I can't talk about Israel before I talk about HONDURAS

I'm currently in Israel, but I can't discuss this adventure until I talk about my trip to Honduras:

In March, I traveled to Honduras.  That was months ago, I know.  Still, I'm going to give it a blog post.

I went to Honduras with Public Health Brigades, a branch of Global Brigades.  We were stationed in El Ojochal, a rural village in the coastal Valle region, which is wedged between El Salvador and Nicaragua.

I expected heat.  Mugginess.  I'd been taking malaria medicine, and I'd stocked up on unscented soap so as not to attract swarms of mosquitos that could potentially carry malaria or dengue fever.  I expected dirt.  Grime.  To be escorted through the airport by armed guards.  (Tegucigalpa has one of the highest homicide rates in the world).

I wasn't prepared for this:

This is the interior of one of the homes we were working on.  It was a two room hut with dirt floors and large gaps in the walls, which allowed the chickens to enter and exit as they pleased.  The first picture shows a stove in the corner of the kitchen.  As part of our project, we built a brick stove with a chimney to help prevent respiratory problems.  It also requires less wood.  The second photo shows the sleeping area.  This family slept in hammocks, as did most families in El Ojochal.

Here we see the exterior of a typical home (at least, typical for the area in which we were working).  These photos are from Amapala.

I knew that Honduras was not a wealthy country by any means.  Still, I was struck by the abject poverty I saw all around me.  Everywhere I looked, I saw a decrepit hut, a malnourished child, a pile of trash littering the landscape.  It was bad.

At the same time, I was struck by the way life goes on.  I met some amazing people who were eager to share their culture with me.  We bonded over traditional Honduran folk music, food, and breathtaking vistas.

It's important to visit places like Honduras, which serve as reminders that there are severe problems in the world.  However, too often these places are seen for their problems alone.  Yes, the people I met wanted me to take and share photos so that others could see their harsh realities, but when we talked, they wanted to tell me about the beauty of their country.  It's important to remember that, too.

A - Z Challenge: UNSEEN, UNHEARD, UNKNOWN

SPAIN

Like most touristy places, the big cities in Spain do a good job of showing tourists what they come to see:  sunshine, siestas, palm trees, flamenco dancing, outdoor cafes that serve sangria all day, etc.  This is our perception of Spain, but like all places, so much remains hidden--unheard, unknown, unseen.  

I'm fortunate enough to live in the Centro, where you'll find all the touristy places, but I teach an English class in a marginal neighborhood called Polígono Sur, which is the poorest area of Sevilla.  Here you won't find any outdoor cafes or souvenir shops selling keychains and postcards.  You won't see very many people on the streets, except for maybe a few kids playing soccer.

Then of course there's the economic crisis.  It's possible that, as a tourist, you might run into a protest, but it's hard to get a sense of why people are protesting unless you're in a place for a long period of time.  That's why it's always a good idea to do some research into a country before you go.  More than a guidebook, I mean.  Catch up on current events, because if we don't, we'll just fuel that stereotype we all hate so much:  the stereotype of the "ignorant American who thinks the universe revolves around the U.S.A."  When we travel, we are representatives of our country, whether we like it or not, which is why it's important to leave a good impression by being knowledgeable and showing respect.

A - Z Challenge: GASTRONOMY

A lunch my host mom serves regularly.  Mostly peas
and chorizo.

SPAIN

Ah, the obligatory post on gastronomy, or in less fancy words, food.

The Spanish diet is, without a doubt, the single most interesting diet I've come across.  Not only for the type of food, but for food's place in culture and daily life.

Breakfast:  7:00 AM

Breakfast isn't a big deal in Spain.  Usually it consists of tostadas, the Spanish phrase for toast, with butter or jam, and café con leche (coffee with milk).  It's eaten whenever you get up in the morning, which for me, is usually around 7:00 AM.  Since lunch isn't served 'til 2:00 in the afternoon, I tend to break away from cultural norms and put peanut butter on my toast for some added protein.

(Peanut butter is not common in Spain.  Spaniards don't eat it, and though you can find it in the grocery store, it's very expensive.)

