if there is a woman in your life, you need to read this

IF YOU ARE UNDERAGE, PLEASE TALK TO YOUR PARENTS BEFORE READING THIS.

Thanks to Paul for pointing this out. Read the full article here. Caveat emptor: It will probably turn your stomach.

A few significant quotes:

"In India, a 'bride burning' takes place approximately once every two hours, to punish a woman for an inadequate dowry or to eliminate her so a man can remarry — but these rarely constitute news. When a prominent dissident was arrested in China, we would write a front-page article; when 100,000 girls were kidnapped and trafficked into brothels, we didn’t even consider it news."

"The global statistics on the abuse of girls are numbing. It appears that more girls and women are now missing from the planet, precisely because they are female, than men were killed on the battlefield in all the wars of the 20th century. The number of victims of this routine 'gendercide' far exceeds the number of people who were slaughtered in all the genocides of the 20th century."

"Our interviews and perusal of the data available suggest that the poorest families in the world spend approximately 10 times as much (20 percent of their incomes on average) on a combination of alcohol, prostitution, candy, sugary drinks and lavish feasts as they do on educating their children (2 percent). If poor families spent only as much on educating their children as they do on beer and prostitutes, there would be a breakthrough in the prospects of poor countries. Girls, since they are the ones kept home from school now, would be the biggest beneficiaries."

"Yet another reason to educate and empower women is that greater female involvement in society and the economy appears to undermine extremism and terrorism. ...Indeed, some scholars say they believe the reason Muslim countries have been disproportionately afflicted by terrorism is not Islamic teachings about infidels or violence but rather the low levels of female education and participation in the labor force."

--Nicholas D. Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn
"The Women's Crusade"
N.Y. Times
August 17, 2009

on my way to bed, i read something that irks me

I haven't looked into this any further, but the headline caught my eye.

"Brazilian researchers: Tick saliva may contain cure for cancer."

Of course. It would.

Gah.

Yes, I'll be thrilled if it's true.

But have I mentioned how much I LOATHE ticks?

*sigh*

two items of interest (maybe)

First, if you have any interest in language, linguistics, humor, or speaking, you need to read this. Thanks goes to Nate for pointing it out to me and making this linguistics-obsessed cousin's day. ;oD This poem makes me so happy, I could just do the potato wave.

Second, early Thursday afternoon, a cop pulled me over while I was driving north on Penn between Britton and Hefner. My first thought was that I must have been speeding--though I was pretty sure I couldn't have been going more than 36 or 37 in a 35mph zone.

I pulled off at a gas station, and even though I knew I hadn't done anything spectacularly terrible, my heartrate started going up. It only got worse as the officer came to my open car window and asked for my license and registration. As I handed him my license, I realized that my hands were shaking.

Great. I hope he doesn't notice.

That's stupid. He's a cop. Of course he's going to notice.

The trembling only increased when I pulled out the flimsy registration paper, which betrayed me by fluttering madly as I handed it to the cop. It was all I could do not to roll my eyes at myself. *That*, I figured, would not go over well if he misunderstood the gesture.

"Well, Courtney," he said--

--and inwardly, I did a double-take at being addressed by my first name by a Person Of Authority, which would never occur in the formal society I grew up in--

"Well, Courtney, you're not in big trouble today. Just a little trouble."

Oh good. I guess. That's good, right? Does that mean I'm not getting a ticket, I hope?

"You changed lanes kinda fast back there--"

I know. I did it on purpose. I wanted to get in that space before the motorcycle got too close.

"--without signaling--"

I did, too, signal! I just maybe flipped the switch off again before the light actually started blinking. ;o)

"--and in front of that motorcycle."

I knew the bike was there. I was watching him the whole time. I was always aware of exactly where the front and back ends of my car were in relation to the pickup in front of me and the bike behind me.

As the officer spoke, I nodded in what I hoped were the right places and gave him what probably looked like a sheepish smile.***

"I'm sorry," I said. "I thought I signaled..."

Fortunately, his smile and understanding nod saved me from having to elaborate on what I thought I'd done. I trailed off as he handed back my license and registration.

"Just pay better attention, Courtney. And behave yourself."

*gasp* And egad! You know me!!!

"Okay," I said with a laugh that wasn't at all fake in its shakiness.

Zounds! I'm not getting a ticket! How disgawestomely cramazing** is this?!

"Thank you," said I.

"Have a good day," said he, walking back to his cruiser.

He got in and drove away. I grinned like a loon to myself, ignored the residual adrenaline rush, and continued on my merry way to Walmart.

The End.


**Okay, so those weren't my exact words, since those terms had yet to be invented by Your Truly, but I like to think the sentiment was the same.

***For those of you who suspect I might be tempted: No eyelash-batting took place during the course of this incident.

truth, beauty, and goodness

I'd love to post the whole from which I'm borrowing the following quote, but I'd like to avoid the specter of plagiarism. If you'd like to read the whole post (which is short and very worth the read), you can find it here.

"What if we were nice to each other? What if we put cynicism and snideness aside and saw beauty and possibility in everything?

"What if we all treated each other as we wanted to be treated? What if we loved our neighbors and acted toward them with affection and understanding?

"...What if we aspired to promoting the values of Truth, Beauty and Goodness? What if we saw Truth as Love, Beauty as Mercy, and Goodness as Ministry? What if we made those acts of Love, Mercy, and Ministry, the cornerstones of our lives?"

--Liz Cratty


As I've recently discussed with several of you, I see myriads of possibilities. All the time. In every situation, in every conversation, I see multiple possible outcomes--and, sometimes, outcomes of the outcomes. Sometimes, this can become paralyzing...because I see both good and bad possible outcomes, and it's hard to know which decision to make in order to maximize the possibility of a positive end result.

I'm probably not saying this clearly enough. For a writer, I have an awfully hard time expressing myself sometimes.

Anyway...please to be trying to get what I'm saying. ;o)

The point is this: I read that quote up there, and my imagination takes over, unfolding all the myriad possibilities of the what-ifs Cratty poses. And you know what? Every single one of those outcomes is positive. Every one of them is Good. And every one of them leads, in turn, only to further Goodness--maximized and exponentially multiplied.

There is no paralysis here. There is no fear. There is no looming darkness. There is only truth and beauty and goodness, world without end, amen. In the fulfillment of this set of what-ifs, there is relief, release--and maybe, if we give ourselves permission to hope--redemption.

I'm trying to hope.

I'm trying to let myself move, realizing that movement will not engage the attention of the monsters under the bed.

I am trying to see.

fellow gen-x-ers, take a look at this

The stars of "Stand By Me" in 1986.

Wow.

the day my home country started getting bigger again

Hungary remembers picnic that cracked Iron Curtain
AP

SOPRONPUSZTA, Hungary – It was a picnic that changed the course of history.

Twenty years ago Wednesday, members of Hungary's budding opposition organized a picnic at the border with Austria to press for greater political freedom and promote friendship with their Western neighbors.

Some 600 East Germans got word of the event and turned up among the estimated 10,000 participants. They had a plan: to take advantage of an excursion across the border to escape to Austria.

Hungarian President Laszelo Solyom and German Chancellor Angela Merkel were taking part Wednesday in festivities Wednesday marking the 20th anniversary of the "Pan-European Picnic," which helped precipitate the fall nearly three months later of the Berlin Wall.

One of the key factors allowing the Germans to escape: the decision by a Hungarian border guard commander not to stop them as they pushed through to freedom.

Lt. Col. Arpad Bella and five of his men had been expecting a Hungarian delegation to cross the border at Sopronpuszta by bus, visit a nearby Austrian town as a symbol of the new era of glasnost — or openness — under reformist Soviet leader Mikail Gorbachev, and return to Hungary.

Instead, at the planned time of 3 p.m., Bella suddenly found himself face to face with 150 East Germans marching up the road to the border gate, which had been closed since 1948.

"I had about 20 seconds to think about it until they got here," said Bella, 63, during an interview where the gate once stood.

"Had the five of us confronted the Germans, they would have (overwhelmed us)."

Once the initial group got through hundreds more East Germans joined them. Still vivid in Bella's mind was the reactions of the Germans, including many young people and families with small children, once they were on the other side.

"They embraced, they kissed, they cried and laughed in their joy. Some sat down right across the border, others had to be stopped by the Austrian guards because they kept running and didn't believe they were in Austria," Bella said. "It was in incredible experience for them."

Laszlo Nagy, one of the organizers of the picnic, was startled by the East Germans' actions, who left behind hundreds of cars and other possessions near the border for the chance to make the short walk to a new life in the West.

"Some of them were waiting for this moment for 20 or 30 years," Nagy said. "They left behind everything ... because freedom has the greatest value."

Dirk Mennenga was one the "Ossies," a nickname for East Germans, who made it to Austria on that day. He had come to Hungary from Dresden.

"We had planned beforehand that we would try to cross the border through Hungary," Mennenga said. "We didn't know how easy or difficult it would be."

After seeing flyers promoting the picnic, Mennenga thought the event could provide an opportunity to escape West.

"It was a very emotional situation," Mennenga said. "There was a sole border guard. A young Hungarian man kept pointing the way and before we knew it we were in Austria."

While Bella was unaware of the East Germans' intentions, behind the scenes the Hungarian government had already decided that it would somehow let them go West.

Miklos Nemeth, Hungary's last prime minister of the communist era, said the picnic and the East Germans' breakthrough on that day was one in a series of steps that brought democracy to most of the Soviet bloc within a year.

"It was a planned process on behalf of the government, but it was a transition where everyone was also seeking to secure their own future," Nemeth said.

With 80,000 Soviet troops stationed in Hungary, Nemeth said it was difficult to know how Moscow would react to the unprecedented events.

"In my mind this was an important event, a test," Nemeth said. "And fortunately, Arpad Bella ... although he did not get any information, he decided in the right way."

Tens of thousands of East Germans had traveled to Hungary as expectations mounted that the more moderate Communist country might open its borders to the West.

