Remember magic (or, holy freaking wow)

I should absolutely be sleeping right now -- or at least TRYING to sleep -- but no. I ramble more when I'm super-extra tired like this. I apologize in advance.

So, I think it's safe to say that Saturday through Monday were pretty horrible. In fact, I think it's safe to say those three days were the worst since Mom died. And, since Monday, it's been getting to me. I kept thinking about how I seem to always have to relearn every lesson a dozen times. For example:

1. Don't forget to be awesome
   
2. Keep working on love
   
3. Do not give up on the things you want before you even try to get them
4. Do not let fear stand in the way of happiness
5. Do not leave so many things unsaid
6. Take the time to tell people what they mean to you, to make sure they know
7. Do NOT -- UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES -- like your life out loud

And the crappy stuff of those three days has made it hard to focus on the amazingly good things that have happened recently -- an agent showing at least preliminary interest in my book, incredible support from my two AMAZING writing partners -- and, oh yeah, getting to see Neil Gaiman.

I. Love. Neil Gaiman.

He's my favorite writer. I have a postcard from him (which he sent in response to a letter I sent blaming him for being semi-stalked by a very creepy guy at a roller derby fundraiser three years ago) that I keep matted and framed on the wall by my computer. (This probably makes ME sound like a semi-stalker, but really, I just think anything looks better matted and framed.)

Weeks ago, my friend Kate got tickets for us to see Neil, and even as we drove to New Hampshire tonight to get to the event, I was saying that it made me sad that I wasn't more excited, that all the yucky stuff of the last week or so was killing my joyful anticipation of seeing Neil Gaiman IN PERSON.

I call the people who have participated in the Misadventures with Box o'Ma my partners in awesome, because it's way better than a partner in crime (and, hey, we don't break any laws with Box o'Ma) and Kate has been my super-duper partner in awesome, having been on more misadventures than anyone. Our first misadventure together was when we took Box o'Ma to meet John Green last year. And so, it seemed only appropriate to bring Box o'Ma to see Neil Gaiman, too. (Plus, I've been wanting to hit every New England state and now all that's left is Rhode Island -- which should be done July 4 -- and Vermont.)

We got to Portsmouth and got a weensy bit lost in the rain. (Thank goodness I had the foresight to wear the one semi-padded bra I own today so as to keep my white t-shirt from going completely see-through. Another lesson relearned for the zillionth time: Always check the weather forecast before embarking on an adventure. Sheesh.) It was a fancy little theater* (the kind that should probably be spelled the British way -- especially since we were there to see a British man speak -- but I like the American way better).

I got my New Hampshire misadventure picture, the band played, the lights dimmed, and out walked Neil Gaiman. He was funny (well, duh) and engaging. He read three excerpts from American Gods, which was published 10 years ago last week. Then he answered questions.

During the Q&A, he talked about American Gods and gods in general and folktales. He talked about how stories matter and how people matter. He talked about Jack stories in England and how they migrated into Appalachia with settlers who passed down the same stories, but stripped them of their magic. He said it was remarkable that the same stories were still being told in both places and that they were still good, funny, smart stories, but that the Americanized ones lacked magic. He said Americans are practical.

It's funny, because I often say that "I'm nothing if not practical." But it made me sad to think that those stories lost their magic here. Many people have described me as having a significant amount of childlike wonder. Several people have gone so far as to say that my sense of wonder is one of my most endearing qualities. (I like to think so....) I believe in magic.

Toward the end of the Q&A, the radio hostess that was interviewing Neil made a point of saying that one of the big themes in American Gods is that if you believe in something hard enough, it becomes real.

And I think this is why Neil is my favorite writer: the magic, the belief, the believing. I love that those things exist in his stories and that they make me feel like anything is possible and that there are amazing things to discover in this world.

Sitting there, I remembered these very short folktales a friend of mine gave me to read recently, and how barely six pages of words had left this deep impression on me for the same reason: the magic, the belief, the believing -- the possibility.

Which makes me hope.

I had three really miserable days scrunched together. I am worn out and tired and stressed out and still reeling from it all. And yet, I also feel this renewed sense of hope after spending just under two hours in a room listening to my favorite writer talk about lost deities and the writing process and submarines...and magic.

Never forget the magic.

(Please note, however, that this is NOT me liking my life. My life and I are still on very tumultuous terms. I just feel a bit better is all.)




*The cherubs were a bit creepy, though.