Lunch:  2:00 - 3:00 PM

A few weeks ago I attended a cooking class.
Here, our chef Carlos helps me make a
chicken and vegetable paella.

Lunch in Spain is not a mere sandwich or salad, as it is in the U.S.  Nope, lunch is the largest meal of the day, and that's large.  Every day, my host mother brings out huge portions of the main course, bread, cheese, salad, and fruit.  This is why the siesta is such an important aspect of Spanish culture:  people come home from work for lunch, so everything shuts down (most businesses are closed from 2:00 - 5:00), and afterwards, people relax, often taking a nap.

So what does the main meal consist of?

Spain's signature dish is paella, which consists of rice, chicken, chorizo, seafood, and vegetables (though you usually won't get meat and seafood mixed).  Paella, however, isn't an everyday food, unlike bread and chickpeas.  Being quite an ordeal to prepare, it's usually made on special occasions, oftentimes as a family activity.

It was my job to cut the squid!  To my
surprise, we used the entire squid.  Head,
tentacles, everything except the cartilage.

Most dishes I've had are stew-like:  white beans, chickpeas, or peas with bits of chicken and chorizo.  Spain, being located on the Iberian peninsula, also consumes a lot of seafood:  tuna, salmon, shrimp, and especially squid (often in an ink-based sauce).

If you have to eat on the run, you'll probably pack or buy a bocadillo:  a baguette-type bread with either chorizo, cheese, chicken, tuna, or tortilla española.

Our final products!  Paella!

Dinner:  9:00 - 11:00 PM

Dinner is small in Spain.  For us students, it usually involves tortilla española, which is usually made with eggs, potatoes, and sometimes vegetables.  It's very similar to quiche.  We eat it every day, sometimes with pumpkin soup, pasta with tuna, or a plate of vegetables.

Dessert

Usually dessert involves fruit:  bananas, oranges, apples, kiwi, strawberries.  I like fruit, but not as much as I like chocolate, so I had to do some good snooping in the supermarkets.  Here's what I found:

Principe cookies are like reverse Oreos, except they put Oreos to shame.  You can't get them outside of Europe, so I'm going to need a whole suitcase just for my supply of Principe Cookies.

Milka is one of the big "non-fancy" chocolate brands over here, equivalent to Hershey in the States.  The regular one is good, but you haven't lived until you've tried Milka with Oreo.  It's like a chocolate covered Oreo…but better.

Tapas

This is in Turkey, not Spain, but you can see the spit.

If you tend to get hungry between lunch and dinner or after dinner, Spain is your kind of place.  The streets are lined with tapas restaurants, where you can pay two or three euro and get small plates called tapas.  Morcilla, fried brie, croquetas, and more!  They're kind of like appetizers.

Random

Döner Kebab - You know how the U.S. has quick Chinese food on every corner?  Well, Spain has Turkish fast food in the form of döner kebab, a pita filled with chicken or lamb that's roasted on a spit.  My friends and I frequently make late night döner runs.

Helado - The ice cream in Spain is the best ice cream I've ever had in my life, plus it comes in all kinds of neat flavors, including Kinder and dulce de leche.

Churros con chocolate - Fried dough dipped in thick hot chocolate.  It's rough on the stomach, but it's worth trying at least once.

A - Z Challenge: FLAMENCO

SPAIN

For me, the best part about flamenco is it's authenticity.  Unlike the bullfights, it's not a spectacle put on to attract tourists.  No, flamenco is deeply entrenched in Spain's culture.  That means that most everyone, especially in Andalucía, can sing or dance flamenco, at least to a certain extent.  It's not exclusive to the professionals.  If you're in Spain long enough, chances are you'll come across someone singing flamenco at the top of his lungs as he walks down the street.

Flamenco dancers in Sevilla, Spain

Walking through Sevilla, you'll find dozens of dress shops.  These dresses are pricey.  The cheapest you'll find is 75 euro (about $100), and that's the absolute cheapest.  For many girls, they get a new dress every year, which they adorn with flowers and ribbons, and will don during the week of Feria, a celebration based on flamenco, which happens to begin two weeks from now.  All night the people of Sevilla gather in casetas, personal tents set up on designated fairgrounds, where they dance flamenco 'til dawn.  Not to impress anyone, but just for fun.  For tradition.

