Reading Rainbow

For you folks raised in the 80's (and 90's? not sure about that), do you remember Reading Rainbow on PBS? I loved that show, and my favorite part was at the end when the kids would give book reviews and tell you to go check out their recommendations. I always wanted to read those books. Today, I will be that kid on Reading Rainbow.

In case you don't know me well, I read a lot. Perhaps excessively. I'm not sure where to draw the line of an acceptable amount of time reading and excessive reading, so I'll go with acceptable amounts of reading. Whatever the case may be, I've got lots of words and lots of authors and lots of ideas floating around in my head. I used to be really good for about 8 weeks or so about blogging book reviews (ok, I'll admit it, I was required to do it for a class...), but like most things related to my poor, neglected blog, that fell by the wayside.

Anyway, since I'm a book nerd, sometimes people ask me what is the best book I've read lately. I figured I'd do a Book of the Year award blog series highlighting my top 10 books of 2009. I'm not sure I trust myself with this, however. Like I said, I've got a lot of good intentions with my blog and not a lot of follow through, so I'm gonna go ahead and spoil the two books that (according to me) you ABSOLUTELY MUST go to a bookstore, buy, and begin reading today.

#1. The Road by Cormac McCarthy

**Warning - I'm going to gush.** This is the most beautiful and haunting novel I've ever read. I can't say it's my all-time favorite because of the bleakness of it, but it's definitely top 5 of all time. It's probably crazy to say that a novel can be life changing, but I'm pretty sure this one was. The language used by Cormac McCarthy is astounding, and the images he creates are at the same time scary and gorgeous. The love of The Man for The Boy is transcendent. The innocence of The Boy is heartbreaking. The lasting impression this book left me with is one of deep gratitude for what we've been given. I read this book in the summer when everything was green and bloomed, and every time I would stop reading, I'd look outside and thank God that I live in this version of Earth, rather than the version presented in "The Road." It reminded me that I need to be proactive in preserving my preferred version of the Earth. It also reminded me about the beauty of relationships.

Buy it, read it, and like all books, DON'T go see the movie and think you've read the book. Please. I obviously haven't seen the movie yet (it comes out on Thanksgiving weekend), but I can tell you right now that there's NO WAY the movie can capture the book's heart. Impossible.

also #1. Eating Animals by Jonathan Safran Foer

I hate to say it twice, but this is a life changing kind of book. It's Foer's first nonfiction book, and it's about an intensive study of the factory farm industry and the impact it has on us, the animals, and the environment. I know what you're thinking right now. "I already know that stuff. It's bad." I thought that too, but I read the book anyway, and I quickly realized that I didn't know even half of the issue. Without being preachy or feather-ruffling or anything, I'll just say that if it doesn't make you SERIOUSLY reconsider your food choices, you didn't fully read the book. It's not necessarily an argument for total vegetarianism, but is an irrefutable, multifaceted argument against industrialized meat, which is 99% of meat sold. If you buy it from the grocery store or eat it in a restaurant, it's industrialized. I wish I could buy it for every person I know and love, but I can't. Even if I did, I know that's no guarantee that you'd read it. If you're thinking that you don't want to read some hippie vegetarian book, at least take a peek at Amazon (watch the video and look at a few reviews) please...pretty please? It's that good... http://www.amazon.com/Eating-Animals-Jonathan-Safran-Foer/dp/0316069906/ref=cm_cr_pr_product_top

So there we have it! I kind of ruined my book award series by giving away the first two right off the bat, but I wanted to be sure they got out there! I promise this will be my only tie. Unfortunately, I can't promise I'll finish the other awards...I'll try, I'll try!

Happy reading!!

The post with no title because I've got writer's block...

Hello. Welcome to 11:30 the night before a 15-page short story is due. Here I am, sitting on the couch. I've got my lappy, a blanket, some tea, and a Pandora Radio station playing. All good things to get the writing to flow.

Nothing. NOTHING....

It's driving me insane. What is this phenomenon called writer's block, and why is it so aggravating? I've got three stories started, about a page or two written, then dead silence. I've got nothing else to say. I don't know where I want the story to go. My voice is off-kilter. The character is unbelievable. I don't have a good plot. I have to go to sleep at some point. Why didn't I do this earlier? Seriously, what is wrong with me? (All counter-productive thoughts, I know, but I'm venting, so just bear with me.)