They lived in makeshift shelters in Budapest on the grounds of the West German Embassy and at a tent city set up by a Catholic parish.

In the weeks after the picnic, East Germans continued to make attempts to cross the border, although many were still turned back. Then, on Sept. 11, Hungary began allowing all East Germans to travel West.

Bella continued his career as a border guard for several more years before retiring in 1996, later even working as a consultant on developing aspects of the Schengen agreement, which now allows for borderless travel within 25 European countries.

"I didn't think of myself as a hero. How could I? I wasn't even sure I'd be around for another week," Bella said. "If the Russians had wanted to come, they would have swept us aside like nothing."

For Nagy, the significance of the events of Aug. 19 has grown over the past 20 years.

"At the time, we didn't feel like we were making history," Nagy said. "It was the world's greatest garden party."

me

In case I've never posted this here before....this is what it's like to be a TCK:

"If you came back, you wanted to leave again. If you went away, you longed to come back. Wherever you were, you could hear the call of the homeland, like the note of a herdsman's horn far away in the hills. You had one home out there and one over here, and yet you were an alien in both places. Your true abiding place was the vision of something very far off, and your soul like the waves, always restless and forever in motion."

--Johan Bojer
"The Immigrants"


The good news: I know what my true abiding place is. It's more than a vision. It is a reality. It is The Reality. And someday, I will go there, and no longer live restless in the Shadowlands.

here's what i really think...

...and I'm not saying it because I'm fishing for someone to contradict me. I honestly believe this is the truth.

I have enough natural talent to be above average. But the remainder--if there is a remainder--is blood, sweat, tears, and God.

And I'm okay with that.

I'm sorry if this comes across as arrogant. But maybe you'll understand what I'm trying to say.

snippet of writing life

I don't know about everybody else, but for me it works like this:

I work at home, and I write. Sometimes, as I'm writing, I have ideas that I can't figure out within my story text. So I pop over to Facebook (or other sites) for a few minutes and let my subconscious ruminate on the ideas without me. When I go back to my story, the problems are worked out, and I can get back to writing. Facebook et al. distract my conscious mind so my subconscious can do what needs to be done.

That's my life. ;o)

there's a spreadsheet with my name on it...

...and I like it.

because i feel like i should

Dear Readers,

I haven't forgotten you. I promise. I don't know why I haven't felt very bloggy of late. Well, that's a lie. I do know. There are several reasons. One, I've been working on Deren's Story, which has passed the 15k mark, gasp and egad. Two, I've just been really, really busy. With many a good thing. But all of this has left me with little brain power for blogging.

Not that blogging requires anything like 1.21 gigawatts of brain power or anything. I'm just sayin'.

Maybe you want to know some of the things I've been busy with.

And maybe you don't.

But guess what.

I'm going to tell you.

I don't know why I seem to have fallen in love with shorter sentences today.

There. That one wasn't short. But this one is.

But I digress.

So here's a run-down:

I've been out to my parents' new place to help out with whatever needed helping out. Last Saturday, that included mopping all but two rooms of this humongous new abode and wiping down all the shelves that go in the kitchen cabinets and built-in book cases. Someday, when I have time [ ;o) ], I'll set up a Facebook photo album of their house from start to present. Present includes tiled floors; paint on the walls, ceilings, doors, and baseboards; aforementioned cabinetry and shelving in place; cemented porch and driveway; and a lot of little details I can't remember right now. The front door is supposed to be being delivered (yes, I did that on purpose) TODAY. There will be much rejoicing.

What else? I've been down to Lawton to see my aunt who was in from Utah, as well as to honor my grandparents, who celebrated their 69th wedding anniversary this past Monday. I am in awe of them.

As I said before, I've been working on Deren's Story. But not this week, because I've been otherwise occupied. I don't know yet if I can say Deren's Story is going well or not. I've certainly had moments where The Words Have Suddenly Been There, which are the moments we writers live for. (You know who you are, and you know what I'm talking about.) But still, I'm feeling a little bit stuck, and I know it's because my main character is male, and he's surrounded by a group of men and only one woman. I'm going to have to get the writers group to give me some fairly detailed, possibly embarrassing info on dynamics within groups of guys, especially as to how a single female presence affects that dynamic. The whole Story so far is requiring me to go to a place I don't often delve into, because most of the characters so far are blatantly immoral people. So I'm hoping that talking things out with my fellow writers will give me some insights and get me where I need to be.

Speaking of fellow writers, I've now had the honor and joy of reading and giving feedback on the first two novels in Aaron's Ghost Targets series. I'll write more on this later, when I do my next book comments--but for now, suffice it to say that I thoroughly enjoyed both novels; I am thrilled (for multiple reasons) to be friends with such a talented fellow word-smith (who also gives incredible feedback); and the movies are going to be awesome.

One more thing I am particularly pleased about, and then you, Gentle Readers, can get back to your lives. ;o) This week, my friend Bryan is in from Pittsburgh, visiting various and sundry folk. What's way cool about this is that I got to see him for the first time on Monday. The first time in over 20 years. How amazingspiffalicious is that?!? We were kids together in the Frankfurt church, back when the American congregation still existed. Neither of us can remember when he and his family left--such is military life--but I'm thinking it was 1986 or '87. Anyway, I found Bryan on Facebook last year (through the Gambill boys, much to our collective amusement), and now we've met again for real this week.

Ed and I got together with Bryan at Ted's on Monday, and though it wasn't really awkward, the first few moments were definitely a bit surreal. I could see him now, but I could also see him as a kid, as I remembered him, so it was weird trying to make those two pictures match up in my head. The only thing I could say was, "You're a lot taller than I remember," which was so obvious, it just sounded silly. ;o) We've played catch-up all week and keep discovering all these random things we have in common--such as a favorite pickle brand and the color red. Ed and I are going out with him for German food tonight (Royal Bavaria. OH YEAH.), and I probably don't have to spell out for you how all sorts of excited I am about this. It definitely swings my verge (click tag below for explanation). Sha-boom. ;oD

And that's all the run-down you get. ;o)

thinking ahead: nanowrimo 2009

JUST 96 DAYS UNTIL WE START WRITING OUR NEW NOVELS! Odds bodkins!

Does this swing our verge, my friends? Why yes, yes, I believe it does.

WHO'S WITH ME???

excerpt from an email

He asked: What is the most important thing in your life? What drives you, or what is your motivation?

I replied:

The most important thing for me is probably communion. And by that I don't mean what goes on in church buildings on Sundays. ;o) I'm talking about communion: sharing my thoughts with someone--the other person sharing their thoughts with me--in a way that is transparent, vulnerable, honest, gritty. It's inextricably interwoven with genuine emotion, empathy, understanding. The kind of meeting-of-the-minds-and-hearts that happens after you've been talking for hours and hours and it's four o'clock in the morning, you're so tired you're delirious and yet each of your senses is sharpened, hyper-aware, perfectly attuned to the other person's wavelength. Four in the morning is the ideal time, but communion can happen anytime, anyplace, as long as both people are laying things out The Way They Really Are. You get to the point where fewer and fewer words are necessary...until just looking each other in the eye suffices for communicating a universe, a googolplex of thoughts.

This can happen with other humans. This can also happen with God.

As for my motivation.....I guess it's to become the kind of human capable of that level of communion--sustained.

If I could reach this goal....everything else would fall into place.

this one's for all you book-lovers out there...

Hi friends. Read this: literary agent Nathan Bransford on Kindle, Orwell, and Amazon's Trying To Take Over The World.

For my writer friends: Nathan Bransford is a Most Extraordinary Blogger Who Will Teach You All You Need To Know About Agents, Query Letters, The Publishing Industry, And Why You Should Hate The Lakers.

Also, I got to meet him in April, and he's nice.


Also, I still need to trim my fingernails.

status update

My neck still hurts. It felt better yesterday (after Refinnej worked on it on Tuesday--thank you again!!!), but the betterness has not progressed into today. Alas, alack. I feel discouraged. And irritated with vertebrae. Why do I need those, again?

Also, I need to trim my fingernails. They're interfering with typing.

That's all.


Oh, and I have neat writer friends. :o)

amen, amen and amen again.

Air and light and time and space

by Charles Bukowski

“-you know, I’ve either had a family, a job, something
has always been in the
way
but now
I’ve sold my house, I’ve found this
place, a large studio, you should see the space and
the light.
For the first time in my life I’m going to have a place and the time to
create.”

no baby, if you’re going to create
you’re going to create whether you work
16 hours a day in a coal mine
or
you’re going to create in a small room with 3 children
while you’re on
welfare,
you’re going to create with part of your mind and your
body blown
away,
you’re going to create blind
crippled
demented,
you’re going to create with a cat crawling up your
back while
the whole city trembles in earthquake, bombardment,
flood and fire.

baby, air and light and time and space
have nothing to do with it
and don’t create anything
except maybe a longer life to find
new excuses
for.

hey programmers, two technical questions for ya

Edit: Ladies and gentlemen, we have a toolbar. I repeat, we have a toolbar. Thanks, Aaron!!!
14:44pm

1. How do I get the Blogger toolbar back? (Toolbar has search function and "next blog" option, etc.) I used to have it, but when I changed blog templates, it disappeared. If you'll tell me where to find the toolbar code and where it goes in the template code, I can probably fix it myself. If I can't, I'll ask. :o)

2. What would need to be done to set up a reply-to-comments function on Blogger?


Thanks! I give you all virtual chocolate.

to whom it may concern...

...I did manage to dissolve whatever was blocking my writing. Yesterday morning, I moved my laptop from my desk in the office to the kitchen table...

...and BAM!

More than 3000 words in two days. On a brand-spanking-new story*. Yes, it's the rough first draft...but it's not drivel.

This swings my verge, Gentle Readers. It really, really does.