Feria in Sevilla.  This is in two weeks.

WRITING

Many Spanish romantic writers, such as Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer, incorporated flamenco into their writing.  They referred to is as the poesía popular, or the popular poetry, and drew on its themes and rhythms to compose short stories and poems that reflected Spanish pop culture.  To them, flamenco was a source of endless inspiration:  it embodied passion, beauty, and pain in its potent vocals and intense movements.

Here's a video of some flamenco:

A - Z Challenge: BULLFIGHTING

SPAIN

When you think Spain, chances are you think bullfighting, though it's also practiced in other parts of Europe and Latin America.  At its most basic, the "art" consists of baiting a bull, then killing it in the arena, known as a bullring.

Bull statue in Ronda.

Believe it or not, bullfighting is considered an art, not a sport.  The matadors, locally referred to as toreros, train from an early age, developing their own rhythm and style, for which they're known around the country, and sometimes the world.  As Hemingway wrote, "Bullfighting is the only art in which the artist is in danger of death and in which the degree of brilliance in the performance is left to the fighter's honour."

Bullring in Ronda.

It's a practice that dates back thousands of years (pre-Rome), but it's often compared to the more well-known gladiatorial competitions.  However, modern bullfighting, which involves fighting on foot (rather than mounted on a horse), staying within inches of the bull, and using the red cape, came about in the 18th century.

Nowadays there's a lot of controversy about bullfighting.  My host mother, Isabel, is very against it, for example.  When I asked her about it, she threw up her hands and said, "¡Qué barbaridad!"  The autonomous community of Catalonia (where Barcelona is located) actually banned bullfighting, and animal rights activists are trying to get the rest of Spain to follow suit.

Honestly, it seems that nowadays bullfighting is more for tourists than for Spaniards.  People come from all over the world and pay darn good dinero to see it.  Don't get me wrong:  there are indeed Spaniards who are bullfighting fanatics (the kind who get season tickets), but not nearly as many as there used to be.  But Spain is all about cultural tradition, so I highly doubt it's going to get the boot.

WRITING

Confession:  Hemingway is a historical crush
of mine.  For his writing, for his adventurous
spirit, for his love of Spain.  (All right, his looks,
too).

You know who liked bullfights?  Ernest Hemingway, whose novel The Sun Also Rises is all about bullfights in Pamplona, complete with a twisted love triangle (rectangle?  pentagon?) involving a matador.  He goes into great detail describing the bulls, the bullfights, and the style of Pedro Romero, the matador remembered for his ridiculously tight pants.  (Though really all matadors have tight pants, but his are notable since they help to contrast him with protagonist Jake Barnes.  If you have no idea what I'm talking about, you can read all about it here--or better yet, read the book because it's great).

In both Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises and Esteban Echeverrías The Slaughterhouse (El Matadero, in Spanish), bulls are stand-ins for the human characters.  Symbols, if you will, usually of immense honor and courage.

Symbols are always fun to write.  They're like secret codes:  you know them, and your readers have to figure them out.  Though since I don't generally write literary fiction, most of the time I don't realize I included a symbol until I go back and revise.  Then I'm like, "Hey.  That works.  Good job, subconscious."

What's your opinion on bullfighting?  Approve or disapprove? Have you seen a bullfight?  Read The Sun Also Rises?  Thoughts on symbols?

And because I can, how about a Spanish song?  B is for "Bulería," by David Bisbal, who happens to have very bouncy hair :)  There may or may not be a bullring in this video.

A - Z Challenge: ANDALUCÍA

Andalusia in red.

Spain

Like most countries, Spain is far from uniform.  Rather, it is divided into seventeen different autonomous communities (and two independent cities located in North Africa), which work kind of like states.  (Though it's a little more complicated than that; these communities don't have as much independence as U.S. states).  Many of these autonomies used to be kingdoms before Spain became a unified nation in 1492.

