Tuesday, October 4, 2011
I Wasn't a Teenage Cougar
It seems like in the last year I've read a few YA books where I've gotten just the tiniest bit annoyed with the very adult like actions/attitudes of the MC. Whether it's an almost cougar like "come and get me" approach to a first sexual encounter or a voice and wisdom that I can only envision unfolding from the heart and mind of a life-lessons-learned 40 year old--Basically, I'm having a hard time hanging on to the idea that these characters are only 16. Consequently I spend too much time thinking, "she wouldn't do that." or "she wouldn't know that." or "she wouldn't say that." Tiny annoying thoughts that act like interruptions in the story.
AND I HATE FOR A STORY TO BE INTERRUPTED. Especially by my own stupid interjections folks. I mean, come on, I read to escape the never-ending commentary constantly cartwheeling through my brain. Let's not encourage it.
Maybe it was just me, but a ton of things scared the crap out of me as a teen, no matter how much I may have acted otherwise. I don't care how many demons you've faced or how many werewolves you've loved, when you're sixteen, you're sixteen. And isn't that part of the beauty of reading the genre in the first place? Remember when the thought of holding a guys hand, sitting next to him in the dark, even catching his eye at lunch was enough to basically launch you into orbit?
I realize that many of us are long married now to that guy (or gal) with whom we feel so comfortable with we can practically read their minds before they've even considered the thought you know they're about to have. But when you were a teen, the very idea of co mingling private body parts was not something to be considered, decided and acted upon in the space of a single chapter.
Wasn't sex terrifying, exhilarating, momentous and even a little (or a lot) sad for you?
At least the first time?