Where do I go when all else fails? Google, that's where. The interwebs will bring me comfort and hope. I typed in "Writer's block quotes" and following are some of my faves:

"Writing is 90 percent procrastination: reading magazines, eating cereal out of the box, watching infomercials. It's a matter of doing everything you can to avoid writing, until it is about four in the morning and you reach the point where you have to write."
(Paul Rudnick)

God bless Paul Rudnick - he really gets me. I actually employed 2 out of 3 procrastination strategies listed in this quote. I read a great article on Wes Anderson in The New Yorker, and I watched a meaningless NFL game. I'm pretty confident that Paul and I would be friends if we ever met. True procrastinators share a bond. The bond of a vicious cycle of stress, self doubt, self loathing, completion, pride.

"I only write when I am inspired. Fortunately I am inspired at 9 o'clock every morning."
(William Faulkner)

BOOOO to Faulkner. We can't all be inspired at 9:00 am. The only thing I'm inspired to do at 9:00 am is to go back to bed. As a result, I'm inspired to drink more coffee at 9:00 am. Actually, booooo to anyone who is inspired to do anything before noon. There. I said it.

"Close the door. Write with no one looking over your shoulder. Don't try to figure out what other people want to hear from you; figure out what you have to say. It's the one and only thing you have to offer."
(Barbara Kingsolver)

Barbara wins. This is what I needed to hear, because tonight, this is my problem. I don't have someone literally looking over my shoulder, but I'm really trying to figure out what other people (namely, the professor) want to hear from me. He doesn't like quirky and slightly silly writing. Bummer for me - that's what I do. He wants MANLY stuff. War and death and action and guns and sci-fi. In the spirit of Barbara Kingsolver, I say TOO BAD. I'll write the story I want to write.

Let's hope my newfound resolve lasts long enough to get me through the night. Cross your fingers, friends!

Falling Through the Ceiling

I'll bet when you first read the title of this post, you thought it was some sort of metaphor for something else I wanted to write about, and I would somehow cleverly tie it in to "falling through the ceiling." Sadly, it is not. This title is very literal, because that's what I did yesterday...fell through the ceiling. Of my house. Yeah, I did....

To make a long stupid story a short stupid one, I have to go up to the attic every few months to clear out my dryer vent, and I have to balance on two ceiling studs with drywall and insulation surrounding me. Well, since I've never exactly been known for my graceful, yoga-style balance, I started to stumble and had to regain my footing by stepping through the drywall. My entire leg went through, and I had to scramble to get my arms balanced on the studs. You know in gymnastics how those guys have to balance their arms on those long parallel bars? Like this guy...

Yeah, that was me...except in the attic with my right leg hanging out of the ceiling into my shower. OK, I didn't look anything like that except my arm position and the leotard. :)

So my dog is barking and howling and growling because he thinks there's an intruder coming through the ceiling. I would have been proud of his guarding in any other circumstance, but in this case, the barking/growling/howling exacerbated the stress of the situation. I had to pull myself out of the ceiling (which is a challenge for a girl with extremely wimpy arm strength) and figure out what to do next. I had a banged up knee with fiberglass insulation in my mouth and on the rest of my body. There was nothing to do at that moment except to call Justin and plead with him to come home, call my Dad to ask about who to call/what to do next (God bless Dad), and go check out the damage. It wasn't pretty. The following picture is after clean up, so it's a prettier version of a very ugly incident:

I figured coffee makes things better, so as Justin was on his way home, I decided to brew a pot. After Justin came home and we assessed the damage, I went to make some nice warm coffee to try to make things better, only to find that I forgot that I cleaned the part of the machine that filters the water through the grounds, so there were wet coffee grounds spewed all over my counter. Fantastic.

Basically, I had a day of utter failure at day-to-day life. I spent the rest of the day nursing my bruised knee and reading a book. I figured the less I moved, the better chances of not screwing something else up. I succeeded.

On Jaws, writing, and the lack of both

Hello Blogosphere-

Long time no talk! Where have I been, you may ask. I've been around. It's not like I've been absolutely too swamped to write, that's not it. It's not like I've got nothing to write about. Actually, I've got a million things I could write about, which is probably the cause of the extended blogging hiatus.

Once I get out of the habit of blogging, I get a little self-centered and think that my first post after the hiatus has to be some profound statement about life and the discovery of some obscure truth. Of course it doesn't, and when have any of my posts been profound discoveries of truth? That's not really my bag; I'm much better at writing about stupid stuff like mopping floors or taking my dog to the park. I'm okay with that, which either means that I'm content or that I'm intellectually lazy. Possibly a little of both.

Whatever the case may be, here I am. And my super-important topic of the day is my irrational fear of Jaws. The shark in the movie, not the body part. Although come to think of it, I wonder if anyone has ever been afraid of the body part...how would that work? What would cause that fear? I know one thing, that person would probably be very skinny! Perhaps unfortunately for me, however, mine is the fear of the Great White shark variety of Jaws.