I'm staying in the community of Andalusia (spelled Andalucía in Spanish), in southern Spain, the capital of which is beautiful Seville (where I live).

So what makes Andalusia unique?  Well, a lot.  I'm just going to cover the basics because otherwise, we'd get into novel territory, as far as length goes.

Seville's bullfighting stadium.  Yes, it's still in action.

When you think stereotypical Spain, you think Andalusia, whether you realize it or not.  Here is where you'll come across flamenco, bullfighting, and typical Spanish architecture.  It's also a place of immense historical importance, where you'll find:

• Archivo de Indias - the home of the paperwork regarding the conquest of the Americas.  It's lined with images and sculptures of conquistador Hernán Cortés.
• Cádiz - where revolutionaries wrote the Constitution of 1812, the first Spanish constitution.
• Ronda - Hemingway set part of his Spanish Civil War novel For Whom the Bell Tolls in this city.
• Granada - The last city to expel the Moors from Spain in 1492 during the Reconquista.  For this reason, a symbol of Ferdinand and Isabella is the granada, or the pomegranate.

The Andalusian countryside viewed from Ronda.

Writing

For those of you who don't know, my blog is mostly about finding inspiration in real life, then applying that inspiration to my fantasy world.  That is, my writing.  In a way, living in Andalusia has been one big research project.  Mostly, in terms of setting.

I'm a sucker for cool settings.  Though, I admit, I've set many a story in places like New York, Washington, D.C., and London, I much prefer more exotic places (usually within the real world).  I'd love to see more books set in Eastern Europe, North Africa and the Middle East, and especially Latin America.

Spain is a cool setting (at least in my opinion).  It's warm, it's colorful, and it has a very distinct culture that screams "¡VIVA ESPAÑA!"  But as far as books in English go, it generally takes a backseat to the U.S., U.K., France, Australia, and many other countries.  Which is actually kind of sad, considering it's the birthplace of the novel as we know it today.  Unfortunately, we English-speakers tend to forget that.

A courtyard in the Alcazar, a palace in Seville.

So for your next project, consider setting it in Spain.  If you're not sure about setting, ask yourself how important the setting is:  Does it make a difference if it's set in L.A. or Barcelona?  If your character is American or Spanish?  Obviously, it does, but that difference could be what makes your story stand out in the slushpile.  Personally, if I were an agent looking at two similar urban fantasies, both with strong characters and plots, and one was set in New York and the other in Seville, I'd choose the one in Seville, just because it's unique.  (Though I'm not an agent, so what do I know?)

Andalusia would also be a great place from which to draw inspiration for high fantasy.  Unfortunately, high fantasy is usually pretty predictable when it comes to setting.  Most of the time it's based on medieval Northern Europe, so the kingdoms that made up what is now France, Germany, and the U.K.  Stone castles, fairytale-esque villages, dense evergreen forests.

Andalusia also has castles.  Andalusia also has villages.  Andalusia also has forests--and mountains, and deserts, and beaches, and cliffs.

Only it's castles are often inspired by Islamic architecture, like the Alcazar in Seville.  Those villages, like Ronda, are sometimes situated hundreds of meters high.  And while you'll find "regular" forests, you'll also come across a ton of palm trees and oranges.  So why not pick the former kingdom of Al-Andalus as the basis for a fantasy world?  Star Wars did it.  The Plaza de España in Seville was used for scenes shot on the planet Naboo.

The list goes on.  Long story short, Andalusia is important to Spanish history and culture, despite being primarily an agricultural autonomy.  It's significantly less industrial than the rest of Spain.  Rather than huge metropolises, you'll find a sprawling countryside adorned with sunflowers, oats, barley, wheat, olives, and especially oranges.  In fact, orange trees line the streets of many Andalusian cities, including Seville
.

The Plaza de España, which was featured in Star Wars:  Episode I.

One Horrible Travel Hangover: Istanbul

If you like to look at book-related websites (like I do), chances are you've seen something like this before.  Maybe not the same image, perhaps not the same exact phrasing, but it's a common sentiment that the internet expresses well.

