So- I never thought I would say this but lately I've been contemplating Kindle.
As in- getting one.
I know, right.
I'm an old fashioned kind of girl. I love the way books smell, the way they feel. The excitement of starting a new one- I always skip ahead to the last page and just skim it. Ever so slightly. Just to see. And of course I read the acknowledgements, to see who the authors agent it.
But two recent events have made me start to think that it might be time to jump ship.
A couple of weeks ago, I was at Wal Mart and perusing the books. The selection was very minimal. Most of the books had 40% off stickers. Some of the books were in bins, one marked $5 one marked $7. Some of the books in the bin were hardcovers.
"I hate to say this," said a stranger who was standing beside me, in the same predicament. "But I think we're going to have to get an EReader soon," he said.
I nodded slowly. "You may be right," I concurred, with a sad sort of smile, though I wasn't quite sold on it.
At least, not yet.
Although I sensed something. That somehow, this strangers words were important, that things were shifting for me. For us, even, as I felt connected to this person, as book connoisseurs.
And I thought about Under the Dome, which I happened to be reading when I went to Mexico, which was unfortunate, because the book is over a thousand pages, and very weighty. I dragged that ting through the airports, to the beach and back every day. It was cumbersome, even to read, much less carry around. I would have preferred, I told my husband one night, if he had written the book in two parts rather than one that size.
And for all of my lugging it around in Mexico, I read maybe only a hundred pages.
In two weeks.
Pitiful, I know.
But in my defense: this is an example of a day at the beach:
Get down to the beach.
Unpack the kids towells and sand toys.
Sit down to read book.
One sentence later: "Mom, I have to go potty!" Alex says, holding himself.
"Okay," I say, getting up and walking the half block or so to the bathrooms. Along the way we stop and observe birds, his bathroom needs seemingly forgotten. He chases the birds for a while, cries when they fly away once he's within a few feet. Then he sees the outdoor showers, and of course he has to go in, he stands in the shower, playing with the water. Doing a version of the hokey pokey, putting the left foot in, the left foot out. I drag him away.
Finally, we get to the bathroom.
I sit him on the toilet. He has to take his shorts completely off, and his shoes as well. Then he sits on the potty, dangles his feet up and down. Looks at me with an adoring smile and says "all done." as he hops off.
"But you didn't go!" I tell him.
"I don't have to," he says, as he tries to open the door. I hold him back, wriggle his little but into his shorts and his little feet into his shoes.
We make the slow walk back to the beach.
Along the way we pass the bar. "I need a drink," he tells me. So we stand at the bar, order a Spiderman, which is a convoluted drink that involves red Jello and blue ice cream. Alex insists on carrying it himself to the beach. By the time we get there, he has spilled most of it on himself, and it's almost completely melted. He cries that he's sticky, and this necessitates another trip to the shower area. I can't get him away from the shower area. I walk away, thinking he'll follow. He does not follow. A security guard comes over and stands, protectively, beside the shower, observing Alex. I watch from the beach.
"There," I say, as I pick up my book. "The security guard is looking after him." But then I remember that the security guards are all, apparently, crooked and possibly involved in the drug cartel, according to a lady we met who was either the most brilliant detective since Sara Sidle or completely paranoid and deranged. I look at him talking on his two way radio, and wonder what he's saying, feeling vaguely suspicious about it for some reason.
I sigh and put my book down, walk back to the shower, pull Alex away, causing a slight scene in the process.We get back to the beach, I sit down, poised to read my book again. It feels nice.
I feel the sun boring into me, and I look up at the kids.
Hatless!
"Get your hats on," I tell them. I pull the hats out of the sand, shake them vigorously, put them on the kids, who promptly take them off. This goes on for some time. Finally I convince them to wear their hats, and they do so but begrudgingly.
Then I remember that I haven't sunscreened them recently, so I go and rub them down with SPF 50.
Then I sit down, poised to read, finally.
"I have to go potty," Alex says, again holding himself and dancing around, and I think- I think this is for real this time, although I'm never sure until we get there.
"Okay," I say with a sigh, getting up.
And so on and so forth.
Anyways.
Would a Kindle have prevented these problems?
No. Nothing could have prevented these problems, except for maybe birth control, but it was way too late for that.
But, still. I wouldn't have had to cart that damn book around with me, everywhere we went, for two weeks, so that I could read precisely one sentence every day.