*Working title: "Deren's Story." Now, ain't that all sortsa hunky-dory creative? ;oD

for my fellow fantasy enthusiasts**

What do you expect from outlaws in your fantasy reads?

What's your favorite thing about outlaws?

What's your least favorite thing?

What do you consider cliche* about them?

Maybe you consider outlaws-in-fantasy to be cliche altogether, I don't know. ;o)

Whatever, just let me know what you think!



*Please forgive the lack of correctly accented 'e's.

**Addendum: Although I am interested in feedback from all of you, my faithful readers ;o) and though I do appreciate my fellow ladies' opinions, I am particularly interested in hearing about these things from the guys' perspective. So, gentlemen, speak up, please! I need to hear how you view this aspect of the fantasy world! :o)

two items of ridiculousness

1. Cellulite.
There is absolutely no logical reason why my thighs are not as muscular as my calves. Not that my calves are entirely free of fat, but they're doing a lot better than what's above them. There is no logical reason for this. Cellulite is a cosmic joke on women. Gah.

2. Journalists who don't know what subject-verb agreement are.
Error intentional. 'Nuff said.


P.S. I have had a severe case of writer's block over the last ten days. This does not swing my verge in the least. I'm going to do something about it today. When I figure out what that something is, I'll let you know. ;o)

thinking more cultural thoughts....and others

Last week, we got to hang out with various old friends who were visiting Oklahoma for various reasons. Two of these friends were Randy and Bri, who work with the church in Dresden and were here on furlough. I think being around them is probably part of the reason I've had Germany specifics on the brain for the last few days.

Anyway, one of the specifics this morning is Joe, our Iraqi friend from the Turkish place in downtown Chemnitz. And what I'm thinking is that I'm sad we never got to have him and his wife over for dinner. I would have loved to find out more about his culture than what he was able to communicate to us over the busy lunch counter at Kervansaray. I wish we could have learned more about each other's cultures and discovered more common ground. I wish I could ask him how he feels about Americans now and whether or not he still likes us. I wonder if he has been able to go home to visit Kirkuk. I wonder if his daughter knows her grandmother yet. I wonder if his mother and sister are still alive.

How do you brighten the corner where you are--in the midst of a war? Forget all the political claptrap, forget the justifications and reasons and excuses on both sides. The definition of war is humans killing each other. The definition of war is humans snuffing out lights instead of making them shine brighter. The definition of war is humans destroying opportunities for sympathy, compassion, and mutual understanding.

If the goal of human existence is to cross the bridge which spans the breach between humanity and God--and I believe this is the goal--then those who have seen the bridge need to be able to tell others about it.
We cannot tell others about the bridge unless we first learn a way to communicate with them.
Humans cannot communicate with one another unless they find common reference points.
This means sharing thoughts, feelings, experiences, cultures, personal background, collective history, language, habits, traditions, taboos, hopes, fears, dreams.
We all have a responsibility to share these things with each other. Not because we're American or German or Iraqi or French or British or Finnish or Chinese or Venezuelan or whatever. But because we're all human.

I wish Ed and I could have exchanged all of that with Joe. He gave us a small taste of his culture--both literally and figuratively! ;o) --and we gave him a small taste of ours. It wasn't nearly enough. But in our brief conversations across the lunch counter at Kervansaray, Joe brightened his corner of my world. I hope I succeeded in doing the same for him.

As always, I don't have the answers to any of these dilemmas. I don't even have a personal answer to the question of whether war is fundamentally right or wrong. I'm just thinking out loud and letting the world overhear.

i've probably shared this before...

...but if I did, I'm gonna do it again. Take that, you Evil Imps of Repetitive Redundancy!

Living in the modern age,
death for virtue is the wage.
So it seems in darker hours.
Evil wins, kindness cowers.

Ruled by violence and vice
We all stand upon thin ice.
Are we brave or are we mice,
here upon such thin, thin ice?

Dare we linger, dare we skate?
Dare we laugh or celebrate,
knowing we may strain the ice?
Preserve the ice at any price?

--Dean Koontz
in "Dragon Tears"

mafias gnawn thru...

...or: fun with anagrams.

Today, I wrote a poem for which I required anagrams, so I spent several hours playing around with this online anagram generator. From said generator, I derived a grey jot--I mean, great joy. I thought you all might receive a similar jaunty of moo amount of joy, so here are a few of the anagrams I came across today. Feel free to interpret at will!

thyroidal woof
holy woo, adrift
wily foot hoard
Hen with eatables!
I linger on mops, yet.
some wise fatheads
fatheads meowing
antisera de-fog
magenta shrews
tame hogness
tea theism (I think I am becoming a believer.)
A seventh moo howled!
I linger on my pesto.
Seesaw thongs mow. (Oh dear.)

Thus ends the fungi wash mantra. Tune in next week for another rousing round of A Ham Fig Nun Warts!

Sincerely Yours,

None Any Cuter ;o)

roll call

If you read this, leave a comment. I wanna know you're there.

I'm going to go paint my toenails now.

book comments 17 and a reading adventure story

"The Right Hand of Evil" by John Saul
--general reaction: Meh.
--story of a family in which Satanic possession is passed down through the generations like an heirloom
--lots of long, confusing dream sequence stuff
--Teenagers who talk like 40-year-olds are not believable.
--I never really connected with any of the characters. I spent most of the book wishing the mom would grow a backbone and wondering if none of these people ever watched "The Exorcist."
--some very good imagery, though, especially the cathedral scenes
--Saul fans might like it, but I don't recommend.

"The Good Guy" by Dean Koontz
--story of mistaken identity leading to a high-thrills cat-and-mouse hunt between a serial killer and two innocent bystanders
--Can you already tell I thoroughly enjoyed this one? ;o)
--vivid, compelling characters, especially the main character --> loved him!
--a serial killer so charming it hurts --> excellent
--Koontz is the master of clever dialogue.
--an UPDA* read
--highly recommend

"Maia" by Richard Adams
--fantasy epic spanning 1223 pages
--story of a girl sold into slavery as a prostitute, does oodles of heroic stuff, and lives happily ever after
--This is one of the most complex stories I have ever read.
--way too much gratuitous sex in this one --> kinda freaks me out that a 62-year-old man wrote this
--too much description --> I appreciate that Adams made both the culture and the landscape into characters, but honestly, I skimmed at least a fourth of the book, thinking, "Just get on with the plot already!"
--In my opinion, the main character falls in love with the wrong person, and her obsession with him is not believable.
--incredibly vivid characters, imagery that puts detailed pictures into the reader's mind
--You might like this if you have thick skin, a strong stomach, and the stamina for sticking with a book that's 2.5 inches long (paperback).

"Pride and Prejudice and Zombies" by Jane Austen and Seth Grahame-Smith
--title says it all: The Bennett girls are zombie-killers, and so is Mr. Darcy.
--no complaints about this one, I loved and laughed my way through every moment of this read
--definitely UPDA*
--I love the irreverence of making a horror spoof out of a classic. SO fun.
--highly recommend

"Flight of the Raven" and "A Tapestry of Lions" by Jennifer Roberson
--books 7 and 8, respectively, of Roberson's "Shapechanger" series

I have a history with these books: For years, I have owned books 1-6 and 8 of the series. For years, I have read only books 1-6, because I refused to read 8 without reading 7. However, 7 has been out of print for for*ever* and I couldn't find a copy. Then, Roberson came out with omnibus editions of the series: four huge books containing all eight. Well, naturally I wasn't going to buy those simply in order to read one story, when I already owned seven of the individual novels!

Are you following me so far? ;o)

A couple of weeks ago, I visited a used bookstore with Celia. Out of curiosity and without intending to purchase anything, I was browsing through the fantasy section, when there! right before my eyes! there is a copy of book 7!!! Of course, I couldn't leave it there, and of course I bought it, and of course I started reading it immediately, and of course I fell in love with the story from the beginning, and of course I was enjoying it with every shred of my being, when...

...I got to page 116--and the next page was 85.

Guh?

I checked again. Pages 1-116. Then pages 85-116 again, followed by pages 149-372.

Yeah, that's right. The pages in my copy of "Flight of the Raven" number 1-116, 85-116, and 149-372. This copy, WHICH I HAVE BEEN WAITING TEN YEARS TO GET MY HANDS ON, is missing the chunk of story spanning pages 117-148.

Which means my brain is still missing thirty-one pages of the "Shapechanger" series. So close...and yet, so far.

*sigh*

Dismay and chagrin do not quite cover it.

But moving right along. "Flight of the Raven" is still an amazing UPDA* novel, with a main character who just breaks your heart. And after I finished that one, I finally got to read "A Tapestry of Lions"--also quite UPDA and also with a main character a reader can fall in love with, not to mention one of the best, most spectacular endings I have ever read in a fantasy series.

Aside from the minor irritation of 31 missing pages, I am well satisfied. And I will read the series again...

...and continue the search for a complete, individual copy of book 7. Never give up, never surrender! ;o)


2009 Book Count To-Date: 27.



*UPDA = UnPutDownAble

"writing time" --hahahahahahaha!

If you are a writer,

or if you are in any sort of relationship with a writer,

I encourage you to read this article.

Among other things, it outs us writers for the narcissistic, airheaded time-wasters we really are.

And I love it.

J.R. Lennon, the author of said article, gives a run-down of how he typically spends his writing time. I thought some of you might be interested in seeing how I typically spend mine:


8:00-8:30 Get up. Lately, this has taken place 1-2 hours later than noted here, but who's counting.

8:30-9:00 Check online stuff. Messages, email, Facebook, Bloglines, what-hast-thou. Sometimes, this takes 45 minutes, but who's counting.

9:00-10:15ish Prepare and eat breakfast while reading something not on the computer.

10:30ish Sit down at computer to start writing.

11:00 Force self to stop editing the results of previous day's writing. Start writing for real.

11:03 Go to bathroom. Get cleaned up for the day.

11:30 Pet cat. Get something to drink. Wonder why that line of dialogue reads janky.