We've all felt this way.  You know, when we're so lost in a book, that when we look up, we're startled to find that the rest of the world isn't having the same emotional experience we are.  Sometimes the book is so powerful it gives you a whole new perspective.  In a way, it changes you, but the world around you hasn't altered one bit.

That's how I feel about my trip to Istanbul.

The Blue Mosque at night.

That moment when you come back from Istanbul, look around, and realize that everyone is just carrying on with their lives…

I've tried to explain my trip to my friends.  To my family.  I tell them what we did, where we went, our best (and worst) stories, but it isn't the same.  Words are a powerful magic, but even words cannot capture the majesty that was this sunset viewed from the Galata bridge.  The profundity of that one moment, the unspoken wonder shared between friends, the blazing emotions that consumed my entire being…

It's impossible.

The photo just doesn't capture the moment.

All week I'd been thinking about what I was going to blog about in relation to Istanbul, but all my ideas fell flat.  They wouldn't do my experience justice.  They wouldn't do the city justice.

My favorite story from the trip is that of Muhammed.  It was our last night, so we decided to end our trip by getting tea and baklava at a relatively fancy pastry shop.  Once we had finished eating, we spread our map over the table in order to review where we had been.  Upon noticing the map, our waiter, Muhammed, came over and offered to give us directions.

We started to talk to him about where he lived in Istanbul, how long he had been there, where he was from…

Syria.  Which, if you don't know, has been in turmoil for a few years.  (Click here to learn more.)

His home was destroyed.  His university was destroyed.

And all his friends are dead.

He's my age.

I tell this story, but nobody can see the expression on his face when he told us he never ever wants to go back to Syria.  When he brought us Turkish Delight, on him, against our protestations.  When he said, "America is nice, yes?  I would like to go there, but…"

The way his voice trailed off at the "but…"

That moment when you meet someone you'll never forget, look around, and realize that everyone is just carrying on with their lives, as though you didn't just experience emotional trauma at the hands of a Syrian waiter.

Left to Right:  Me, Sean, Muhammed, Natalie, Josh.
I seriously hope we meet again someday.

It really is strange that the world keeps going without acknowledging the experience, and even a few days after my return, I'm having a hard time carrying on with my life.  I simply want to sit, and remember, and think, and wonder, and ask if that really happened, and realize that it did.  It happened, and only I will ever fully understand it.

I don't even like to tell people about Istanbul anymore.  At first, I tried my hardest to make them understand.  I gave them a day-by-day play-by-play.  I showed them photos.  I found the call to prayer on YouTube and sent it to them.  But the truth is, it's something that can never be truly shared.

No matter what, nobody will ever have my same emotional experience.  Really, it's the same when reading a book.  Just as you can go to the same place, you can read the same words; but your emotional experience is entirely unique to you, and that's what makes it so darn difficult to connect with people while you're still suffering from a "book hangover," or in my case, a "travel hangover."

Have you ever had a "book hangover" or a "travel hangover," or any other type of emotional experience that left you feeling somewhat alone while the rest of the world carries on with their lives?

Barcelona: Urban Fantasy

This past weekend I once again journeyed away from Sevilla, this time flying to Barcelona, which is located in lovely Catalonia.

Casa Battló at night.

To say the least, it was a busy weekend.  We spent the better part of each day on our feet, hurrying from one architectural marvel to another, and only calling it quits after the sun set.  Yup, absolutely exhausting.  Thankfully, my friends are, well, my friends…And that means that an evening curled up  with good books while feasting on bread, cheese, chocolate and cheap champagne is just as good (probably better) as a night at a discoteca.  So we were nice and rested for the next day's adventure.

Our program guide, Antonio, introduced Barcelona as a city of fantasy and magic.  At first glance, that's a little difficult to see.  After all, Barcelona is a huge metropolitan city, complete with skyscrapers, flashy lights, and an upscale shopping district.

But that's what's special about it.  The fantastical is subtly woven into the modern city, making Barcelona a living example of urban fantasy and maybe even magic realism.

Let's take a stroll, shall we?

Casa Battló on the right.  Notice the scaled roof.

