Camp Counselor-hood (The Soundtrack, at Least)

Book revisions look a little different this time around—mood-wise, at least. Let's keep it giddy, y'all.

Published January 27, 2025

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In case you're new here, I wrote a literary, speculative Southern Gothic novel that takes place at a summer camp. It's atmospheric and layered and striking (in my opinion), but a priority of the narrative for me was this sensation of earned contrast, with particular "larger-than-life" and "cinematic" flavor that mimics what I loved about my summers spent in western North Carolina, both as a camper and counselor.

Because the main goal of the main character is to be able to return the next summer after aging out of foster care, I definitely wanted to show not tell why she loves it so much and how much it makes her feel like herself—or at least her favorite version. So even when the narrative got dark and twisty, I still got to show the contrast: humor, lightness, giddiness. Some of the ridiculousness that comes with herding a crowd of children for weeks straight.

I'd say most people would probably get the impression I'm a pretty serious person (which, yeah) but if you don't see the light/playful side, you're not seeing enough of me either. Such is the beauty of a parasocial relationship.

Or, in person, maybe you're typecasting too much—self-fulfilling prophecy, what you call people is what they become, etc,. I'm a wallflower, for the most part, but that is not all of me either.

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Being a camp counselor sort of forced me into a version of myself that was goofier and more extroverted (which is also why a thread running through my book, Mountain Sounds, sort of interrogates how much of consciously taking on a specific persona is a performance versus this "every you, every me" capacity to be multiple versions of yourself. Can you actually "fake it 'til you make it" or is that fake? Thought follows action, as philosophers and neuroscience both state.)

In my fond, counselor way: that was one of the major beauties of being a summer camp counselor in a culture that prioritized kindness. There were few better feelings than seeing a shy or sad kiddo open up and feel fully loved and welcome to be whatever version of themselves they wanted (corny but true.) It's an extremely pure happiness.

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farm nights

I'd like to think I was decent at striking that balance for campers because I, by default, am pretty quiet and independent, and love that core of myself. So me encouraging someone to feel comfortable indulging another part of their personality wasn't out of any pressure for them to be any different—just that they could feel free being a little more open if they wanted to lean into that side.

Camp is a good time to try out or lean into different parts of yourself without judgment (oh gosh, here I go getting sappy again.) I'm just as happy to wallflower and still needed so much time to recharge alone during the margins of camp sessions, but could also appreciate how good it felt to throw myself into a less-comfortable (but ultimately fulfilling) other mode.

My then-boyfriend said maybe I should work with kids for my career because I lit up so much during the summers, and I appreciated the thought. Ultimately, I'm so meant to be an author and journalist, but I'd like to think that version of myself is at least something to look forward to someday if I have the luck of being a mom at some point. I do love a lot about working with kids and do it now in my own way, but that's another post; even now, I'd love to find an opportunity in Waialua or on-island to volunteer, and have looked for an opportunity like teaching art, book clubs, etc,.

Also, it reminds me exactly how young I was when I started this blog—as a thirteen-year-old—and how lucky I was that nobody was condescending about it, because Words Like Silver only evolved this way because I was allowed to treat it with the same gravity that adults did for their own projects.

Treating kids like actual, real, multidimensional people instead of placeholders for adults—that's a huge aspect of the characterization behind my protagonist, Tatum. Even when she goes through hell—she's narrating Southern Gothic fiction, so of course she does—she's always just so thrilled and happy to see that magic. She sees the kids. She's there for them as Head Counselor. She's a better self for others, whereas when she's too focused on her own problems, she gets too internal in a way she doesn't like—but, of course, there is a line between being generous versus refusing to let in anyone else. This gal struggles with hyperindependence.

Studies show we feel better about ourselves when we do good, when we're kind and generous and all. And plenty of books worry over whether that's selfish in itself—whether we're aiming for goodness "for the right reasons" and whether that matters. But I digress. That's a conversation for another time. (Honestly, the main reason I want my book out despite my Sisyphean pursuit of a deal and life goal: I want to "book club" it with others so badly, because I built so much into it.)

Anyway, I'm Getting Off Topic—But I'm Summoning Camp Counselor Energy for This Final Push

Last year when revising the end of the novel—what I'm poring over now—I made the mistake of listening to a Dark Night of the Soul playlist (named for the traditional storytelling beat that the moment corresponded to.) I crowd-sourced the saddest songs from friends and readers and absolutely put myself in a stupid funk by listening to that for the maybe 30-hour sprint it took me to make that particular book fix.

But music affects your mood. As much as I love my angsty mountain music playlist for revisions, it did put me into a bit of a downer phase that was difficult to shake. Frankly, I'm in a better mood when I'm listening to happier music—which studies support.

So this time, I'm trying something different: I'm only listening to the giddy songs that capture the other side of camp. Mountain Sounds will get eerie and dark and lush without me having to put myself in that funk, and I've been reading a lot about the ways in which music and emotion interact.

On a craft level, I have thoughts to share about how music fuels creativity backed up by studies on abstract thinking, mood, etc,. that have given a lot of concrete weight to these instinctual truths I knew about why listening helped my writing so much.

But right now, all you need to know is that I've been majorly leaning into my camp counselor energy, musically, to remember the why behind Tatum and the book itself. One of the hardest aspects of writing this particular book has been holding onto the light, hope, kindness, etc,. even as the plot itself gets tense and emotional.

