The Sayer and the Namer

There are certain things I'm pretty genius at, if I dont' mind saying so myself. I'm brilliant at creating worthy side-projects to avoid doing a big yucky one. Masterful. I could teach an entire graduate program in avoiding that-which-you-don't-want-to-tackle. Course titles would include "Making the Diversion Count" and "Self-Delusion" and "Don't Worry, You've got *Plenty* of Time"(I could, quite possibly, be a leading expert in the last course. World-renowned. I'll sign autographs later, when I've got time...haha)

I've made this work throughout my entire educational career, all the way through Graduate School, and have been fine. I've managed to learn the materials, write the papers, do the research, etc. using my own weird process. However, let me tell you an area in my educational career where this process will not work. WILL NOT, ERIN...do you hear that?!?....writing a novel for my thesis. (geesh...I'm still not sure what I was thinking there).

I've had 8 chapters written for about 6 months now. I've written 2 this summer thus far. (Yes, we're in July, I know). That makes 10 chapters in 9 months of knowing about the novel. How incredibly sad. In the meantime, I've organized my ENTIRE house once, and I'm starting to go through it again, I've researched a ton about my subject matter, I even went on a trip to the setting of my novel, surely that counts for something! I could go on and on about the other stuff I've done in lieu of working on the novel, but you don't want to hear it, and I don't want to be that blogger who brags about silly accomplishments. I much prefer to be the blogger who uses self-deprecation techniques to motivate herself to do something.

I love to read writers' blogs and books on writing. Stephen King's On Writing is such an incredible guide, and such an incredible reminder of his crazy talent. It at once motivates me to get going and makes me want to hang my writing hat and leave it to people like him. Anyway, I've recently read King, Ray Bradbury (Zen and the Art of Writing), and heard Harlan Coben say pretty much the exact same thing: So you want to be a writer? Stinkin' write! (I added the stinkin; all 3 of those guys are way too cool to say that. I'm not.) Just do it! Every day! Don't stop! Even if you don't feel like it. Harlan Coben said that writers are just as professional as plumbers. Do you ever hear a plumber complain that he just wasn't feeling his pipe-fixing muse today? That he didn't feel like he had a connection to his tools? Of course not, it's crazy, just like it is for a writer to say the same about their craft.

So that's just what I've got to do. Write. Read. Research. Then write some more. Then some more. Then even more. How much happier will I be in March if I turn in a thesis that I'm proud of? Ooh, I'm gonna add that to my mantra.

Happy (writing) Friday, friends and family! Enjoy your 4th barbecues and fireworks :)

The rest of my good/bad/happy/sad's of the day are not nearly as profound or important to me. My next bad was when I got onto the treadmill. As if running on a treadmill isn't bad enough, I wanted to quit after about 10 seconds. I usually have a (tiny) bit more motivation than that. The good came when some Bob Marley started singing "Don't worry about a thing; every little thing is gonna be alright," and it was absolutely what I needed to hear. I realized that I was making lists, guidelines, schedules, plans, daily goals, etc. I was also probably still a little shaken from my dream, the injustice in the world, the stinking ridiculous oil spill, stupid stuff to worry about because I have *no* control over it, stuff like that. Bob helped me chill out and gave me the clear headedness to finish my run. Author's Note: I'll be honest, when I say "run," I mean jog. Slow jog. Don't be impressed :)

Good/bad/happy/sad of the day #3: We had some flash floods yesterday in the old OKC. If we have not been plagued by bad weather this year, you can call me Shirly. (I have NO idea what that means or if it even makes sense. It might be from a movie? Or maybe I just made it up? Regardless, it just came out, and I thought it was so random and dorky that I didn't edit it out). You get my point. So anyway, word is that there were no casualties of the flood,

I don't know if you can read the tiny print on the bridge, so I'll translate: "Summer Fiction: 20 under 40" of the New Yorker. This is the reason I subscribe to the New Yorker - it's excerpts from 20 new/cool/hip/fab/trendy/fantastic/creative/I-want-to-be-them authors. It was joy and bliss when I realized what issue it was, because honestly, I kind of forgot about it. Like when you find money in your jeans type of happiness.

Overall, I like the way today played out. Sure, if I had my choice, everything would be happy all the time, and I would have avoided the bad. Who wouldn't want that? But isn't that a small picture of life: there's lots of happy and good, but there's lots of bad and sad. It's a balancing act.

I want to be in London. Like, I live there, but just temporarily. Maybe for 3 months or something. Anyway, I'd be in a cool little flat - this one to be exact:

http://www.homeaway.com/vacation-rental/p166987 .

So I'd wake up at about 10:00. (By the way, I can just see you, my bloggy friends, with your judgement in your eyes about the time. Yes, I'm 29, and I still like to sleep in. I hate early mornings. It's my daydream, so there! Harrumph.) Anyway, I roll out of my bed and look out the windows and see this:

...and I'm pretty satisfied. Then I get a latte that is somehow already perfectly made. It's in a cool mug and it's got a design in the foam. Like this:

I'm gonna go ahead and say that I'll have two of these lattes along with my breakfast of cheese crepes. Since it's my daydream, calories don't exist, so that's that.

I'd take a shower and put on some really adorable romantic outfit from a little boutique in London, since that's all my closet will be comprised of, and I'll be out the door.

Justin and I will meet for lunch at a cute little bakery somewhere, and we'll get a yummy lunch and some tea, then it's off to work for the afternoon (here's where it gets really good)

I'll go to some really cool, old university building and I'll go to a class with a really brilliant instructor. I'll admit - it's gotta be a woman, because that'll make me feel more empowered. Don't get all touchy, I realize that's kind of a sexist statement, but I'm just keeping it real, bloggy friends. The subject of my study for my 3 month stay in London is American Literature. I know that seems a little backward, to go to England to study American Literature, but again, it's my daydream, so that's just the way it is.

Today, it's Walt Whitman on the agenda. It's not really a formal class I'm in, just kind of a study program kind of thing. We'll read parts of Leaves of Grass, then discuss and analyze. We'll do the same with my Transcendentalists (Emerson and Thoreau), we'll look at William Faulkner, Tennessee Williams, Fitzgerald, Mark Twain, Sylvia Plath, lots of fun writers. We'll read and talk and read and talk about the diction, the structure, the flow, and the meaning. I'll learn some kind of amazing insight into Whitman that I would never be able to

know from reading it on my own, and I'm positive it will help me with my writing. My head will be full of all kinds of creativity and ideas, and I'll be tired and ready to quit for the day.

I'll meet back up with Justin and we'll go to a cool, trendy spot for dinner. We might run into David Beckham or Prince William or somebody, who knows? (Since it's my daydream, I can confirm that we run into both of these people, and they're the friendliest people in the world). Then we'll take a little stroll down the Thames holding hands and laughing about silly stuff. We'll get back to the flat and get Buckley to go to Hyde Park to play ball and go on a dusky, sunset walk.

We'll all be tired by then, so we'll hang out on the porch and look at London by night, then go to bed.

So there we have it, that's what I want to do today. Pretty sure my day is going to look just a little different than that though...and that's okay too :) Happy day (and daydreaming) everyone!

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.

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!!

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.

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....... :)