This is a series of tweets I wrote early this morning. I finished Reality Boy and it killed me. It kills me, when people have families and friends who just don't care. I still read their stories because often they're so beautiful, but it makes my heart hurt.
We're all searching to find our people in life, and that's what so much of YA is about: figuring out that our parents and hometowns don't have to be our only people, or even our people at all, and setting out to find those who truly understand us.
There's an article sitting on my desk right now that my mom gave me when she visited last week. It's about intimacy as viewed from a religious and romantic standpoint, but she also talked about it in terms of emotional intimacy with friends and family. I haven't read the article yet, but I know what she's talking about. That is the reason I read YA.
Recently, my thoughts are always all over the place about everything. When I think anything, it gets connected to literally everything else I'm interested in. An article about Amazon is something I can easily connect to code-switching (linguistics) or the feminist movement. In my brain, everything is related and it's easy. But spewing it all out in words is hard.
Reality Boy was a great book. I liked it a little less than King's Ask the Passengers, but it was still definitely worth pulling an all-nighter for.
(Reality Boy was checked out via my college town's eLibrary system.)
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