I was finishing a short story for one of my classes (Short Story Writing...how convenient), and I made a Pandora station of ominous opera music. "O Fortuna" station on Pandora is guaranteed to get you in the mood to write a tragic ending to any story. I have no idea what they're saying in Italian opera, but you don't need to understand the lyrics to know that it is the most dramatic music possible. After a few operatic songs, the theme to Jaws came on. If that's not the scariest song in existence, I don't know what is. Seriously - I think a chill went down my spine. I had to quit writing altogether and listen to it in a stunned awe of its creepiness and the horrific shark death images that are partnered with it. Then I was just spooked. Perhaps it's because I saw Jaws at an age when it's impossible to understand that sharks require salt water and cannot survive in the sewer system in Kenton, Ohio. I was scared to take baths, because who knew if Jaws would pop out! I was scared to swim in Galveston, because who knows what's in that murky water...including Mr. Bad Guy himself. Now that I live in a totally landlocked state with no saltwater in a 500 mile radius, my fear of Jaws is definitely placed on the back burner, but it's still there...

When the song was over and regular dramatic opera music returned, I went back to writing, and even added a line about the cold, calculated eyes of a Great White shark. So thanks for the line, and kudos to John Williams and Steven Speilberg. Have a listen and a looksey in honor of the terror that is JAWS! duhhhhhhhhhhhh duh....... :)

Beginning "The Road"

So I started reading "The Road" by Cormac McCarthey. He's kind of a big deal. Like a living legend type of writer. This is my first experience with Cormac, because he's a southern gothic/western writer, and that's typically not my bag. For that case, neither is post-apocalyptic writing such as "The Road," but I decided to give it a go. This novel won the Pulitzer in 2007 for best fiction, and is highly praised by all of the lit critics that have cred, so post-apocalyptic fiction, here I come! I'm only on page 40, and I'm already in love. McCarthy. is. a. pure. master. of. the. English. language. Read and adore these quotes:

"A corpse in a doorway dried to leather. Grimacing at the day. He pulled the boy closer, Just remember that the things you put into your head are there forever, he said. You might want to think about that. You forget some things, don't you? Yes. you forget what you want to remember and you remember what you want to forget." p 12

"The lake dark glass and windowlights coming on along the shore. A radio somewhere. Neither of them had spoken a word. This was the perfect day of his childhood. This the day to shape the days upon." p 14

"It's snowing, the boy said. he looked at the sky. A single gray flake sifting down. he caught it in his hand and watched it expire there like the last host of christendom." p 17

I could go on and on, but you get the idea. He has this amazing poetic/prose style of writing that I've never seen before. He doesn't use quotation marks, uses strange words, and combines words incorrectly. I'm not sure why, but it's different and kind of wonderful. 

Overall, read the stinking book. Even if you don't like post-apocalyptic storylines. Even if you don't think you can appreciate the style. Even if you don't like reading anything. It's worth it, and I'm only on page 40. 

Book Review: Pygmy

Oh, the joy of summer reading. I'm not taking any classes this summer, so I'm enjoying the freedom to read whatever I want. I've missed out on a LOT of current fiction due to being lost in Shakespeare, Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, and other great writers. I can't complain about that, but when summer hit, I was itching to read something modern, edgy, different, obscure. I looked on Amazon and Library Thing (some of my biggest online time-sinks), and came up with Pygmy by Chuck Palahniuk (which, after extensive YouTube research, I found is pronounced pollen-ick.) Palahniuk isn't really obscure, he has a pretty large audience due to his most famous novel, Fight Club. My other criteria of modern, edgy, and different definitely apply. 

I'm actually a little confused on if I liked the book or not. It was so different than what I'm used to reading that I was definitely intrigued, but I'm not sure if it was in a good way. Much like the movie version of Fight Club, there are scenes that make you feel like you need to scrub your brain clean after reading, but he wrote them in such a funny way that I didn't know whether to laugh or be offended. I guess that's Palahniuk's charm - the random scene in which the absurdly disgusting occurs written in biting humor. If that's your thing, then Palahniuk is your guy. I can't fathom where he comes up with his plot lines, and I'm sure a psychologist would have a field day trying to analyze his psyche. One thing is for sure: the man is an insanely gifted writer. 