So here I am, contemplating a Kindle.
I don't know what's happening to me, somehow, I'm becoming current. I even have a Blackberry now.
I even know how to use it.
Well, sort of. I mean, some stuff I can do.
What's next- maybe I'll read the Hunger Games or watch Inception.
Probably not. But you never know?
Anyways, you tell me: how do you read?
Showing posts with label Books. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Books. Show all posts
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Misadventures in Reading
I was standing in the kitchen, playing an impromptu round of "What did I just step in?"
I do not like this game, but being that I'm inclined to walk barefoot in my home and live with three kids, a dog and a cat, this is a game that is thrust upon me quite frequently.
Tonight's rendition seemed too easy. The texture was slimy, the temperature warmish.
"Ugh, dog puke," I thought, as I picked up my foot to see what, indeed, I had stepped in, partly hoping that I was right (for the win!) and partly hoping I was wrong (cuz- ew, dog puke? Need I say more?)
I was puzzled, but pleasantly surprised, by the result. Canola oil. Because trust me, it could have been worse. A lot worse.
Just think of it like an abbreviated paraffin wax treatment, I thought at I dabbed at my afflicted foot with paper towell, which felt kind of gross as it oozed between my toes. I covered the oily splotch on the floor with a tea Towell, wiping it ineffectively with my foot.
Why there was warm canola oil on my kitchen floor, I wasn't sure, but left the matter alone. It's better not to ask questions sometimes.
Besides, the end result is the same.
I poured myself a glass of wine, which is what I had gone into the kitchen for in the first place, and returned to the living room. A few minutes later, I was interrupted by my kids. First the pouty cry of Payton, as she emerged from the bedroom holding her left arm. She was followed by Alex, who was also pouting.
"I'm hungry for a sandwich," he said, in a whiny voice that was not quite a cry, but verging on it.
"A sandwich?" I asked with a laugh, finding it strange that he would be asking for a sandwich at nine pm.
"And what happened to your arm?" I asked Payton, thinking the two incidents were unrelated.
"Alex bit my arm because he's hungry for a sandwich," she said, looking disgruntled.
I couldn't help but laugh at that.
Oil on the kitchen floor, the kids apparently cannibalizing each other out of apparent hunger.
What the hell was going on in my house, you might be asking yourself.
I'll tell you what.
I got my book shipment today from Amazon!!
I started reading, at noon, Heart of the Matter by Emily Giffin. I was still reading it at nine, when said cannibalistic act took place. Maybe I have a problem, I thought, but then dismissed that.
What could be wrong with reading?
Besides, it wasn't my fault that the book was so captivating and engrossing that I couldn't, not possibly, be torn away from it, despite my initial misgivings.
I wasn't sure about the book in the beginning. The back jacket made it sound like there was some cataclysmic event, but then I found out a few pages in that said event was a boy burning himself while roasting marshmallows at a sleepover party. Now granted, his burns were somewhat bad.
But still.
This did not seem cataclysmic to me.
I realized with some shock and horror, that I had been fully expecting, and even hoping I think, that the boy would die. I felt oddly deflated when I discovered that no such death was forthcoming (what's wrong with me? I thought). But, in my defense, I mean, really? Four hundred pages about a boy who got burned while roasting a marshmallow?
I felt that I was the one who had been burned.
But then I found that that wasn't the cataclysmic event, but more or less the precipitating factor which led to this event- which as it turned out, was even better (or worse, because for me- the worse, the better) than I thought-
a cheating husband. This topic appeals to me, because I have often wondered why a person would choose to go down that road. It's a slippery slope, I've always thought. More like a series of small transgressions rather than one big one. And the book ended exactly the way I thought it should, which was nice. I hate it when I don't get my way in the end. But I have to say that even I was surprised that I was satisfied with the outcome. Well, I guess I can't say much more than that. Don't want to ruin the ending for anyone who hasn't read it.
Anyways, that was my day yesterday.
I do not like this game, but being that I'm inclined to walk barefoot in my home and live with three kids, a dog and a cat, this is a game that is thrust upon me quite frequently.
Tonight's rendition seemed too easy. The texture was slimy, the temperature warmish.
"Ugh, dog puke," I thought, as I picked up my foot to see what, indeed, I had stepped in, partly hoping that I was right (for the win!) and partly hoping I was wrong (cuz- ew, dog puke? Need I say more?)
