check out the other entries!

The winner of the Chapter Critique Giveaway will be announced tomorrow after the blogfest and after I have entered everyone's points into the random generator! As they say in the movies, STAY TUNED.


Wendy Lu

P.S. I went from 184 followers to 194 followers in eight days! Y'all ROCK! Thank you so much!



"Flying High": The Roarin' Twenties Begins! (Blogfest + Giveaway)

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Templates for Story Outlining

#DailyWings: "Do not be concerned that you lack an official position, but rather concern yourself with the means by which you might become established. Do not be concerned that no one has heard of you, but rather strive to become a person worthy of being known." -Confucius, Analects 4.14

I'm not big on the realms of religion and philosophy, but we're studying Readings in Classical Chinese Philosophy in one of my summer classes and I came across today's #DailyWings quote in the Confucius section. During my ROW80 and JuNoWriMo journey so far, I have noticed something. The less I write, the more self-conscious I become and the less focused I am on my work. But the more I write while "in the zone," the less concerned I am with the prospects of publication, fame and other ridiculous things. Instead, I write for writing's sake, for portraying the truth genuinely as life portrays it every day for us. I care more about the story and about the characters than anything else at that moment. 

I think that's definitely something I would like to strive for as a writer. It doesn't matter if I become nationally acclaimed for our bestselling, ground-breaking novel. Well, okay, maybe it does - a little. But what's more important is that I work hard to get to that point. In the end, all we want to do is write the best darn novel we possibly can. Yet, as we approach the midway point of JuNoWriMo, let's focus on actually getting the writing done before we focus on quality and bestseller lists, shall we? 

As promised, I have replicated the templates that I used for The T-Project, my current writing project, and have provided them below. The actual outlines are scribbled in my Moleskine notebook and very messy (who's isn't?), so I thought I'd recreate them - except using a different story plot. 

The story plot is made up, but I was inspired by the movies, I Dreamed of Africa and The Gods Must be Crazy. 

OUTLINE TEMPLATES:

*Everyone knows the line, "Shoot for the moon. Even if you miss, you'll land among the stars." Each project has its own process - with a beginning and an end. For Page 1, start out with a vision of where you want your project to be at when it's completed. The "moon and stars" keep you motivated. Working out themes help you decide what you want your project to be about on a grander scale. 

One of my ROW80 goals is to write character-driven scenes. This is a mini version of the giant relationship bubbles that should focus on Main Character (MC). Readers are with your MC 99 percent of the time, and the people she meets all play a role in her story. This is the time to grind out those roles. 

Everyone is different when it comes to outlining scenes. I've tried story maps, bubble maps, Excel charts, and nothing works better for me than this simple list. All scenes orbit around the conflict for this particular story, and so I broke down my outline into pre-conflict scenes and post-conflict scenes. Why? Pre-conflict scenes lead us up to the conflict, whereas post-conflict scenes derive from the effects that the conflict had on the characters. I also list the most significant scenes and, below them, the mini scenes that correspond. 

And here are almost all the events in timeline form! The conflict and climax are starred because they're super important (duh), and in between major scenes of the story I add a couple of the mini (but still significant!) scenes. Add time points if desired. 

This was just a rough sketch of what these templates would look like filled using a basic story plot. What do you think? What sort of outline tools do you use when planning out your story?

Wendy Lu

*You may use these templates for your own story planning, but please provide credit if you are going to share on your blogs! 

Templates for Story Outlining

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