EA Blevins - Author

Information
+ Author
+ Bibliography
+ Blog (wordpress)
+ Contact
+ Credentials
+ Editors
Entertainment
+ Fiction
+ Nonfiction
+ Fan Fiction
+ Drawing
+ Reading List
Interactive
+ Contests
+ Polls
+ Store
Site
+ FAQ
+ Link Buttons
+ Skins / Layouts
Home

visitors
View Statistics

About EA Blevins
I feel a little awkward saying "About the AUTHOR" when I'm not an author yet. But if you can forgive me that one thing, I'll tell you stuff... about me, I guess.
I've always been a daydreamer. When I was in first grade, I imagined a unicorn running alongside the schoolbus to keep me company on my way to and from school. One time I missed my stop because I was too busy paying attention to the horse in my head.
I lost the unicorn when I got older, but I kept daydreaming. I wasn't even present for a large chunk of high school -- I was off in my own world filled with reading and writing (and anime). When other girls busied themselves finding boyfriends, I poked my head out of the clouds long enough to get a crush or two, maybe go to the movies with my friends, but a lot of my freshman year didn't even register.
My junior year, I took a writing class in New Orleans. It was supposed to be fancy and prestigious and like the southern Juilliard or something.
I loved my classmates. Deeply. I felt accepted among them in a way I wasn't at my high school -- we started in the program at the same time, and we bonded. I loved my friends from high school, but it was different. I considered my writing class a kind of private utopia. But. When our part-time teacher left, we got to spend more time with the full-time teachers, Richard and Gisleson. And they didn't like me.
Which I found baffling. From day one, I tried to be a good student and offer them the respect and consideration due them as teachers. I've never in my life had a teacher dislike me. Be indifferent, maybe. But never dislike.
I honestly think it was because they didn't understand me at all. I wanted to write fantasy. I was a Christian. And, the kiss of death, Republican.
Writers are supposed to delve into the psyches of people different than them, but I think they never, not once, understood anything about me. Especially because, in a student-teacher conference, they used my classmates against me.
It was the worst thing they could have done.
It crushed me.
Sent me reeling.
All they wanted was to make me speak up more in writing workshops. But what Gisleson said was "Your fellow students are frustrated with you."
Frustrated.
With me.
WHAT?!
My interpretation of that statement was "Your fellow students are unhappy with you but are pretending that they aren't. They aren't close enough to you to ask you to be more aggressive with their work. And your little utopia? Yeah, we're shattering it with a sledgehammer. Tough luck, kid. You should really learn not to be so sensitive."
They destroyed my equilibrium that night. Not a little tip in either direction -- my internal balance ceased to be. I spent years afterward trying to understand what happened, and why I reacted so badly, and even if anything happened at all. Because I honestly didn't know, it was so subtle, so many little things they nitpicked.
The worst thing about it? It was halfway through the year, and I quit. I chose to break my own heart, leaving my classmates. And I would do it again. Because it wasn't about my hurt feelings or showing anybody a lesson. I couldn't see those teachers again while I was trying to figure out what the hell happened. I couldn't take the chance that they'd make it worse, or that I'd supress it and have to dig it up forty years later in therapy.
I stopped obsessing the day I realized they'd laugh at me if they knew it still bothered me. I conclude now that they were arrogant nitwits who didn't like me because they didn't get me, and they were lousy teachers for it. Gisleson had no idea what she was saying, except that it ended up manipulating the hell out of me, and I reacted very badly to it. It was like using a bomb to squish a roach. It was overkill. And it shoved me out of that class in spite of my love for everyone in it.
That conflict with them is why I'm confident about my own writing now. It's why I don't put up with arrogant people or discouragement. Because they tried, directly or indirectly, to bend me to what they wanted out of a writing student, out of a writer. And it shaped a lot of my current concerns and prejudices as a writer.
In college, I got back into writing classes and workshops and it was nice. My class at NOCCA prepped me to progress quickly at workshops. I developed a critiquing style that could satisfy even the picky R&G, but it was one I felt comfortable using. I wasn't just a jerk who could spot a problem -- I was able to be a sensitive human offering solutions.
These days, I'm married and working up north with hubby Alex. He supports my writing as my main employment and doesn't mind that I'm a little of an oddball or that I'm mildly obsessed with our cat. He likes puns, soccer, programming, and snuggles. He works from home, so we see each other all the time, but we're both quiet and give each other space, so we can be in the same room for hours and not go crazy. We're both a bit lazy, but we're fairly tidy and do chores when they need doing. And he listens to my half-baked story ideas and tells me they're wonderful, which I appreciate very much. ^-^
We play World of Warcraft with friends and family from all over the country. The game takes away from my writing time, but it's a wonderful way to keep in touch with people we love.
My father is a minister with health problems, and my mother used to be a BeautiControl consultant but now works with the Core of Engineers in New Orleans, helping with the rebuilding. My brilliant brother, my childhood role model, is a minister and studying nursing up north, and his snuggly wife works in the administrative part of health care.
I love my family. I love my friends. And I love God. They've all been good to me.