I was puzzled, but pleasantly surprised, by the result. Canola oil. Because trust me, it could have been worse. A lot worse.
Just think of it like an abbreviated paraffin wax treatment, I thought at I dabbed at my afflicted foot with paper towell, which felt kind of gross as it oozed between my toes. I covered the oily splotch on the floor with a tea Towell, wiping it ineffectively with my foot.
Why there was warm canola oil on my kitchen floor, I wasn't sure, but left the matter alone. It's better not to ask questions sometimes.
Besides, the end result is the same.
I poured myself a glass of wine, which is what I had gone into the kitchen for in the first place, and returned to the living room. A few minutes later, I was interrupted by my kids. First the pouty cry of Payton, as she emerged from the bedroom holding her left arm. She was followed by Alex, who was also pouting.
"I'm hungry for a sandwich," he said, in a whiny voice that was not quite a cry, but verging on it.
"A sandwich?" I asked with a laugh, finding it strange that he would be asking for a sandwich at nine pm.
"And what happened to your arm?" I asked Payton, thinking the two incidents were unrelated.
"Alex bit my arm because he's hungry for a sandwich," she said, looking disgruntled.
I couldn't help but laugh at that.
Oil on the kitchen floor, the kids apparently cannibalizing each other out of apparent hunger.
What the hell was going on in my house, you might be asking yourself.
I'll tell you what.
I got my book shipment today from Amazon!!
I started reading, at noon, Heart of the Matter by Emily Giffin. I was still reading it at nine, when said cannibalistic act took place. Maybe I have a problem, I thought, but then dismissed that.
What could be wrong with reading?
Besides, it wasn't my fault that the book was so captivating and engrossing that I couldn't, not possibly, be torn away from it, despite my initial misgivings.
I wasn't sure about the book in the beginning. The back jacket made it sound like there was some cataclysmic event, but then I found out a few pages in that said event was a boy burning himself while roasting marshmallows at a sleepover party. Now granted, his burns were somewhat bad.
But still.
This did not seem cataclysmic to me.
I realized with some shock and horror, that I had been fully expecting, and even hoping I think, that the boy would die. I felt oddly deflated when I discovered that no such death was forthcoming (what's wrong with me? I thought). But, in my defense, I mean, really? Four hundred pages about a boy who got burned while roasting a marshmallow?
I felt that I was the one who had been burned.
But then I found that that wasn't the cataclysmic event, but more or less the precipitating factor which led to this event- which as it turned out, was even better (or worse, because for me- the worse, the better) than I thought-
a cheating husband. This topic appeals to me, because I have often wondered why a person would choose to go down that road. It's a slippery slope, I've always thought. More like a series of small transgressions rather than one big one. And the book ended exactly the way I thought it should, which was nice. I hate it when I don't get my way in the end. But I have to say that even I was surprised that I was satisfied with the outcome. Well, I guess I can't say much more than that. Don't want to ruin the ending for anyone who hasn't read it.
Anyways, that was my day yesterday.
Monday, October 18, 2010
What I Read This Weekend
I spent yesterday reading "Too Close to Home" by Linwood Barclay from cover to cover.
There are few times in my life when I will devour a book in one sitting, mainly because I have other responsibilities that I'm supposed to, technically speaking, be looking after- and not just putting "How to Train Your Dragon" on a continuous loop and feeding them pop tarts at random intervals.
Parenting with Pop Tarts, I should patent that as a potential book series- perhaps with the sub title: How to Have Your Cake and Eat it, Too.
Anyways.
My husband came home from work at 4:00.
"You're still in your pyjamas?' he asked.
I looked. "Apparently," I said, barely looking up from book.
"And the kids, too?"
I looked at them.
"Apparently."
I couldn't tell if he was annoyed or not.
Didn't really care.
Honestly, I don't see why he would be.
It's called 'conserving laundry', and it shouldn't kill him to act happy about it.
I finished the book just before midnight.
I realized just how immersed I was in it when I made myself a glass of lemonade.
I don't usually drink lemonade, but I had suddenly a strong urge to gulp back a glass of it.
And then I realized why.
The MC in the book, Jim Cutter, drinks it or mentions it in quite a few places.
And the description of it- the beads of sweat that rolled down the glass, coupled with the scorching temperatures described in the book, made me suddenly thirsty for lemonade as well.