We exit the hostel and there, just a block away and standing on a perfectly normal street, is the Casa Battló, which in my opinion belongs in some sort of twisted Candyland.  The walls are supposed to look like a garden, while the balconies and columns are meant to represent bones. Kind of creepy, right?  The roof is scaled, like the back of a dragon, and the chimney is San Jorge's sword--being plunged into the dragon.

The dragon is the symbol of Barcelona, and it's everywhere (but still subtle enough that you have to look for it).

The roof of La Pedrera.

Then just a few minutes away is La Pedrera, another house by the same architect (Antoni Gaudí, the man behind all of Barcelona's most famous sites).  Again, it's a palace on a normal city block, easy to miss.  It's most interesting feature is its roof, which looks like an alien desert.

La Sagrada Familia

And of course, there's Barcelona's most famous tourist attraction:  the Sagrada Familia, a cathedral designed by Gaudí in the late nineteenth century, and is still under construction today.  It's interesting, for sure, but like most of Gaudi's work, I don't know if I'd call it gorgeous.  (Personal opinion).  To me and my writer's mind it would make an awesome palace for a villain.  I can easily imagine an evil queen standing in the tower, peering at her kingdom with disdain.


Magic and fantasy are everywhere:  in the design of the sidewalk, the fountains that dance to changing colors, the paintings that line Las Rambas.

As I said, Barcelona brings urban fantasy into the real world, so the city got me thinking about writing in the genre, especially because my WIP is, among other things, urban fantasy.

Why does it appeal to us?  What makes it special?

I'm no expert on urban fantasy (my current WIP is my first venture into it), but I might have a little insight.

In general, people like cities.  For hundreds of years we have been migrating to them, usually in search of work, or in order to escape the trials of country living.  We're naturally drawn to them, usually not because of aesthetic appeal, but because of the opportunities they offer.  Yup, cities are goldmines of opportunities, and not only in real life.  Plot and character-wise, they're invaluable.

You aren't going to find a character like this in the countryside:

Not gonna lie, this guy was probably my favorite part of the trip.  He was standing at the highest point of the Parc Güell, playing guitar in front of an elevated cross, while singing "Jesus Christ Superstar."

As for plots, cities tend to provide more opportunities for your characters to do different activities (just like in real life).  They can go to a nightclub; they can be pickpocketed on the metro; they can get lost in the slums; and so forth.

A bar in Barcelona called "Bosc de las Fades,"
which translates to "Forest of the Fairies."
Yup, it's enchanted forest themed.

For this reason, cities are prone to stories.  Real stories.  History happens everywhere, of course, but it's concentrated in the cities.  Where did the French Revolution start?  Paris.  What about the birthplace of American independence?  Philadelphia.  The conquest of Mexico?  Tenochtitlán.

But where does the fantasy part come in?  Well, cities offer opportunities, but once you throw in elements of magic, those opportunities become endless.  Absolutely anything could happen.

Of course, there's more.  Urban fantasy allows us to bring magic into our own lives.  While deep down we realize that we probably won't ever be whisked away to Middle-earth or Narnia, we can go to cities like New York.  Like London.  Like Barcelona, where it's easy to imagine magic happening all around us, though we may not be able to see it.


And no matter how childish it is, we always hold onto that hope that someday the fantastical adventure will be ours.  At least, I do.  In Tangiers I hoped to find a magic lamp.  In Rome I wanted some angels and demons (get it?).  And in Barcelona, I was just itching to fight off a dragon.

Barcelona viewed from the Parc Güell.  I can easily imagine a dragon soaring through that sky.

We like magic, so the idea that it can be threaded into modern society is highly appealing.  Which is why people come to Barcelona.  Let's face it:  you don't come to Barcelona for traditional Spanish culture.  You won't find the narrow winding streets (try Toledo), flamenco (that's Andalusian), bullfighting (it's banned in Catalonia), or even Spanish (the official language of Catalonia is Catalan).  No, people flock to Barcelona for the fantasy, for the magic.

Unfortunately, I didn't find any fairies or dragons (I guess I wasn't looking hard enough.  Or I'm just a silly muggle).  Though I'm in Istanbul this week, so you can be sure that my quest for a magic lamp will be renewed!

