I Am Not John Green

I have been guilty of one through ten on the list RIGHT at one point or another, resulting in me figuratively banging my head against the wall.

We artists are sensitive folk, aren't we? This is one of the many reasons I write: to exorcise these demons. I know that I am not alone, but I do applaud those of you who are above not doing anything on this list.

Comparisons are odious - William Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing

Indeed.

My latest crime against myself is wishing that I were John Green. (I wish that my name would extract ecstatic sighs from people the way his does - oh ego, how dost thou mock me!)  I compare myself to him because we are both obsessed with the meaning of life, yet he unravels his thoughts in a way that is glib and sarcastic while I do . . . not. He is a master of dialogue, and shows me where I need to focus my practice. My dialogue is awkwardly sweet. I am "normal" funny, whereas he is "gifted" funny. He is a "nerdfighter" whereas my demons are . . . different.

But there's only one John Green.

I picked up a copy of his latest book yesterday, The Fault in Our Stars, and I felt as if John were in the room with me. Why aren't I as cool as he is? Because for all of his "nerdiness", I got to hang out with him at LeakyCon in Orlando last July when we were on some panels together, and let me tell you, he is HOT, people. He's the real deal. I wish that I could say that he's a big faker and be done with it. But I can't, because he really IS all that and a bag of chips. And he would be the first one to tell me NOT to compare myself to him. (DFTBA: Don't Forget to be Awesome!)

Comparisons are odious.

First of all, I am not a dude, I don't live in Indiana, and I don't have a brother named Hank. We'll just stop there.

So tell me, Léna. Who are you? I preach what I need to hear - that everybody's voice has value, that there is nothing original under the sun save for our uniqueness and authenticity.

I had best be leaving John Green to John Green, and revel in my own Léna-ness. Nobody wants me to be him. Y'all want me to be myself, don't you? As I want you to find your you-ness as well.

Now hopefully my blogging has served it's purpose: I can go back to being an adoring John Green fan, finish his latest literary tour de force (with his own Shakespearean nod to Julius Caesar) and kick the green-eyed monster to the curb.

I heart you John, I really do.