Anyways, here's a list of 5 things I love about the book:
1. The characters name, Jim Cutter. I didn't realize it until about half way through book how fitting the name was for someone who, as a living, mows lawns. When I caught that, I felt as the author was letting me in some private joke.
2.The opening line: "The night they killed our neighbors, the Langley's, we never heard a thing."
I was hooked immediately. For some reason, the idea of neighbors being slain in the night appeals to me.
I don't know what that says about the kind of person I am.
Probably doesn't make you want to be my neighbor, though.
3. A scene in the book where a character brings his literary agent to a funeral and flaunts her about.
He doesn't outright say in the book that the character is an egotistical ass, but that does it right there.
We get the sense that he's maybe just ever so slightly self absorbed.
4. The pace of the book.
I kept on thinking, I'll just finish this chapter, and then I'll... whatever whatever...brush my teeth, feed my kids, respond to the fire alarm.
But then the end of the chapter would bring a new twist and I'd be like "Oh screw it, I can always brush my teeth tomorrow. And I'm sure that most fires can put themselves out."
Honestly that plot was more twisted than Ozzy freaking Osbourne.
And I mean that in a good way.
5. The fact that there's a book within a book.
"A Missing Part" is a book that sounds, on the one hand, totally absurd- about a man who wakes up with no penis.
And then yet again, it sounds like it just might be the kind of phallus glorifying piece of work that critics would love. I was going to say "eat up" but I wasn't sure about how appropriate that would be used in conjunction with 'phallus'.
6. I know what you're thinking- I said 5, but I can't help but add: The author is Canadian.
There are few times in my life when I will devour a book in one sitting, mainly because I have other responsibilities that I'm supposed to, technically speaking, be looking after- and not just putting "How to Train Your Dragon" on a continuous loop and feeding them pop tarts at random intervals.
Parenting with Pop Tarts, I should patent that as a potential book series- perhaps with the sub title: How to Have Your Cake and Eat it, Too.
Anyways.
My husband came home from work at 4:00.
"You're still in your pyjamas?' he asked.
I looked. "Apparently," I said, barely looking up from book.
"And the kids, too?"
I looked at them.
"Apparently."
I couldn't tell if he was annoyed or not.
Didn't really care.
Honestly, I don't see why he would be.
It's called 'conserving laundry', and it shouldn't kill him to act happy about it.
I finished the book just before midnight.
I realized just how immersed I was in it when I made myself a glass of lemonade.
I don't usually drink lemonade, but I had suddenly a strong urge to gulp back a glass of it.
And then I realized why.
The MC in the book, Jim Cutter, drinks it or mentions it in quite a few places.
And the description of it- the beads of sweat that rolled down the glass, coupled with the scorching temperatures described in the book, made me suddenly thirsty for lemonade as well.
Anyways, here's a list of 5 things I love about the book:
1. The characters name, Jim Cutter. I didn't realize it until about half way through book how fitting the name was for someone who, as a living, mows lawns. When I caught that, I felt as the author was letting me in some private joke.
2.The opening line: "The night they killed our neighbors, the Langley's, we never heard a thing."
I was hooked immediately. For some reason, the idea of neighbors being slain in the night appeals to me.
I don't know what that says about the kind of person I am.
Probably doesn't make you want to be my neighbor, though.
3. A scene in the book where a character brings his literary agent to a funeral and flaunts her about.
He doesn't outright say in the book that the character is an egotistical ass, but that does it right there.
We get the sense that he's maybe just ever so slightly self absorbed.
4. The pace of the book.
I kept on thinking, I'll just finish this chapter, and then I'll... whatever whatever...brush my teeth, feed my kids, respond to the fire alarm.
But then the end of the chapter would bring a new twist and I'd be like "Oh screw it, I can always brush my teeth tomorrow. And I'm sure that most fires can put themselves out."
Honestly that plot was more twisted than Ozzy freaking Osbourne.
And I mean that in a good way.
5. The fact that there's a book within a book.
"A Missing Part" is a book that sounds, on the one hand, totally absurd- about a man who wakes up with no penis.
And then yet again, it sounds like it just might be the kind of phallus glorifying piece of work that critics would love. I was going to say "eat up" but I wasn't sure about how appropriate that would be used in conjunction with 'phallus'.
6. I know what you're thinking- I said 5, but I can't help but add: The author is Canadian.
Friday, October 1, 2010
Creative Sleuthing
Whether or not Geoff is having an affair remains to be seen.