11:31-11:36 Really get down to writing.

11:37 Check Facebook.

11:38-12:00 Reply to comments. Look up something on Wikipedia. Read and ponder what Angie wants to know in her status update. Possibly post reply.

12:01-12:26 Typing, leaning back in chair, backspacing, typing some more, turning around to fix back of chair, typing some more, reading aloud, deleting everything written today.

12:27 Wander into kitchen to check fridge for anything. Anything at all. Ponder whether or not Character X should just die and get out of the way.

12:30 Return to office with drink and stand there, staring at computer screen. Computer screen stares malevolently back.

12:31 Coo over cat and re-write scene in head.

12:35-12:55 Re-type scene with improvements, taking previous day's writing into account.

12:56-1:05 Find favorite funny scene and read aloud, giggling.

1:06-1:30 Check online stuff.

1:31-2:30 Prepare and eat lunch while reading something not on computer. Go to bathroom.

2:31-2:40 Check Facebook. Reply to comments. Ruminate on the benefits of moving on to a different scene and leaving current one alone until the Apocalypse.

2:41-3:00 Re-read everything written today. Write one line of dialogue and delete it. Copy and paste dialogue from Chapter 11 into Chapter 6.

3:01-3:45 Fix glaring plot hole in Chapter 6.

3:46-4:10 Check Facebook. Resist temptation to scrap everything written today.

4:11-4:30 Speed-type. Pass "Go," collect 200 metaphorical dollars.

4:30-6:00 Housework, optional cooking, errands, bills, other such.

6:01 Return to office

6:02-6:21 Speed-write amazing plot twist that popped into existence and hope the sudden mania is sated before Ed walks in the door.


Voy-oh-lay. The truth comes out. Take it from me, folks, ya gotta see it to believe it.

Have I mentioned that writing really swings my verge? Oh yeah. ;oD

the one where i pass the point of no return

I am desperate.
I am tired.
I am hungry.

And I am not talking about my physical condition.

The last few years have wrought a great many changes in my spirit. The last 14 months in particular have stripped my soul of a great many impediments that had been mucking up my vision for a long, long time. Over the last few days, I've had several heart-wrenching, intimate conversations that have led me to *want* to say the things I am about to say.

I won't say that "I can see clearly now." ;o)
But I will say that I have reached a point of clarity enabling me to say, "I don't know."

I don't know who or what God really is.
I don't know exactly how he goes about saving humans from being eternally separated from him.
I don't know what the afterlife is going to be like.
I don't know why good things happen.
I don't know why bad things happen.
I don't know any human who can set a satisfactory standard of "good" or "bad."
I don't know what the nature of the universe is.
Humans are primarily spiritual beings, but I don't know exactly what that means.
I don't know a great many things.

I can speculate about all these things. My speculations might even be tinged with hints of truth. But they remain speculations because, frankly my dear, my human brain is too puny to fathom the spiritual reality behind it all.


Here's what I do know. These things, I am sure of without a doubt:

God is.
God created humans, and he loves us.
Humans are primarily spiritual beings.
God hears each of us when we speak to him.
Jesus of Nazareth had a more personal, intimate, vulnerable, honest, transforming relationship with God than any other being that has ever existed.
Jesus was a safe place for people to be.
Jesus wanted/wants his followers to be safe places for each other and for every person they come into contact with.
If you look at Jesus, you will gain an idea of what God is like.
Religion means nothing. Relationships mean everything.
I want to become as safe a place for others as I can.

That's my story, and I'm stickin' to it. ;o)
That's my statement of faith.
That's my creed.

i do dumb things sometimes

This time, I tried to light a match. Which, under ordinary circumstances, would not be a dumb thing to do. But I had just smeared lotion all over my hands, making my fingers too slick to get a good grasp on the match. So, instead of doing the smart thing and wiping the lotion off, I...

...tore the match out of the matchbook with my teeth,
clamped the head of the match between the front and back flaps of the matchbook,
and pulled really hard.

It did not occur to me that this would result in my holding a burning match in my teeth, with the flame about half an inch from my face.

I was startled enough to let go of the match, which obeyed the law of gravity by dropping to the floor. Some other natural law--having to do with combustion and chemistry, I suppose--also went into effect, keeping the match burning as it fell. Fortunately, I regained my presence of mind quickly enough to stamp out the flame before it could catch the carpet on fire.

So, dear children, the moral of the story is: obvious.

There's now a little stinging spot on my lip--not a burn from the flame itself, but from the spark as the match lit.

*sigh*

in case you were wondering...

...I love being the person who handles the words. You need someone to take point in the challenge of traversing the jungles of syntax, vocabulary, and literary flair? I'll step up, and with my tools at the ready: bamboo knife for slashing through ambiguous verbosity--or a scimitar for beheading every Inner Editor that dares step onto the path too soon--or delicate clippers for trimming. Whatever's needed for getting from Writing Base Camp to Noveling Summit, I'll shoulder the pack and take the lead with a warcry of, "Onward! Hail Tawanda, Queen of the Amazons!"

Yup, I'm yer huckleberry. ;oD

people ask me where i get my ideas...

...and for me it works like this, and Sting says it better than I can:

"...The germ of the thing, and you work backwards from that. The procedure is very conscious, and very thought out but the actual lines that appear are really unconscious. I've got the germs of a few songs when I was half asleep. Just waking up...immediately have to rush to that piece of paper and write it down. I've read a lot about it. I've read a book called "The Act of Creation" by Arthur Koestler in which he scientifically analyses the moment of creative thought, where, according to him, the brain has different compartments and everything is well ordered, but in kind of semiconscious states those compartments sort of dissolve and ideas that should be in one place kind of seep into another and then you get a creative spark and something happens. And I would go along with that. I think that in a dreamlike state, you get ideas, but the actual hard work is a conscious thing. Once you get that idea you then, with a lot of discipline, piece it together."

--Sting
Hot Press, 8/80
__________________________________

Most of my stories have started as dreams.

seven characteristics of a loving person

I don't know where this list originated, but Rob shared it in our group discussion last night:

Seven Characteristics of a Loving Person

kind

patient

forgiving

humble

courteous

generous

honest


I have my own thoughts about these, but I'm curious to hear yours.
Do you agree with this list?
Would you add to it?
Subtract from it?
What is the value in defining a "loving person" in this way?
*Is* there value in such defining?
What is the value in striving to be a loving person?
Do you feel that you should try to be this kind of person? Why or why not?
If you are trying to be this sort of person, how would you evaluate your...hmm...success?
If you don't feel the need to be this sort of person, what goal have you set yourself instead? How would you evaluate your "success" in reaching your goal?

The floor is yours. :o)

book comments 16

Just a reminder: If you'd like to check out all of my book comments, scroll down till you see a long list of tags in the bar on the right and click the "book comments" tag--and voy-oh-lay, ya gotta lotta books to check out. Yippee.

Without further ado, the latest:

"Mark of the Lion III: As Sure As The Dawn" by Francine Rivers
--last book in Rivers's trilogy; I commented on the first here and the second here
--great read, vivid characters, strong writing
--sounds like a bland description, I know ;o)
I enjoyed the story, but I didn't get into it nearly as much as I did the first two.
However, I *will* say that psycho-witch-antagonist-chick *really* got to me--she was just CREEPY!
--some of the "miraculous" incidents were hard to swallow
--enjoyed the Theophilus connection
Atretes annoyed the snot out of me in Book I, and I was still irritated with him by the start of Book III. But I got over it. ;o)
--recommend (but not quite as highly as the first two books)

"Deepwood" by Jennifer Roberson
--second in Robersons's "Karavans" series (comments on first book here)
I might have enjoyed this one more than the first.
--less world-building, more time with individual characters
--However.
--too much time with pessimistic, vindictive dad (Davyn), and not nearly enough time with surly...ummm...fascinating Brodhi ;o)
--Rhuan is wholly absorbing.
--And so is Alario.
--LOVE the ending
--more, please
--recommend to fantasy fans

"Beasts" by Joyce Carol Oates
--novella, kind of neo-Gothic
--story of Gillian, student at a girls' university in the 1970s, who thinks she's "in love with" her poetry prof
--turns out poetry prof and his wife are sexual predators
--very well-crafted story, vivid imagery, strong characters
--excellent illustration of the power of those we consider our "authorities" or "mentors"....or "idols"
--excellent illustration of how the molding of young minds can go awry (and turn into psychological torture)
--recommend only to those with a penchant for literary fiction

"Cross" by James Patterson
--my first Alex Cross read (though I've seen the films with Morgan Freeman)
--fast-paced, unputdownable (UPDA ;o)
Characters were vivid and *real* from the moment they stepped onto the page.
Patterson did a frighteningly good job with his antagonist. It takes masterful skill to write a psychopath so that the reader cares about *that* character's motivations and fate....but Patterson made me care about "the Butcher." Good job, Mr. Patterson. *shudder*
--highly recommend

2009 Book Count To-Date: 21 (low, very low ;o)

great song by nickelback

They've been radio-stalking me, so I decided to share one of their songs I like. ;o)

"If Today Was Your Last Day" by Nickelback

My best friend gave me the best advice
He said each day's a gift and not a given right
Leave no stone unturned, leave your fears behind
And try to take the path less traveled by
That first step you take is the longest stride

If today was your last day
And tomorrow was too late
Could you say goodbye to yesterday?
Would you live each moment like your last?
Leave old pictures in the past
Donate every dime you have?
If today was your last day

Against the grain should be a way of life
What's worth the prize is always worth the fight
Every second counts 'cause there's no second try
So live like you'll never live it twice
Don't take the free ride in your own life

If today was your last day
And tomorrow was too late
Could you say goodbye to yesterday?
Would you live each moment like your last?
Leave old pictures in the past
Donate every dime you have?
Would you call old friends you never see?
Reminisce old memories
Would you forgive your enemies?
Would you find that one you're dreamin' of?
Swear up and down to God above
That you finally fall in love
If today was your last day

If today was your last day
Would you make your mark by mending a broken heart?
You know it's never too late to shoot for the stars
Regardless of who you are
So do whatever it takes
'Cause you can't rewind a moment in this life
Let nothin' stand in your way
Cause the hands of time are never on your side

If today was your last day
And tomorrow was too late
Could you say goodbye to yesterday?