The book was told in 1st person point-of-view from a 13 year old terrorist from some unnamed fascist country. He was sent by his country to pose as a foreign exchange student in America, meanwhile plotting "Operation Havoc" with his fellow comrades. His English is very broken, but his insights into American life are funny. I found myself laughing despite myself. The entire novel is written in broken, fragmented sentences, which has put off several readers, but the book would not have worked without it. His language makes the unbelievable circumstances surrounding Pygmy work. (Sample sentence: "Next now, eye new positioned, locked door slip unhealed, latch loud clack, sound angry humming." ...definitely takes some getting used to!) The unusual prose made the book enjoyable for me. Palahniuk wrote of everyday American events through the cold eyes of this outsider - events such as trips to Walmart, middle school show choir, dodgeball, church - and made these events spectacles. Very creative. 

So overall, I liked it. It was a quick read, definitely unique, made me laugh. I wouldn't recommend it to a large audience; he's pretty irreverent, and there are definitely some graphic descriptions that I could have done without. I'm not sure I'll ever read another Chuck Palahniuk book, but he's a good writer with some crazy ideas. How's that for a lukewarm review? :)

Next book on the chopping block: The Road by Cormac McCarthy

Melancholy Musings on Family

Once in awhile, when it's good

It'll feel like it should

And they're all still around

And you're still safe and sound

And you don't miss a thing

Till you cry when you're driving away in the dark

Oh, John, you know how to cut to the core of me. In all seriousness, these lyrics make me cry almost every time I hear them, which is often, because I'm obsessed with John Mayer's music. Ok, who am I kidding, I'm obsessed with all things John Mayer.

Anyway, I think this makes me cry when I hear it because it's such a poignant and melancholy metaphor of how deeply we love our families, yet with that love comes a certain feeling of foreboding. This feeling is magnified when you don't live near your family. I cried every time I left my parents house for about 3 years after leaving for college. Poor Justin knew it was coming and did his best to make it better each time it was leaving day. You're forced to recognize that family is home, but family is not forever. The comfort of "everyone together" is fleeting and precious. Having lost two grandparents in the last 6 months, I realize how safe it is knowing you have grandparents. Knowing there is a place that exemplifies unconditional love. Knowing there are four people in the world outside of your parents who are rooting for you no matter what. I was blessed with the best 4 grandparents known to man. 

Shosh and Pops were the connoisseurs of the backyard barbecue, owners of the world's greatest screened in back porch, workers in an immaculately groomed back yard, bakers of bread and noodles, chefs of french toast and peanut butter and honey sandwiches (Shosh would write my name in honey on the bread...sometimes I still do it!), and parents to 4 kids who adored them. There was always laughter at Shosh & Pops' house. Always. Even if someone was getting in trouble (Adam's dog with the purple tongue, I got my mouth washed out with soap the first time there, and I could hear Shosh & Mom laughing as I was in the bathroom). I always felt fancy at Shosh's house. I wore her robes, brushed my hair with her brush, painted my nails w/ her. I have some of my favorite memories with Morgan and Adam there. Lots of funny, quirky moments, big celebrations, fun holiday gatherings, quiet and simple summer afternoons. It was a beautiful house full of love and memories, and I'll always miss it. 

Grandpa & Grandma Holliday were owners of a child's paradise. A big, old house out in the country where kids were no longer burdened by the tedious rules of adults. Aunts, Uncles, and cousins abounded. There was never a dull moment. Horseshoe and croquet tournaments sometimes got a little heated. An endless supply of Wintergreen Lifesavers. The river and the old bridge was an endless source of entertainment. The infinitely proud grandpa who would boast for hours on his family. The grandma who would quietly agree, but was never the center of attention. The kitchen was packed with people, the food was always available. Imagination and make-believe abounded for the grandkids. Laughter and storytelling abounded for the adults. Almost all of my memories of the Holliday grandparents involved LOUD talking. It was always loud and buzzing with activity. The Holliday family was also full of love. Aunts, Uncles, Grandparents always made me feel like the world's most successful and interesting person. Another corner in the world where comfort and love lived that cannot ever be replicated. 

I would love to go back to where "it'll feel like it should, and they're all still around, and you're still safe and sound," but I can't. The only thing to do is to try my best to recreate their love for future generations. Love my parents, love my siblings, love my extended families and their extended families. Love my husband's family with the same ferocity that my aunts/uncles-in-law love me. Stay connected. Stay interested. Stay family, not a bunch of people who happen to share some DNA. I'm definitely not perfect at this, not even close, but I recognize that I need to work harder at it. 

Well, enough soul-bearing for one day. Talk about a schizophrenic blog - you never know what you're gonna get here, folks. I'm sure I have a grand total of 2 readers by this point, so have a good day, you two! (probably Mom and Justin)