He's acting guilty.
He offered to take the kids out tonight- to clean his car and to get movies and snacks, so that I could have a moment to myself, to 'catch my breath' after being so busy all week with work, and the kids- because Geoff's so called "work schedule" has had him out of the house every night this past week.
He came home about an hour later, the kids rushing in the door, excitedly displaying movies and Slurpies and a jumbo bag of Ketchup chips.
Geoff followed behind them, with a lot less enthusiasm. He threw his keys on the counter with a loud thud.
"How was the movie store?" I asked, though I could tell by his defeated, slightly slumped posture that the answer was 'not well.'
"Don't EVER take Alex to the movie store," came his answer.
I stifled a laugh.
"No. I'm being serious. They didn't ban us this time, but they might the next. All he does is run around and knock every movie off the shelf. I had to go around behind him and pick them all up. They were all in a big jumble and I put them back at random. I think the people working there were getting annoyed.
He handed me a movie "Looking For Eric."
"I didn't have time to read the back. It was one that Alex grabbed when he was heading for the door, so I paid for it and left. I think it's about a postmaster in Manchester."
"Oh," I said. "A postmaster. That's kind of- a nice change of pace, I guess."
Usually he picks movies that have crime tape on the front and/or a pissed off looking cop reaching for his holster.
Usually it's Denzel Washington.
Anyways, at first I thought "Wow, that's great that he took the kids out!"
But then I thought: A guilty conscience, perhaps??
Naturally, I plan on investigating the matter further.
The most logical next step, of course-and this should go without saying but I'll say it anyways- is to go to his work and follow him around, crouching and hiding behind tables or pressing myself real thin against the wall like I see them do on Law and Order whenever they're about to do a drug bust.
Lucky for my mother, who pointed out the flaw in my plan.
I need to go incognito.
A disguise!
I'm thinking of something with a tall, maybe flowery hat and a pair of really big sunglasses.
He'll never recognize me. (Actually, knowing my husband- he truly might not.)
I might even pose as a customer, and chat up some of the waitresses, try to needle them for information.
"So what do you think of the manager around here? Are there any-ahem- rumors circulating about him??"
And if it's at all possible, I wouldn't mind to try to get a urine sample from Sasha to do a pregnancy test.
It should be relatively simple to follow her to the bathroom, from there it might be a little tricky.
Perhaps I could even suggest that I was a building inspector, and I need to take a sample from the staff to see if they have mold in their system, although I wonder if mold would really be excreted in the pee, but hopefully no one else will question that. If they do, I could always direct them to a bogus website that I could create tonight. I can see it now. "www.httpy://MOLDFACTS.CA/legitwebsite.com. ( not a link, do not click- this is not an actual website. Yet.)
Fact#1: Mold is harmful and can easily grow in damp places like commercial kitchens, etc.
Fact#2:Mold can be excreted in pee.
I think I'll have to think up a few more facts, but otherwise I think it should work pretty good.
Plus, if I talk in a British accent, I'll sound really official.
Except that my British Accent is more Scottish meets Drunken Sailor meets Apu from the Simpsons.
Oh well, I'm sure that it will all work out.
The good news is that Sophie Kinsella has a new book out!
I almost hyperventilated today when I went to Superstore and just so happened to walk through the book aisle, and there I saw it "Mini Shopoholic"
And it was 40% off.
Breathe, I told myself. In through the nose and out through the mouth.
I never buy books in hardcover, because they're so expensive, and I find them awkward to read. But for Sophie, I make the exception.
And like my friend Bex would say, it's 40% off, so I'm actually saving a load of money in the long run, and it'll pay for itself eventually, and if you look at twenty whatever dollars divided by 400 whatever pages, that's only cents a page! (I think, I'm not very good at math). At that price, I'd be stupid not to buy it.
And like my other friend Suze Orman says, can I afford not to buy it??
The melancholy that will ensue? The persistent vegetative state- knowing that that book is out there??
At this point, I feel sort of like some bloke who just spent his last dollar on some two bit whore.
I'm anxious, bursting, really to tear right into it.
And then I have this other, simultaneous, urge to slow it down, make it last.
Sophie Kinsella doesn't put out books every day.
Anyways, having said that, I really must go. To read. And create decoy websites and order flower hats from Ebay...