Would you live each moment like your last?
Leave old pictures in the past
Donate every dime you have?
Would you call old friends you never see?
Reminisce old memories
Would you forgive your enemies?
Would you find that one you're dreamin' of?
Swear up and down to God above
That you finally fall in love
If today was your last day

ghosts of blopgosts past

Whilst happily imbibing my coffee this morning, I herumgestöbert (there has got to be a good English word for that!) in my blog and found the following gems for your potential perusing pleasure:


Monday, November 21, 2005

When I should be writing, I'm procrastinating and finding fun things on other people's blogs, like this fun thing I found on Patricia's blog:

___________________________

The Movie Of Your Life Is A Cult Classic

Quirky, offbeat, and even a little campy - your life appeals to a select few.
But if someone's obsessed with you, look out! Your fans are downright freaky.

Your best movie matches: Office Space, Showgirls, The Big Lebowski
___________________________

Of those three movies, I've only seen "Office Space," and though it's funny, it's not one of my favorites. I guess my life is a cult classic with all the profanity bleeped out of it.

Actually, that's pretty accurate. ;o)


Tuesday, December 27, 2005

....At the end of October, Ed, Clint, April, and I were driving to Dresden (this was back B.C.S.--Before Car Selling), and we started talking about what a movie of our lives would be like.

First, we decided that nobody would go see it. Then, we decided it would be a blockbuster. (Anybody remember what title we decided on?) And finally, talk turned to which actors would portray us. We came up with the following:

Clint: Jack Black
April: Courteney Cox
Ed: Adam Sandler
Me: Drew Berrymore

What do you think???

the grocery store saga continues

"Oh, no," you think. "Not again!"

But yea verily, Gentle Reader, I have yet another grocery store incident with which to while away your time. HOWEVER.......drumroll, please..........this one is neither an angry incident nor a cultural frustration! Can I get a hallelujah on that one? Yes, yes, I believe I can. ;o)

So, here's what happened: I grabbed a can of catfood off the shelf at Wal-Mart (yes, Wal-Mart--I'm doing some comparison shopping this month). The can was busted, it leaked on my hand and my shirt, and since it apparently got busted long enough back for decomposition to set in, I drove home yesterday afternoon smelling like fish bait. ("Shark bait! Ooh-ha-ha!")

Joy o joy o joy.

And yet, in spite of the not-so-happiness of this episode, I didn't allow it to dampen my mood...mainly because of the cashier who chatted with me as she checked my groceries.

She was an odd lady. I hardly even remember what she chattered on about, but she did chatter on pretty much non-stop as she worked. I chattered back to her, and it was nice. And then, quite randomly, she said,

"I hope you don't mind my asking, but...do you have Native American heritage?"

I'm sure the look on my face was priceless. If you've met me once--or if you've taken a glance at my picture over there on the left somewhere--you've seen for yourself that I'm about as non-Native-American-looking as a white girl can get. That being the case, no stranger has ever before asked me if I have Native American heritage. For obvious reasons, it simply would never occur to anyone.

Nevertheless, as I told the cashier, I do have Cherokee blood from my paternal grandmother's side of the family. We can't prove it, and I don't even know how far back it goes. I'm not sure Grandma even knows. (Aunts and/or cousins, correct me if I'm wrong.) I think it would be neat to find out for sure--maybe through the new DNA test that people have started using over the last few years. I doubt anyone would let me take the test for free, though, and at this point I have no desire to pay for it. ;o)

Anyway, I felt amused that the cashier would ask me that question--and pleased that I could answer in the affirmative. I have no clue why she asked, but it was nifty that she did.

Tune in next time for the continuation of "Grocery Store Adventures: Taking Back the Coffee I Bought Because It's Whole Beans And We Don't Have A Grinder." ;oD

good grief, people. free your minds, wouldja?!?

This morning, I read two articles in "Newsweek" that annoyed the poo out of me.

The first concerned white supremacy beliefs in the USA. Apparently, the popularity of white supremacist groups has started going up since Obama was elected. Perfect. The article was complete with pictures of good ol' home folks with swastikas on their T-shirts. Their new party line, it seems, is "preach love of white, not hate of black, don't come on radical, be quiet and subtle, or you'll scare people off before you can get them to come around to the right way of thinking." "Right way," meaning: deportation of all immigrants and incarcerated non-whites. Ad infinitum ad nauseam.

There are a lot of names I'd like to apply to people who think this way. But instead of using those names, I'll just say this: I grew up visiting concentration camps in Germany. You wear a swastika and come within twenty feet of me, and I am deaf to you before the first word exits your white supremacist mouth.

Ugh. Utterly revolting.

The other annoyance was in an article about new apps (read: applications) for cell phones, specifically apps of the Bible. The author was presenting differing viewpoints. Apparently, there are people out there who disapprove of having the Bible on a hand-held electronic device, because having the Bible accessible this way "takes away from the sacredness of scripture." Or somesuch.

Huh? Am I understanding them right? They're saying it's a bad thing to have access to the Bible no matter where you are?

That's almost the dumbest thing I've read all day. (For the dumbest, see the second and third paragraphs of this post.) Do you really think God cares in what medium his Word appears? When you carry the Bible in book form, there is absolutely nothing sacred about the paper, ink, leather, plastic, and glue with which that book is put together. There is not one iota of holiness inherent in a printed copy of the Bible--or a audio copy, or an electronic copy, or a copy written in the sky with airplane vapor trails. The medium doesn't matter.

I would even venture to say that the words themselves don't matter. A word is merely a symbol we use to convey an idea or a set of ideas. House, Haus, and maison are different symbols that convey the same idea. Same goes for cat, Katze, and gato. Same for ichthys, Fisch, and pesce. Symbols for ideas/concepts/specific meanings.

When it comes to sacredness and holiness of the Bible, all that signifies are the concepts behind the symbols. Aletheia, Wahrheit, truth. Symbols which, in themselves, are not sacred. Heaven, Himmel, ouranos. The sacredness belongs solely to the concept, the reality, behind the symbols.

It matters not what form those symbols take. Whether printed or electronic, the symbols convey concepts that have unlimited power to work on the human heart and change it. Consuming those symbols--and, through them, the bedrock reality concepts--through an electronic medium doesn't dilute their effect in the least.

Come on, people. Have a little faith!

thoughts about the writing of stephenie meyer

I don't really have time to be sitting here today, blogging any ruminations whatsoever...but as you can see, I'm gonna do it anyway. What? Linear timeline constraints? Pshaw.

What I'm thinking about right now are the published works of Stephenie Meyer. If you don't know who Stephenie Meyer is, does the title "Twilight" tell you anything? If not, you probably won't care much about the rest of this blopgost. ;o)

I attended a Writers Conference last weekend (and I know I've been promising details--I will deliver ASAP, I promise!), and Meyer's name came up several times in various conversations. I noted two extreme reactions:

TwilightOMWilovethosebookshaveyoureadmidnightsunyet? and

... (insert cricket noises here, paired with skeptical lift of single eyebrow).

The Twilight series. It seems that if you've read the books, you either love 'em or you hate 'em. I've heard very few people speak of a lukewarm reaction. Many folks have read part of the first book and given up, not bothering to tackle the rest. Many more folks, it seems, have inhaled every Twilit word like an army of heavy-duty, industrial, bipedal vacuum cleaners.

From my above-it-all vantage point, I am amused at the bizarrity of these disparate reactions.

Okay, okay, I'll 'fess up. I'm not as above-it-all as I'd like to pretend, and I think many of you know that already. ;o) I myself went into bipedal-vacuum-cleaner mode when reading the series--both the first and the second time I read it. ;o) However--and I think I mentioned this in book comments at some point--I wasn't so enamored that I couldn't take a step back (okay, maybe just half a step) and identify some problems in Meyer's writing style. But I kept in mind that:

(a) the books are young adult fiction (YA) and therefore (possibly) not subject to quite as many rules as adult literary fiction (Caveat emptor, however: YA is no excuse for substandard writing!);
(b) Meyer is a new author; and
(c) Meyer shows growth as a writer over the course of the four books. Her sci-fi novel, "The Host," evinces that process of writerly maturing, as well.

But I guess, when it comes down to it, the final point is this: Whether people like Meyer's writings or not, whether she breaks "rules for good writing" or not, her writings are popular. The lady is making oodles of money because enough people love her books. The lady is making oodles of money because she has been smart enough to cross the line of printed media and branch out into movies, music, and powerful Internet presence (poke around her site and you'll see what I mean).

So what do you think? Does it matter that there are things to criticize about her writing? Or does the popularity of her works cancel out any stylistic or character problems? She has made a huge dent in the business--so does the quality of the books still signify?

from three different contexts of today

sorrow
health
language
laughter
met
raw
visceral
real
forbidden
charming
dark
honest
fear
written
spoken
heard
delineated
blunt
sharp
joy
pain
guilt
silent
innumerable
reaching
yearning
gentle
encouraged
encouraging
powerful
beloved
thought
seen
and cranberries.

soundings and love

Tonight, I was tickled all sorts of pink to attend the unveiling of this year's 'Soundings' at OC. For the uninitiated, 'Soundings' is a collection of poetry, prose, and art by OC students, profs, and alumni, and it comes out every spring.

Ten years ago, I was editor of Soundings. For the record, I hadn't the faintest clue what I was doing, and I loved every single mind-boggling moment of it. ;o)

Over the years, I've kept up with Soundings. I have copies of every issue since 1996, with the exception of 2007, which I plan to get my grubby hands on, oh, maybe tomorrow. Every year, my level of thrilledness over Soundings goes up, because it just gets better and better--what with the more user-friendly budget and the improvements in technology, what ho. Also, alumni get to submit pieces, as well, so I've had poems in several issues since I graduated.