Recently, I've been thinking a lot about moments of grace and how we often default to assuming the strong character has to harden or get bitter in order to be tough. Tatum's a bit of the opposite; she's too closed-down, and a lot of her internal arc is about the paradoxical exhaustion of people telling her to be more vulnerable when her strength for so long has been solely dependent on her own self-reliance. I'd like to think I've made her characterization—especially in relation to others—very nuanced, because there is no one "right" way to get through anything, and it's incredibly frustrating to have other people tell you your version is wrong when your sense of self is based on it too.

People like to ask me how similar I am to my main character and the answer is extremely, but I actually think I gave at least one significant flaw of mine to each character within the main cast as a way of balancing it all out. (I'll talk about that later.)

Right now, I have two main writing/personal struggles that "echo" the end of the book. This decision to listen only to camp counselor tunes instead of moody mountain music is really helping with each:

  1. Keeping the narrative from losing that necessary brightness that makes up the sensation and meaning of camp itself. Place as character, baby. Earned contrast. Why would she do it otherwise?
  2. Reminding ME that I don't have to tank my mood when I work on the dark night of the soul moment. Obviously, writing is a kind of catharsis, and there's a common refrain that "no tears in the writer, no tears in the reader." But I have thrown so much hurt into this narrative already; I don't need to do that to myself again just because I'm tinkering with the harshest parts of the book. I follow a similar arc to Tatum at the moment—trucking through it alone, and so close to what I really want. You could call me a...method writer.

This book is a very long time in the works, and for a lot of the last year, that's felt like inescapable weight. But it's also the privilege of my life so far, a huge source of joy and confidence, and such a beautiful, beautiful tribute to the factors that have gotten me here. So I'm really trying to hold onto how wonderful that is without getting bogged down in the angst of it all. What a stunning thing. I'm really experiencing such awe over it while wrapping it up for the moment, which is probably a sign that I did the right thing, even when it's killed me.

So my book soundtrack at the moment is Ben Rector, (old) Justin Bieber, any song that belonged on the backing of a Y2K sleepover movie, etc,. Linking some below.

Camp counselor-hood — The Playlist

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Let's see if this Spotify embed works, shall we? To paint you a portrait: XXXL t-shirt, braids, friendship bracelets, coffee that hasn't quite kicked in yet, throwback JoJo on the speaker. (I'd be curious what my neighbors think.) Either way, this version of revision is so much better than my lil' Dark Night moments that have accompanied some of the deeper, emotional revisions. This one's all about edges and contrast and packaging—so the draft I'm ending with feels a lot sharper and more dynamic.

If you had to put it in a single word, writing a book is just endless distilling.

But here's the playlist I'm listening to as I finish up—also, I'm really showing my age here. Nowadays, the camp soundtrack probably looks a bit different. And yeah, they're meant to be appropriate for ages seven-ish and up so just embrace the corniness. You'll have a whole lot more fun that way.

Some notable songs:

  • About You Now — Sugababes
  • Lip Gloss — Lil Mama
  • Bottoms Up — Keke Palmer
  • Leave (Get Out) — JoJo
  • Wide Open Spaces — The Chicks
  • Shower — Becky G
  • Beautiful Soul — Jesse McCartney
  • You & I — One Direction
  • Somebody to Love — Justin Bieber
  • Love on Top — Beyoncé
  • Best Love Song — T-Pain, Chris Brown
  • Pretty Girl Rock — Keri Hilson
  • I Wanna Dance with Somebody — Whitney Houston
  • Man! I Feel Like a Woman! — Shania Twain
  • The Beat — Ben Rector
  • I've Always Loved You — Third Day
  • Classic — MKTO
  • 4ever — The Veronicas
  • Shallow — Bradley Cooper, Lady Gaga
  • Shawty Get Loose — Lil Mama, Chris Brown
  • Unwritten — Natascha Bedingfield
  • etc,.

Bonus anecdote: as a camp counselor, I taught ceramics, woodworking, dance, archery, etc,. depending on the summer. And one of the prides of my life is the choreography we did one year to Lizzo's Truth Hurts. The way we cracked up when the girls hit the move for the lyrics, "It's okay, he already in my DMs." I cried laughing with my co-counselor in the back of the rec lodge.

I've also been really into my old country roots lately. I'm from Florida—which, yes, is the South, at least how I was raised. So I've been wearing the boots, craving a night line-dancing, listening to the artists I grew up hearing on the radio driving around in high school. And that feels really similarly good. More on that another time.

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the 2017 cabin
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my friend Andrea and I in our Sunday uniform <3
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lakefront

The Angsty Playlist, If You're Going to Be Like That

I won't embed Dark Night of the Soul directly, because y'all shouldn't be doing that to yourselves.



1.

"'I'm not myself,' she offered . . . He smiled. 'You can never say that. You're just a piece of yourself right now that you don't like.'" — Jodi Lynn Anderson, Tiger Lily.

2.

Mind in Motion: How Action Shapes Thought by Barbara Tversky.

3.

Surprisingly Happy to Have Helped: Underestimating Prosociality Creates a Misplaced Barrier to Asking for Help is possibly my favorite study of all time.

4.

This Is What It Sounds Like: What the Music You Love Says About You by Dr. Susan Rogers and Ogi Ogas.

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