Have a good weekend!!
He's acting guilty.
He offered to take the kids out tonight- to clean his car and to get movies and snacks, so that I could have a moment to myself, to 'catch my breath' after being so busy all week with work, and the kids- because Geoff's so called "work schedule" has had him out of the house every night this past week.
He came home about an hour later, the kids rushing in the door, excitedly displaying movies and Slurpies and a jumbo bag of Ketchup chips.
Geoff followed behind them, with a lot less enthusiasm. He threw his keys on the counter with a loud thud.
"How was the movie store?" I asked, though I could tell by his defeated, slightly slumped posture that the answer was 'not well.'
"Don't EVER take Alex to the movie store," came his answer.
I stifled a laugh.
"No. I'm being serious. They didn't ban us this time, but they might the next. All he does is run around and knock every movie off the shelf. I had to go around behind him and pick them all up. They were all in a big jumble and I put them back at random. I think the people working there were getting annoyed.
He handed me a movie "Looking For Eric."
"I didn't have time to read the back. It was one that Alex grabbed when he was heading for the door, so I paid for it and left. I think it's about a postmaster in Manchester."
"Oh," I said. "A postmaster. That's kind of- a nice change of pace, I guess."
Usually he picks movies that have crime tape on the front and/or a pissed off looking cop reaching for his holster.
Usually it's Denzel Washington.
Anyways, at first I thought "Wow, that's great that he took the kids out!"
But then I thought: A guilty conscience, perhaps??
Naturally, I plan on investigating the matter further.
The most logical next step, of course-and this should go without saying but I'll say it anyways- is to go to his work and follow him around, crouching and hiding behind tables or pressing myself real thin against the wall like I see them do on Law and Order whenever they're about to do a drug bust.
Lucky for my mother, who pointed out the flaw in my plan.
I need to go incognito.
A disguise!
I'm thinking of something with a tall, maybe flowery hat and a pair of really big sunglasses.
He'll never recognize me. (Actually, knowing my husband- he truly might not.)
I might even pose as a customer, and chat up some of the waitresses, try to needle them for information.
"So what do you think of the manager around here? Are there any-ahem- rumors circulating about him??"
And if it's at all possible, I wouldn't mind to try to get a urine sample from Sasha to do a pregnancy test.
It should be relatively simple to follow her to the bathroom, from there it might be a little tricky.
Perhaps I could even suggest that I was a building inspector, and I need to take a sample from the staff to see if they have mold in their system, although I wonder if mold would really be excreted in the pee, but hopefully no one else will question that. If they do, I could always direct them to a bogus website that I could create tonight. I can see it now. "www.httpy://MOLDFACTS.CA/legitwebsite.com. ( not a link, do not click- this is not an actual website. Yet.)
Fact#1: Mold is harmful and can easily grow in damp places like commercial kitchens, etc.
Fact#2:Mold can be excreted in pee.
I think I'll have to think up a few more facts, but otherwise I think it should work pretty good.
Plus, if I talk in a British accent, I'll sound really official.
Except that my British Accent is more Scottish meets Drunken Sailor meets Apu from the Simpsons.
Oh well, I'm sure that it will all work out.
The good news is that Sophie Kinsella has a new book out!
I almost hyperventilated today when I went to Superstore and just so happened to walk through the book aisle, and there I saw it "Mini Shopoholic"
And it was 40% off.
Breathe, I told myself. In through the nose and out through the mouth.
I never buy books in hardcover, because they're so expensive, and I find them awkward to read. But for Sophie, I make the exception.
And like my friend Bex would say, it's 40% off, so I'm actually saving a load of money in the long run, and it'll pay for itself eventually, and if you look at twenty whatever dollars divided by 400 whatever pages, that's only cents a page! (I think, I'm not very good at math). At that price, I'd be stupid not to buy it.
And like my other friend Suze Orman says, can I afford not to buy it??
The melancholy that will ensue? The persistent vegetative state- knowing that that book is out there??
At this point, I feel sort of like some bloke who just spent his last dollar on some two bit whore.
I'm anxious, bursting, really to tear right into it.
And then I have this other, simultaneous, urge to slow it down, make it last.
Sophie Kinsella doesn't put out books every day.
Anyways, having said that, I really must go. To read. And create decoy websites and order flower hats from Ebay...
Have a good weekend!!