When I think about the fact that I still get to be part of Soundings, I get all warm-fuzzy-fangirlish inside. In fact, I'm so pleased, I could do the potato wave right here.

Some people might think this is weird.

I don't care.

Tonight, at the unveiling of Soundings 2009, I got to stand in a room with more than 50 (closer to 100?) writers and artists. Did you read that? I got to hang out with multiple dozens of writers and artists. People who are like me. Do you comprehend how rare and flabbergastingly cool that is?

Creatives love each other by rote. It's built into us. We gravitate toward each other. We are each other's black holes--in a totally non-matter-compacting way, I mean. And in a way that doesn't happen in other areas of life. We resonate with each other. We grok, if you want to go that far. ;o)

Also, we swing each other's verge.

I am a bunny, and you guys are my Energizers. Watch me go. ;o)

now that i know...

I once thought, in an intellectual way, that I was hungry.

I ate the food laid out before me, looked around in my immediate area for more, and thought I was satisfied. I thought that my hunger was small, and I thought that what was within reach would sate me.

Then life happened.

And now I know that I am ravenous. I have always been ravenous. And what I thought was satisfying...does not even begin to fill up my empty spaces.

I now know, in a deep, internal, visceral way, that I am starving. How I hungered before is nothing compared to the hunger I feel now.

Now that I begin to know how hungry I am, I want more.

And the beginning of knowledge only makes the hunger grow.

God, give me more.

it's the little things, y'know?

After an emotionally draining Wednesday and a physically over-did-it Thursday, I am ending today on a good note:

I just read that Sting is recording a new album. This pleases me immensely.

I also read that J.D. Fortune is no longer singing with INXS. This pleases me not at all.

However, the news of a new Sting album buoys me enough to cancel out the disappointment over INXS.

Little things. Bright spots. They make me feel better, no matter their source.

Also, I like them. ;o)

gogg-gogg-goggle at this

"Officials have agreed to correct spelling errors in road signs pointing to a central Massachusetts lake with a 45-letter name. Lake Chargoggagoggmanchauggagoggchaubunagungamaugg in Webster has one of the world's longest place names. It's been spelled many different ways over the years. Some locals have given up and simply call it Lake Webster."

Full article here. This really swings my verge. ;o)

growing up in bowel town: random memory

I know I said in my last post that I was going to blog about a certain adventure I had that is now 12 days in the past, but I haven't blogged about it yet, so now I'm going to write about something else instead. Namely, this:

I grew up in the city of Darmstadt, which literally translates into "Bowel City," which I choose to render as "Bowel Town" because it sounds funnier. My first home in Darmstadt was an apartment building at Roßdörferstraße 55 (which loosely translates to "Horse-Village Street"--I swear I am not making this up). We lived for eight years in a two-bedroom apartment on what Americans would call the third floor but Germans call the second.

The building's first floor housed a "Konditorei," which I guess would be a pastry shop or confectioner's shop to those of the English-speaking persuasion. The presence of said pastry shop resulted in the most amazing scents that drifted daily up the stairwell and into all the apartments, making everyone in the building crave Butterhörnchen a whole lot more often than fortnightly, lemme tell ya.

The baker's names was Herr Gibis, and before I started 1st grade, he took to wife a younger woman with two children. Their names were Marcus and Sylvie. Marcus was my age, and Sylvie was a year younger, and they lived with Herr and Frau Gibis in the only apartment on the first floor, behind the pastry shop.

Marcus and Sylvie and I became fast and great friends. I could tell oodles of stories of our many outside adventures, including the ones about how Marcus chased me and his sister with daddy longlegs. But that is another story and shall be told another time.

The story on my mind right now is The One Where We Got Into The Bug Spray. You see, adjacent to the back of our apartment complex and beyond a low chainlink fence brooded this squat, square, white building with a fire escape. (The fire escape figures into yet another tale, as does the chainlink fence, but again, that is neither here nor there right now.) In this squat, square, white building lived an old woman. I suppose now that she must not have been very old at all--probably between 40 and 50 years of age--but to us children (we were now 10, 10, and 9, respectively), she seemed ancient. I only ever caught a couple of glimpses of her, and my only memory of her is long, dark hair in a bun, and shoulders wrapped in a fringed shawl. But Marcus and Sylvie must have seen her more often than I did, because they said her name was Maria and she didn't like children.

It quite possible that Marcus and Sylvie were making this up.

Anyway, we were fascinated and terrified. Maria didn't like children; ergo, we
qualified as unlikeable. There was a chainlink fence--obviously, a barrier we were not meant to cross. Mystery, darkness, and danger lurked at this far end of the apartment complex. The lure of the squat, square, white building was irresistible.

I don't know where Sylvie was on that fateful day. I don't remember that she was with us when Marcus and I climbed over the chainlink fence, our hearts thudding wildly in our small chests, our eyes darting over our shoulders again and again in case A Parent should suddenly appear. But, undaunted by fear or threat of parental disapproval, Marcus and I scaled the fence (it was all of four feet high) and found ourselves on terra incognita: Maria's backyard.

Eerie light filtered down through leaves overhead. An unnatural hush descended, as though even the birds were shocked into silence by our audacity. We were shocked into silence by our audacity. The air felt heavy.

The shed beckoned.

It was squat, square, and wooden, with a tin roof and all sorts of gardening implements leaning against its rickety frame. My memories progress as though I'm flipping through photographs, and the next picture shows Marcus and me, not entering the shed, but inside the shed, and Marcus is holding a sort of pressurized pump can, and we're deep in the fantasy of marauders surrounding us, barring our escape, shouting for us to give up and come out, there's nowhere left to run, and Marcus and I are looking at each other with huge, excited eyes, and we know that this moment is The Grandest Adventure EVER.

Meanwhile, the marauders were advancing. They were at the door. They were breaking in. We defended ourselves with the only weapons available: magic sleep-dust spray guns--what else?

Of course, when we got back to our side of the backyard universe (not having had the guts to approach the squat, square, white building proper, defeated marauders notwithstanding), the fantasy quickly broke into smithereens when The Parents smelled not magic sleep-dust on our clothes but insecticide, with which we had sprayed not only the imaginary marauders, but also each other, and generously. Because, as anyone with half a brain can tell you, magic sleep-dust magically turns into a restorative and palliative powder when used on a friend instead of against a slavering, primitive marauder.

I don't remember what happened to Marcus, but I got a spanking and an afternoon in the bathtub, being scrubbed down with great vigor by my mother, who was not impressed.

That was our first adventure centered around Maria's squat, square, white house...but it was not to be our last.

third draft of novel finished

Title is self-explanatory. ;o) Here are some Third Draft Stats for your perusing pleasure:

Number of Chapters: 35

Pages: 736

Word Count: ca. 220000 (Yeah, you're seeing it right: 220k. Uffda.)

Words per Chapter: ca. 6286

Pages per Chapter: ca. 21

Deaths of Named Characters: 8

Romantic Liaisons: 5

Weddings: 1

Wars: 1

Skirmishes: 6

Magical Mishaps: 5

Magical Creature Moments: 7

Possessions by Unknown Forces: 9

Major Epiphanies: 4

Characters' Breaks with Reality: 9

Writer's Breaks with Reality: continual

Writer's Cups of Coffee: 53.5

Writer's Staring Moments: 17.3

Writer's Why-Am-I-Doing-This Moments: 3.7

Seriously, though...I am feeling excited/relieved/frustrated about completing the third draft. Excited/relieved, because this means I'm one step closer to having the book ready for an agent. Frustrated, because I still have a lot of steps to go.

About 75000 steps, to be inexact.

That word count has got to come down, and frankly, I'm not sure how I'm going to do it.

I didn't set out to write an epic. But the book fits the definition, and I'm not sure how that happened.

Okay, I lie. I know exactly how it happened. I kept putting words after other words, adding commas, dashes, and quotation marks, and voy-o-lay: I got me an epic fantasy novel.

My task now is to un-epicize the monster.

Why, you ask, is this necessary? Well, the equation is simple: BigBook + NewWriter = HighCostAndNoGuaranteeOfRecoup. Epics are expensive to publish, and if a publisher is gonna publish an epic, then said publisher wants to be sure that said epic is going to bring in enough money. And no one can guarantee that a new author is going to generate that kind of revenue.

So I'm playing with a few options right now:

I can do a bit more polishing but leave the book mostly as-is, try submitting it, and see what happens (which, more than likely, will be a whole lotta nothin').

I can go back to cutting and slicing--but I must do so with care, or I risk cutting and slicing stuff that the reader *needs* in order for the story to make sense.

Or...I can do some more polishing and then try to split the book in half. I.e. pitch the book as a two-parter and see if anyone is interested.

This third idea just occurred to me today, so I have done no market research on it whatsoever. I'm a bit leery of the idea, because (a) it's very different from anything I've ever imagined concerning this book and the universe it's set in, and (b) it almost feels like the lazy way out of not having to cut and slice as radically as I know I need to.

Since (b) has occurred to me, I'm wondering if it might not be the truth.