Enough of me!  What about you?  Have you ever been to any "magical" cities?  Or if not, which ones would you like to go to?  What are your favorite urban fantasy books?

The Dreaded Middle

Believe it or not, my life in Spain is not all fun and games.  Like any extended life experience, there are ups and downs, but this week has been the most trying yet.  I've felt emotionally unstable, both sad and stressed, and I think a lot of it has to do with the fact that I've arrived at the dreaded middle of my Study Abroad experience.

Halfway there, and as my friend put it, the honeymoon period is over.  The veil we referred to as a "new cultural experience" has somewhat lifted from our eyes.

For example:

Two months ago:  "Wow, I guess Spaniards like cold showers.  Woot!  Time for cultural immersion!"

Now:  "Uh uh.  No way.  I ain't immersing myself in anything less than 100 degrees Fahrenheit."

Don't get me wrong.  I love Spain, and I love its culture, but I'm reaching that point of mild homesickness.  What I wouldn't pay for a steak.  For a cup of real American coffee.  For a snuggle session with my kitty.

Yes, the middle stretch is always the most difficult, whether studying abroad, running a 5k, or writing a novel.  It's when the fun starts to wane a bit, when you suddenly realize, "Hey, this is actually hard work."

As for writing, maybe you don't know how to move forward.  Maybe your characters are getting on your nerves.  Or maybe you're just sick and tired of everything; all you want to do is get to the end.  But just as I can't fast forward to the end of my semester (not that I want to), you can't jump to the end of your manuscript.

So how do you push through the dreaded middle?  How do you make it to the end?

Everyone has their own methods, but I have something I like to call a driving scene.  It's one scene toward the end of the story, though not necessarily the climax, that I envision over and over again, so eager am I to write it.  But I don't.  Not until it's time.  Because if I write it to, say, get it out of my system, then it's free.  It's no longer driving me.  But when I keep it bottled up, it pulls me forward, dangling in front of me as a reward for perseverance.

Sometimes I describe it in one sentence or paragraph, as it would stand in a synopsis.  For example, the one for my drawer novel was, "The last grain of sand falls and the hourglass shatters."  That's not even a scene; it's just one image, and to anyone who isn't me, it probably doesn't mean anything.  But I know the details, so for me, it's powerful enough to pull me through however many chapters precede it.  Anyway, I'll take that driving scene sentence and scribble it into my notebook, or paste it above my desk, so it can act as a beacon toward my final goal.

My drawing is about as good as my singing (so not good), but sometimes I'll sketch the scene, too, and put that drawing where it will encourage me to keep going.

I have a driving scene for everything I write, even short works.  In fact, it's such a part of my writing process that I've even come to apply it to my outside life.  For example, I have a driving scene for this whole Study Abroad experience.  It's different than looking forward to something; when I just look forward to something, it's hazy, vague.  No, this is a clear image.  One image, and though I doubt it'll play out exactly as I have it in my head, it's the image I envision whenever I'm feeling down.

It's greeting my family at the airport in Barcelona, after not having seen them in six months.

Arte como arma / Art as a Weapon

Ladies and gents, I give you my new catchphrase:  "arte como arma," or in English, "art as a weapon".  If you're wondering why it's in Spanish, it's because I first read it in Spanish.  No, unfortunately I can't take credit for it :(

I'm enrolled in a course at my university called "Seville and the Community."  Essentially, it's a class about social and political issues in Spain:  homelessness, poverty, poor education, etc.  This week I gave a fifteen-minute oral presentation on "arte como arma," and in the middle of my powerpoint, realized, "Hey, this isn't just for a grade.  I actually have something interesting to say about this."

Before I begin, what exactly do I mean by art?  Well, everything:  painting, sculpture, drawing, carpentry, fashion, music, dance, poetry, prose…

My basic argument:  art is great for recreation, but it can also be used as a weapon against hardship, whether that hardship is poverty, depression, social exclusion, unemployment, etc.  Of course, it isn't going to do away with these issues:

Art is a spiritual expression, an activity that generates joy, entertainment, and knowledge.  A poem, a song, a play, surely cannot change reality or defeat misery, but it can act as a tool through which people can express their experiences, their stories, and aspire to better lives.  This is what's called social art. - La Gaceta [translated from Spanish]

OK, social art.  Basically, it's a way to cope with suffering:  through self expression.  However, I'm not sure if I completely agree with the above quote.  Is it true that art cannot change reality or defeat misery?