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
At the Book Store, Part 2
Another trip to the bookstore brings more thoughts.
The first book I pick up bears this description on the back jacket "While trying to train his horse in rural..."
I put it back down.
As a general rule, I do not read books about horses.
I might, might, consider it if it has a horse in it, as a bit character, but if the horse figures at all prominently in the book, I'm out.
I realize I'm actually quite picky when it comes to books.
Here is a list of things I will not read about:
-horses
-pirates
-books that are set in another time (although I did read "Water For Elephants", and it was a good book. I was absolutely loathe to read it "I do not read books about circuses, nor books that are set in a different time or place." I told my mom when she insisted that I read it. But with a sigh of resignation I took the book. And read it in a day. Although, in my defense, it does alternate between the thirties and present day.)
-books that are set in another place
-ninjas and their ilk.
-witches, wizards, sorcerers, etc
-books that involve Christmas Tree selling as the main story line (yes, I know these books are few and far between, but I did see one this weekend past- Silver Bells. I passed on it, mentally adding a new (but small- so far) category to my list.
-books that involve international conspiracies and/or drug lords
The first book I pick up bears this description on the back jacket "While trying to train his horse in rural..."
I put it back down.
As a general rule, I do not read books about horses.
I might, might, consider it if it has a horse in it, as a bit character, but if the horse figures at all prominently in the book, I'm out.
I realize I'm actually quite picky when it comes to books.
Here is a list of things I will not read about:
-horses
-pirates
-books that are set in another time (although I did read "Water For Elephants", and it was a good book. I was absolutely loathe to read it "I do not read books about circuses, nor books that are set in a different time or place." I told my mom when she insisted that I read it. But with a sigh of resignation I took the book. And read it in a day. Although, in my defense, it does alternate between the thirties and present day.)
-books that are set in another place
-ninjas and their ilk.
-witches, wizards, sorcerers, etc
-books that involve Christmas Tree selling as the main story line (yes, I know these books are few and far between, but I did see one this weekend past- Silver Bells. I passed on it, mentally adding a new (but small- so far) category to my list.
-books that involve international conspiracies and/or drug lords
In the end, I ended up choosing a book called "Secrets to Happiness" by Sarah Dunn. It has a puppy on the front cover, so I was drawn to it. I couldn't make a decision by reading the back cover, so then I went to the next phase, which is reading the first page. I was sold after reading the first sentence
"Do you want to know the secret to a happy marriage? Put your wife on Prozac."
That sounds about right, I thought, throwing the book into my cart.
Not that I'm on Prozac or anything
Not that that doesn't mean I shouldn't be. I flashed to Alex's second birthday part, me sitting in the front seat of our SUV and crying while the children were at the petting zoo.Do I really want to spend Alex's second birthday bawling in the car?
Yes, apparently I do, I answered myself.
I don't know how or why I got so emotional. Anyways, I had my meltdown and felt better. Nothing that a little bit of Birthday cake and some Chardonnay couldn't fix.
Monday, July 12, 2010
At the Book Store
I think I might kind of know what it feels like to be a literary agent.
I spent about an hour in a book store reading the first line on the jacket of about forty books to arrive at one that I would spend my precious, hard earned cash on. I didn't even bother to look at the jacket of Sylvia Brown's latest hardcover.
Fuck you, Sylvia Brown. Tormenting me with your "New York Times Bestseller!" sticker. I just don't see how...
Well, nevermind. I'm getting bitter.
But honestly, all these books these days. Do they all have to be YA paranormal?? I am a woman, and I want to read about women. Not about girls who may be vampires or have fallen in love with a vampire (although- OK, Twilight was a good book- but enough already.) They just don't make them like they used to. That lovely book about that young girl who goes to the prom.
Carrie, I think it was.
Those were the good old days. Before teenagers had crazy supernatural powers.
The book I chose: Life Without Summer, a debut novel by Lynne Griffin. I was hooked after reading the first sentence on the back jacket of the book: "Tessa Gray's life changes forever when she loses her four-year-old daughter, Abby, in a hit and run car accident outside her preschool."
Inexplicably, I am drawn towards this premise.
You would think that I might be less inclined towards it, given that I have a five year old daughter myself. But I think that this is actually what makes it compelling.
It almost happened to me once.
A simple thing. A simple chore. A routine day. And yet.