I'm gonna let this sit for a few days. Tomorrow, I'll be blogging about my writing-related adventure of last week, so stay tuned, if you will. Or even if you won't--I'm gonna do it anyway. ;o)

book comments 15

"Dance of Death" by Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child
--murder, mystery, intrigue, an FBI agent and his sociopathic brother...*lots* of potential here
--BUT.
--I don't need to know the five-page details of how an archaeological Mayan museum exhibit is put together. *yawn*
--lots of "They did this, and then they felt that, and we have to tell you, the reader, directly, because you, the reader, apparently aren't smart enough to figure it out yourself."
--excellent character development of a few characters, terrible under-development of others
I was really geared up to enjoy this story, but the authors lost me in over-explanation and high-societal ramblings.
--don't recommend

"The Dark Tower, and Other Stories" by C.S. Lewis
a collection of Lewis's short fiction
--published posthumously
--totally fascinating
--includes two stories that are incomplete, because Lewis died before finishing them
One of these, "The Dark Tower," relates to Robert Barrett Browning's epic poem "Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came"--as does Stephen King's "Dark Tower" series. I am thrilled and intrigued with the connections, here.
The other incomplete story picks up the story of Menelaus and Helen after the Trojan War. Brilliant.
--amazing writing, of course--it's Lewis
--highly recommend

"The Left Hand of Darkness" by Ursula K. LeGuin
--basically a first-contact story between the established, intergalactic (?) human society and a less advanced human society on a new planet
--explores oodles of themes: racism, prejudice, sexuality, government, utopianism, light-speed travel and its effects...
--classic sci-fi
I had to read several chapters before I could get into the story, and I almost put it down before the pace picked up a little. It just took too long to get to the central conflict. But I'm glad I stuck with it--it turned out to be a great adventure story with plenty of significant, make-you-think moments.
--one of LeGuin's earlier works, and it's interesting to compare this style to some of her later stuff (i.e. "The Lathe of Heaven")
--recommend, but only to die-hard sci-fi fans

"Variable Star" by Spider Robinson and Robert Heinlein
--story of a broken-hearted young man who spontaneously decides to get on a colony ship that won't reach its destination for 20 years (80 years on Earth)
This one is particularly fascinating to Heinlein and/or Robinson fans, because Robinson wrote it after Heinlein died, based on detailed notes that Heinlein took in the 1950s.
--great plot, great characters, typical Heinlein brilliance coupled with Robinson's rollicking style and knack for punniness
--highly recommend to sci-fi fans

"Duma Key" by Stephen King
Okay,before I say anything about this book, I'd like to mention this: I swore off King's novels several years ago--and part of the reason I did this is that he is such a brilliant writer. Whatever you think of him morally or genre-ly, he is a master of the craft--I would venture to say one of the top five masters of our time. I stopped reading his books because they were *too good*--too good at putting mental pictures in my head that I did not want in my head. (FYI, "Dreamcatcher" was the last straw for me, but that is another story and shall be told another time.)

Two stories got me started on King again: his "Dark Tower" series and "Lisey's Story." I read "The Dark Tower" for more reasons than I want to get into now. I read "Lisey's Story" because it's about a woman whose deceased husband is a writer--and everything in the novel relates to his being a writer. For obvious reasons, that appeals to me. A master of writing, writing about a writer and where story ideas really come from--"the pool where we all go down to drink." There's a lot in "Lisey's Story" about a collective source for creativity and how we can all tap into it--and as a writer and artist--and as a Christian--I have a very strong belief in that concept.

Anyway, the point is this: Like "Lisey's Story" and "Dark Tower," "Duma Key" has brought me back to reading King...because "Duma Key" is about an artist.

"Duma Key" by Stephen King
--story of a guy who loses an arm and, in recovery, discovers a great talent for drawing and painting
--themes of loss, redemption, the power of imagination, memory, the persistence of evil, the possibility of overcoming evil if we are courageous, sacrifice, using our powers for good...
Also, there are giant frogs.
--recommend, but only to those not faint of heart or will or stomach

2009 Book Count To-Date: 17

dream #75, revisited

As I herumgestöbert in my blog with its new template, I came across something that made me laugh. Posted on December 27, 2005, "dream #75" was one of the dreams I translated via the online translator, with what were, to me, hilarious results.

My favorite part is that the spider "would not become squoosh." I really, really hate it when spiders--and/or ticks--refuse to become squoosh.

So once again, just for fun, here is "dream #75" in all its weirdly translated glory:

dream #75
recorded June 27, 2005

For your reading pleasure I give you once again peeps in the foreign world of dreams and on-line translators. Find below please the 75-th dream which I registered in my dream magazine first on English then in German. The translations into both languages are complaisance of that. Enjoy!

Back Pain and Hallucinations

Last night I dreamed that a spider on my left arm crept. I tried to squoosh, but it would not become squoosh. When I understood that it was not about to die, I looked at it closer and understood that it was a tick! I continued to hit my arm, to smoosh the tick trying, but it would also not become smoosh. My only execution was to do my arm pain. So, in the end, I smooshed it between my thumbnails.

I thought that I was now o.k., but then I saw that there was a bump behind my left hand. I bumped after the bump, and something moved in it. I started being earned gross, but I seized a knife and began to cut in the skin at the back of my hand. The skin was really thick and meaty: I did not cut deeply enough even to hit bone, but I cut open 1 inch thick fabric from the back of my hand. I unloaded the fabric on the table. Blood and flaps of the meat were everywhere. I saw, in the end, that the moving thing was a spider in my hand. His legs were long and thin, and when I drew them, the spider glided directly from the back of my hand. This was still alive.

Me turned Ed and to speak me tried ones, but nothing would come out. I could not believe that I had cut just in my hand like this, and that a spider had lived under my skin. Ed it was earned just absolutely gross. The spider did weak, twitching movements on the table. Then there ended the dream.

When I woke, my whole left arm was a sore place, from my finger points the whole way in my shoulder and highly back. I think that I slept wrong on my left side, and my brain translated pain into the weird spider and discs of sharp images. YUCK!

chocolate and roses out, dreamy-ethereal-silhouetty stuff in

For Facebookers: Check out my new blog template here.

As those of you who voted can see, I didn't go with the template most of you picked. I can't even remember now which one that was, and though I could go back and check, I'm not going to do so because it's 4:30 in the morning, I am unwillingly awake, and checking would require too much effort at this point.

Anyway, thanks to everyone who voted, and I hope you're not terribly disappointed. However, in spite of the fact that I requested your votes, this is not a democracy, and as Grand Poobah and Amazon Queen of my blog, I reserve every right to veto. ;o)

So, enjoy the new blog look. I do.

Now, all I need is a new profile pic...

this will probably interest only other writers. and maybe those who obsess over the criminal justice system.

So, in case I've never mentioned it here: There is a stupendous organization called Writer Beware!, whose gurus make it their business to seek out despicable, writer-scamming scum-vermin and hunt down said scum-vermin and use super-sonic ray guns to blast said scum-vermin to smithereens, thereby preserving the sanity and pocketbooks of hapless writers all over the galaxy.

I might be exaggerating a teense.

But just a teense.

Writer Beware! really does provide an incredibly helpful and vital-to-the-writing-life service. If you are thinking of publishing a book, you need to do some research within the WB! blog, especially concerning vanity publishers, POD services, and scam artists posing as agents. (Another good site for such research is Preditors & Editors, which reminds me that I need to update my links list, which in turn reminds me that I need to change my blog template.)

Anyway, Writer Beware! has released a wonderful tidbit of news that has caused my heart to leap with joy like a fleet-footed fawn tasting the first fresh airs of robust spring. You can read this new here if you wish, but I shall graciously extend it to you in the following nutshell:

There's gonna be a special division in the FBI for going after the despicable, writer-scamming scum-vermin.

That's right. Writer Beware! is getting federal help. From the F. B. I. Which is so way awesomely cool, I could just do the potato wave right here.

Watch out, you despicable, writer-scamming scum-vermin, you. You're about to get super-sonic-ray-gun-blasted.

who told you?

This made me cry a little.

telling it like it is--a side effect of mission work

Frankly, when you do mission work, a lot of people put you up on a pedestal, and that's a really bad place to be.

Because it's easy to fall off.

I'm not going to go into the every-Christian-is-by-definition-a-missionary, because that is another story and shall be told another time. My point for this particular blopgost is that many people (1) seem to think that only a "special few" have what it takes to tell others about Jesus in a "foreign" (also a topic for another time) country; (2) these same people make a big fuss over those who tell others about Jesus in a foreign country; and (3) these same people continue to put the "missionaries" up on a pedestal even 1.4 years after said "missionaries" are no longer working in a foreign country.

Please note that I am not trying to mock anyone or infuse my post with contempt for the well-intentioned folks who "fuss" over me.

I just wish there were a brief yet polite way to communicate that...

..."I'm proud of you" is not a phrase that makes me feel good.
I am not the one who did the work--*God* did it--so there's no reason for me to be proud. The other person is not the one who did the work--so why should they be proud? I am glad I did the work; I wouldn't trade my time as a "missionary" for anything; I am pleased that God used me to encourage others. But pride is a dangerous thing for me, and I'd like to avoid even the appearance of it, even if it's well-meant.

...I appreciate the encouragement, but I do not want to be elevated in anyone's eyes.
The pedestal thing really doesn't work for me. Actually, it scares me--because pedestals are high; and I've been up there before; and I have liked it; and I have fallen. I really don't want to be up there again and face the possibility of liking the lofty heights again. There's only one way off, and it's fast, and it really hurts when you hit the bottom.

...it's an honor for people to be in the presence of God.
It is not an honor for people to be in the presence of me. I am no different, no better, no higher, no purer, nor more admirable than any other human being. Save the honor and the praise for God, because he is the only one who has done something to deserve it. He is the only one who *is* something to deserve it.

...I love to feel appreciated, and I love to hear that I'm appreciated.
Encourage me, yes. Be my friend, yes. Tell me you love me, yes. Ask me for my stories, yes. That is the way to let me know that I have encouraged you, that I mean something to you. But don't feed my ego. It's big enough already.

What is the way to say this in ten words or fewer? :o) I try really hard to give credit where it's due (--> GOD), but it's hard to find the right words without hurting the feelings of the well-intentioned. And I just don't want to hurt anybody. I've done enough of that, too.

*sigh* Life is hard, and then you do the potato wave.

I don't know exactly what that means, but I think it's the truth. ;o)

oh, and by the way...

WHERE THE WILD THINGS ARE.

Need I say more? ;oD

a few items of randomness

I have really been enjoying getting books from the library.

