Today's guest blogger, Tonya Hurley, is a filmmaker, screenwriter, and director, as well as the bestselling author of GHOSTGIRL and its sequel, GHOSTGIRL: HOMECOMING. Below she discusses how a trip back home rekindled some old insecurities from her teen years, and reflects on how much --- or how little --- things have changed since.
I recently went back to my hometown of Uniontown, Pennsylvania, outside of Pittsburgh, to do a book appearance at my old high school and middle school for my latest novel, GHOSTGIRL: HOMECOMING. In the new book, ‘homecoming’ means several different things for the ghostgirl character, Charlotte Usher, and it did for me too. For one thing, it was a literal homecoming since I decided to stay with my Mom in the house I grew up in for the entire visit. Even though this wasn’t a holiday trip filled with family obligations, I still had mixed feelings about being ‘home.’
It wasn’t my first time back, but I’m not a very frequent visitor these days either so small changes in the town, the school, the neighborhood and my one-time neighbors seemed huge. On the way to the appearances, I found myself noticing things that had only barely registered before --- an overgrown front yard here, peeling paint on house shingles there, yellowing curtains in a kitchen window, the hunch in a next door neighbor’s back, the unsteady gait on a once-spry spaniel that used to chase my car down the street. All the real-life evidence of time passing. I looked over at my Mom in the passenger seat and laughed a little to myself. Now, I was driving her to school. Ironically, however, being home didn’t force me to notice or acknowledge changes in my surroundings or in others nearly so much as they did changes in myself. I was very different now.
As we pulled into the school parking lot, those mixed feelings I’d been nursing turned almost to panic. It would feel good to see a lot of the people I graduated with as well as some of the teachers that I had, and of course, my extended family whom I love dearly; but, I also felt that same twinge of nerves --- like I didn’t fit, but on a more grandiose level. I even felt a little guilty, since most of the time I’d attended school here was spent dreaming about leaving. Whether it’s the fact that I have lived in New York City so long and have made my living as a writer had a lot to do with it, but it stirred up even those old feelings of insecurity and doubt.
Out of nowhere, I recalled the day I showed up with purple hair and a fauxhawk. I fel
t liberated and really enjoyed all the confused faces that I left in my wake. It wasn’t easy --- I don’t want to give that impression. Quite the contrary. My stomach was in my throat. In my town, people just didn’t do this. It was almost as if I had snapped. But, it felt good. I didn’t have to try and fit in anyway and I was letting the world --- well, at least everyone at Laurel Highlands High School --- know it. Now, the outside of me was reflecting my love of music and going to see alternative and punk bands every weekend and I felt, for the first time, comfortable with myself. I even enjoyed people making fun of me. In fact, I tried to push the envelope every day with my outrageous outfits, changing my hair color as often as I changed my moods. It felt good. I suffered for so long and now, now I was myself. In my town back then, no one even thought about coloring their hair, let alone wearing the clothes that I did. It was like I was dressing for a performance every day, expressing myself any way I wanted. I will be honest, I did get ostracized and made fun of, and yes, it hurt. One thing is for sure --- I didn’t want to fit in back then, and I still don’t. I started thinking maybe I’m not all that different at all.
We approached the highschool/middle school complex and I looked it over like an old acquaintance you might see in the grocery store. Tentatively. Apart from a few architectural nips and tucks it was very much the same, except for the metal detectors standing guard at the door, a not-so-subtle reminder of even bigger changes since my days there. I passed through without incident and was greeted by a group of student leaders and faculty, many still-familiar faces, though I hadn’t seen them in years. The entourage grew as we walked down the hall to the gymnasium, stopping occasionally for hugs and handshakes, me smiling through my anxiety. I could hear the tell-tale buzz and chatter that leaked out into the hall as it always does before an assembly is about to start. I’d heard it many times before, except now it was for me.
The 600+ crowd grew silent as I was introduced, and I felt myself being looked over just as I’d scrutinized the school building. But as the applause and cheers rang out, from people I’d known forever and people I didn’t know at all, I felt such a sense of acceptance and support. Welcomed. My anxiety melted away as I saw the pride in the eyes of family and friends and teachers. I came to the microphone and started my little motivational chat about ‘believing in yourself and living your dreams’ and it suddenly had new meaning for me. The students were excited to ask questions about the ghostgirl books and my career as a writer, and I was excited to answer them. “Anything is possible,” I kept reminding the eager faces in the bleachers and it never seemed more true to me.
I’d always imagined my ambitions and dreams as an escape route, and to a great degree they were, but it turns out they were also a way back.
-- Tonya Hurley