I drove Payty to dance on a Saturday, parked in the busy parking lot. I got to work unfastening baby Lex from his car seat. Payton, tutu clad, ran out from between the parked cars to rush to the studio, it being freezing cold outside.
At exactly that same moment, a car came barreling around the corner.
I heard the screeching of the brakes, saw Payton standing there, helpless. It was in slow motion but at the same time, it seemed to happen to fast for me to respond. I stood there, heart hammering. The car stopped more centimeters shy of my Paytons chest.
In that moment, I wondered "what if..."
I pictured a scene: Payton on the ground, her pink tutu splayed around her. My cries of hysteria, cradling her head on my lap, even as the blood pooled beneath it. Hearing the approach of sirens.
I wonder, sometimes what my life would be now if, say, the driver of that car happened to be changing a CD when he turned that corner? Would I be married still? Could Geoff forgive me? Could I really ask him that?
Could I forgive myself?
It haunted me so. I thought about writing about it. But in the end I just couldn't go there.
Too dark.
There's a place underneath my deck that's dark. There are boards that cover it, but in places, the boards are coming loose. Sometimes, inadvertently, I catch a glimpse of what's underneath there. A tangle of weeds and cobwebs. Earth. I don't know what else. I can only speculate about it, but I try not to- are there things that scratch and scurry?
I think of it sometimes as a metaphor for the dark underbelly of all things.
We catch a glimpse of it sometimes.
I guess some people get more than a glimpse.
Anyways. I will read the book and let you know.
Sorry if this post is gruesome or disturbing. I don't really choose what I write about. It's more like it chooses me.
I spent about an hour in a book store reading the first line on the jacket of about forty books to arrive at one that I would spend my precious, hard earned cash on. I didn't even bother to look at the jacket of Sylvia Brown's latest hardcover.
Fuck you, Sylvia Brown. Tormenting me with your "New York Times Bestseller!" sticker. I just don't see how...
Well, nevermind. I'm getting bitter.
But honestly, all these books these days. Do they all have to be YA paranormal?? I am a woman, and I want to read about women. Not about girls who may be vampires or have fallen in love with a vampire (although- OK, Twilight was a good book- but enough already.) They just don't make them like they used to. That lovely book about that young girl who goes to the prom.
Carrie, I think it was.
Those were the good old days. Before teenagers had crazy supernatural powers.
The book I chose: Life Without Summer, a debut novel by Lynne Griffin. I was hooked after reading the first sentence on the back jacket of the book: "Tessa Gray's life changes forever when she loses her four-year-old daughter, Abby, in a hit and run car accident outside her preschool."
Inexplicably, I am drawn towards this premise.
You would think that I might be less inclined towards it, given that I have a five year old daughter myself. But I think that this is actually what makes it compelling.
It almost happened to me once.
A simple thing. A simple chore. A routine day. And yet.
I drove Payty to dance on a Saturday, parked in the busy parking lot. I got to work unfastening baby Lex from his car seat. Payton, tutu clad, ran out from between the parked cars to rush to the studio, it being freezing cold outside.
At exactly that same moment, a car came barreling around the corner.
I heard the screeching of the brakes, saw Payton standing there, helpless. It was in slow motion but at the same time, it seemed to happen to fast for me to respond. I stood there, heart hammering. The car stopped more centimeters shy of my Paytons chest.
In that moment, I wondered "what if..."
I pictured a scene: Payton on the ground, her pink tutu splayed around her. My cries of hysteria, cradling her head on my lap, even as the blood pooled beneath it. Hearing the approach of sirens.
I wonder, sometimes what my life would be now if, say, the driver of that car happened to be changing a CD when he turned that corner? Would I be married still? Could Geoff forgive me? Could I really ask him that?
Could I forgive myself?
It haunted me so. I thought about writing about it. But in the end I just couldn't go there.
Too dark.
There's a place underneath my deck that's dark. There are boards that cover it, but in places, the boards are coming loose. Sometimes, inadvertently, I catch a glimpse of what's underneath there. A tangle of weeds and cobwebs. Earth. I don't know what else. I can only speculate about it, but I try not to- are there things that scratch and scurry?
I think of it sometimes as a metaphor for the dark underbelly of all things.
We catch a glimpse of it sometimes.
I guess some people get more than a glimpse.
Anyways. I will read the book and let you know.
Sorry if this post is gruesome or disturbing. I don't really choose what I write about. It's more like it chooses me.
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