I asked this question during my presentation and it generated a little bit of debate.  Most people argued that art itself cannot change reality, but it can inspire people to change reality.

Well, of course.  If people start munching on oil paintings in an attempt to end hunger, then we have a bigger problem than we thought.

I asked for some examples of art that has changed reality.  Unfortunately, we were a little short in this area, so maybe La Gaceta has a point.  But how about Uncle Tom's Cabin, which changed the United States' view on slavery leading up to the Civil War?

Whether art changes reality or not, it's still a way to lessen the pain of hardship:

Art is a solution.  It's a sign of culture, and culture is what gives comfort in the face of the certainty of chaos and the forcefulness of the horrors that have been occurring for a long time.  Culture is an analgesic, not an anesthetic.  Culture is what provides serenity in the face of disaster. - Laura Fleischer, El arte como herramienta de intervención social [translated from Spanish]

So, culture to cope with disaster.  Sounds about right.  We were able to come up with more examples for this, like:

• The Golden Age of Hollywood - The Golden Age of Hollywood began in the late 1920s, around the same time as the Great Depression.  Though people struggled to put bread on the table, they didn't often begrudge a trip to the movies.   The escapist films of the 1930s offered comfort to a society in crisis.
• "A Modest Proposal" - Jonathan Swift's satiric essay deals with poverty and famine in Ireland during the early eighteenth century (the potato famine came later).  He uses grotesque humor to point out society's problems, and if there's any one way to cope with hardship, it's humor.  If you're interested, you can read the whole text here.
• Guernica - Arguably Pablo Picasso's most famous painting, Guernica came as a result of a bombing during the Spanish Civil War.  It was put on display at the 1937 World's Fair, thereby bringing the War international attention.
• Slave culture - Slaves in the Americas used song and dance, usually with African or Native American influences, to help cope with the hardships of slavery and preserve their own cultural identity.

Guernica, by Pablo Picasso

But it's not just that art provides a coping mechanism; rather, there are tangible results, believe it or not. A twelve-year national study showed that underprivileged students who are involved in the arts generally have a higher success rates:  they achieve more after high school graduation, they do more volunteer work, and they participate in politics.

So why did I choose this topic?  And now, it's not because, as a writer, I strongly believe in the power of words (though that's true, too).

It's because of Polígono Sur, the neighborhood in which I teach English.  Essentially, Polígono Sur is a chabolismo, or as we would call it, a slum.  As one of the poorest areas in Sevilla, it has a reputation for crime, a reputation that's only augmented by its large gypsy population.

This fence in Polígono Sur is very close to my English class.

But damn, does Polígono Sur have art!

I'm talking flamenco.  Not touristy flamenco, either, with the main goal being to entertain.  No, this isn't some sort of spectacle.  It's intensely personal, an expression of human emotions through music and dance; yet at the same time, it's communal.  It brings people together, and as long as the flamenco lasts, those people are one cohesive group.  They celebrate together, struggle together, survive together.

It's how they cope with poverty.  With drug abuse.  With the stigma associated with their community and their culture, especially if they're gypsies.  By pouring their emotions into flamenco.

If you're interested in seeing flamenco in Polígono Sur, you can check out this documentary.  Even if you don't know a lick of Spanish, you'll be able to see what I'm talking about within the first ten minutes:

Now to wrap up, I'll leave you with one of my favorite quotes:

We don't read and write poetry because it's cute.  We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race.  And the human race is filled with passion.  And medicine, law, business, engineering…These are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life.  But poetry, beauty, romance, love…These are what we stay alive for. - Dead Poet's Society

What do you think?  Can art be used as a weapon against hardship?  Can art change reality?  Can you think of any examples in which art has changed reality?  How about when culture has helped cope with disaster?