Also, I like to read them.

I think this is positively lovely. It's nice to know that there's a guy out there who just wants to make a girl's day go better. To that anonymous gentleman: You know a lot about women. Don't forget. :o)

Yesterday, I got to witness the power of prayer working in the life of a 6-year-old girl suffering from cherubism. A scheduled 6-hour surgery that only took an hour-and-a-half, and she got to go home today. God is good.

Our TV is broken, and we haven't gotten to watch this week's episode of Lost yet. I am in mourning.

I plan to factor the purchase of the "Twilight" DVD into our budget for April, and I plan to purchase said DVD on April 1st--no fooling.

Today, I heard two fish stories--one big, one little--and they both made me laugh.

Today, I remembered that Jim Carrey is the reason I didn't like "Batman Forever." I have enjoyed Carrey's performances in (a couple of) other films, but his "Riddler" in BF is just tasteless.

Christian Bale is my favorite Batman, hands down.

I miss seeing Chris O'Donnell in movies.

I really don't care what any radio dj looks like without his glasses.

It was a blast to spend the afternoon of Janine's birthday with her. I miss my Saxony friends.

I would like to live somewhere with a yearlong temperature between 68 and 80 degrees Fahrenheit.

If either my brain or my consciousness were somehow transplanted/transferred into a man's body, I don't think I'd be able to walk.

Hey, Germans: Do any of you remember "Knuffelbunte"? I had a pink one when I was a kid.

I started a painting in January, and I haven't finished it.

People have been asking me lately if I have lost weight, and I have answered "yes," and I have liked it.

I'm going to stop writing this and go to bed now.

fyi, i've answered the most recent comments

my first ever post about a professional sport

Ed and I went to tonight's Thunder game. This was only the second time I've ever been to a professional basketball game, and I have to say that the first game a few months ago was more enjoyable than the second. Tonight, the refs stopped the game so often, it was as though somebody had a big remote control somewhere and kept hitting "pause." :oP But Jennifer, Andy, and Joel were there, so we made up in silly fun-ness for what the game lacked in continuous excitement. ;o) And I really enjoyed the extreme dunking guys during halftime!

On the way back our cars after the game, Jennifer and I spotted something funny-odd. In the sidewalk were two rectangular metal plates, about the size of a regular sheet of paper. Embossed on both plates was the following:

NO TRESPASSING

ECLIPSE BLOW-OFF

Quoi? How could anybody trespass beneath the sidewalk? The plates weren't really large enough to allow access to any adult human with a pelvis and collar bones. And "eclipse blow-off"? I'm assuming it's not a "Twilight" reference. ;o) Do the plates blow off the sidewalk if there's an eclipse? Are we supposed to blow off the eclipse if one happens?

I'm having visions of little metal plates all over the city, exploding into the air at the first sign of the moon's edging over into the sun's territory.

This world is not short on oddities.

changing my blog template

Greetings all,

I have decided to change my blog template. I've found several options that I like, but I'm having trouble choosing between them. If you're inclined to help me out, please check out the templates below and tell me which one you think would suit me best. I'll probably give this another week before I make a final decision.

Thanks!

Template options:

Grungy
Solipsus
Dream Light
The Hobbit
Going Home (This one is on a different site than the others, and the sample template is smaller.)

why i'll always love fiction...

...both reading it and writing it:

"Ultimately, conflict is the reason we read novels. It forces characters to make decisions, it tests their strengths and weaknesses, it reveals what makes people tick. Conflict, ultimately is revealing.

"A man serenely walking down the street is not a story. It only becomes a story when he is captured by space monkeys who try to force him to root for Duke. Now that's conflict."

--Nathan Bransford,
literary agent

faith and fixing things

This evening, in a group discussion, we talked about the definition of faith and what role faith plays in relationships. Here are some thoughts this discussion inspired in me:

As some of you know, I am, by nature/nurture, a "fixer" of things. I see something broken, I want to fix it. I see a problem, I want to solve it. I see another person's dilemma, I want to resolve it. My instinctive reaction is, "Oooh! A challenge! Let's stop talking about it and DO something about it!"

It is very frustrating and discouraging to others when I react this way.

They don't want me to fix it.
They just want me to listen.
They just want me to feel with them.

This has been a very difficult lesson for me to learn. In the course of learning this lesson, I hurt people who were close to me. I did some severe damage to some very important relationships, relationships that are still recovering from my immaturity. And my arrogance.

I fight against this natural/nurtural tendency to try to fix everything. I still have to squelch that initial, overeager, overbearing reaction--and I will probably have to exercise that rigid self-control for the rest of my life. But I am *learning*. I am growing. And that's the point.

Here's my definition of how faith should affect my relationships:

Faith is acting on the knowledge that when someone opens up to me, it is not my job to "fix" that person. It is not my job to fix that person's problem. It is not my job to worry and nitpick over how/when that person is ever going to change.

It is not my job to offer a solution. Why not? --> Because any solution I offer is a solution based on *my* experiences, *my* vision, *my* thought patterns, *my* emotions. The solution that I consider so clear and so right might be completely wrong if applied to the other person's life.

Faith is acting on the knowledge that God has a plan for the other person. Faith is acting on the knowledge that God has a "time schedule" for the other person, and that is *not* the time schedule that *I* would set. And this is The Way It Should Be.

My job is to make myself vulnerable and submissive to God's-will / God's-precepts / the-relationship-laws-God-has-set-up-for-his-universe.
My job is to let that will / those precepts/laws change me from the inside out.
My job is to ask questions in order to help others figure out what their worldview really is.
My job is to help others get to know who the Being is who set those precepts/laws in motion. The other humans' reaction to that Being is entirely up to them.

a young existentialist, sort of

This poor, dentist-drugged kid is asking the questions that plague most of us at some point in our lives:

Is this real life?

Why is this happening to me?

Is this gonna be forEVER?

I don't know if this video is funny or sad, but you can see it here.

book comments 14

“The Willoughbys” by Lois Lowry
A Novel
Nefariously Written & Ignominiously Illustrated by the Author
That “nefariously” line isn’t actually part of the title, but it’s printed on the front of the book, and I love it.
I liked everything about this book.
--story of the four Willoughby children who decide they would make good orphans and must therefore get rid of their parents
--funny, witty, sarcastic, morbid, parodying multiple conventions of children’s literature
--Lowry’s newest novel, and she does not disappoint
--highly recommend to anyone who enjoys children’s lit, satire, humor, or just plain good stories
Note: Lowry describes herself as “a wizened, reclusive old woman who sits hunched over her desk thinking obsessively about the placement of commas.” I adore her for this. That’s going to be me someday, you just watch. ;o)

“The Night Angel Trilogy 1: The Way of Shadows” by Brent Weeks
--story of Azoth, a street kid trying to get out of the horrible life he was born into
--fantasy story of betrayal, hardship, least-of-multiple-evils choices, love, faith, forgiveness, redemption
--gritty and dark
--one theme is child abuse, and there is some vulgar language --> caveat emptor; kids and young teens shouldn’t read this
--compelling characters (especially main characters!), nonstop action --> left me breathless, unable to put the book down
I’ll definitely read the second novel in the trilogy.
--recommend to fantasy fans and anyone interested in aforementioned themes

“Nights in Rodanthe” by Nicholas Sparks
--story of middle-aged mom Adrienne, looking back on the time she unexpectedly found love and figured herself out
As Sparks novels go, this one was somewhat disappointing; definitely not on the level of “Notebook,” “Wedding,” and “Walk to Remember.” I checked it out to see if reading it would make me want to see the movie.
It didn't make me want to see the movie. (I might see the movie anyway, but only because of Diane Lane.)
--characters were well-developed but lacked vibrancy
--did not suck me in; I never really got emotionally involved with anyone in the story
--possible exception was Adrienne’s daughter, but she was a minor character
--use of big coastal storm to symbolize peak of action seemed cliché to me
Celia asked me how I enjoyed it, and my honest response was, “Meh.”
Unconditional Sparks fans will like this one, but I neither recommend nor disrecommend it. ;o)

“Winter Moon”
Collection of three fantasy novellas

“Moontide” by Mercedes Lackey
--story of Moira, trying to foil her father’s plot against the king
--sounds classic fairy-tale
--But.
--heroine's training as a magic-wielding assassin adds quite the twist ;o)
--strong, vivid characters; well-developed, fast-moving plot
--loved how Kedric reacts when Moira goes off to fight Massid
As expected, this novella is yet more proof that Lackey is a master.
--recommend

“The Heart of the Moon” by Tanith Lee
First of all, this lady has a terrific first name.
Also, she writes really well. ;o)
--story of Clirando, seeking inner peace after getting her best friend banished
--loss, betrayal, consequences of choices, love, redemption
--fascinating cultural ideas about the moon and spiritual life
--great world-building, well-developed characters, lovely surprise ending
--recommend

“Banshee Cries” by C.E. Murphy
I’d never heard of Murphy, so I didn’t know what to expect.
I was definitely *not* disappointed.
--story of Joanne (aka Joanie, aka Siobhan), a cop with magical “shaman” powers, trying to solve a case of ritualistic murders in Seattle
--very strong, clear characters
--main character is especially vivid, full of great contradictions and inner conflict
--confusing to me at times, because of the mix of Native American “magic” and Celtic “magic”
--but the reconciling of the two cultures was interesting
Murphy sucked me in with the very first line: “Cell phones are the most detestable objects on the face of the earth.” ;o)
--recommend

I don’t get into novellas as much as I do novels, for the obvious reason that they’re shorter, and some of the story- and character-developments are truncated. That's why these three get plain “recommend”s instead of “highly”s. ;o) But I did enjoy all three, and I think any fantasy fan would get a kick out of them. Lackey’s and Lee’s are more standard sword-and-sorcery stuff, and Murphy’s adds an interesting present-day-our-world contrast.


2009 Book Count To-Date: 12