The Sunday Salon: Reflection

A sure sign the blog has been fallow for too long - a rash of spam comments on very old posts. Those things magically appear  like dust bunnies under the bed at the first sign of neglect. Like most people I've been a little pre-occupied this week,  mulling over the events in Boston and Texas and being quietly thankful to have spent an entirely uneventful week in my little corner of the world. But mindful that it could change any second, as it did for the people in Boston, and Watertown, and West.

It's all combined to make me feel a little melancholy.

My spirits were lifted Friday evening as I gathered with a group of bookish ladies for a lively discussion of The Orchardist. If you recall, I waxed rhapsodic about the book a few weeks ago. And while the general consensus among the group was to praise the writing, several people found the story simply too bleak to call enjoyable.

As much as I loved  The Orchardist, I could never call it a "feel good" book. It's rather like the events of the past week - it's a book that forces you to contemplate evil and sadness. It's a book that uncovers isolation and hopelessness and unfulfilled dreams. As we sat around the table and talked about these things, it occurred to me how often I gravitate to books like that, how I almost relish that kind of literary atmosphere. Of course there's sadness and pain and disillusionment and misunderstanding. I take it for granted in my books, like I've come to take it for granted in my world.

Having lived a lot "in my head" I know my own penchant toward the melancholy. My book choices reflect that - the memoirs and novels I read often focus on people who suffer, who seek spiritual and emotional sustenance. I don't like violence or cruelty - won't read a book that has any of that in it - but I do hunker into those books that delve into the depths of the human experience.

Of course this week I haven't had to read about it in fiction...it's been all over the news.

I wonder if other readers find themselves drawn to books that reflect their emotional temperature? Do you?

TLC Book Tour: The New Republic

There's no doubt that Lionel Shriver can write. I enjoyed her clever wit and acerbic humor in The Post Birthday World. I was riveted to the painfully dramatic and timely saga of We Need to Talk About Kevin.

But while I appreciated Shriver's writerly talent in The New Republic -  a part parody, part social satire featuring an attorney who re-creates himself as an investigative journalist - I wasn't completely sold on the premise or plot of this novel.

The novel takes on mythic proportions when Edgar Kellogg, a disgruntled corporate attorney with a larger than life chip on his shoulder, tosses in his lucrative law career and agrees to a suspect foreign assignment in which he will replace the enigmatic but hugely popular journalist Barrington Saddler who has mysteriously disappeared.  Edgar finds himself in a (fictional) Portugese backwater, awash with other journalists trying to make a name for themselves, but mostly living the high life and seeking excitement wherever they can find it. He gets quickly caught up in the spirit of the adventure as he investigates the turn of events surrounding Saddler's disappearance and how it's related to the terrorist activities of the so-called Sons of Barba.

The New Republic was written in 1998 (but published in 2012), and so the satiric, almost playful portrait of a terrorist culture seems almost unseemly in light of 21st century events. Shriver's coverage of current events, i.e., the topic of school shootings in We Need to Talk About Kevin, was highly personal but thoughtfully and carefully scripted.  What interested me most in The New Republic was Edgar Kellogg himself. Ostracized as a child because of his weight, Edgar's one goal has been social popularity.

Edgar had verified in childhood what the New Testament only hints at...Edgar's personal Apocrypha: that people will exonerate sadists, braggarts, liars, and even slack-jawed morons before they'll pardon eyesores. If you're attractive, people need a reason to dislike you; if you're ugly, people need a reason to like you. They don't usually find one. In his tubby school days, Edgar had learned the hard way that every vulgar slob on the block was an aesthete.

So, Edgar has attached himself to popular people throughout his life, becoming the perennial sidekick for the "rich and famous" among the cliques that threaten to ignore him. And he's madder than hell about that. But now, finally slim but still smarting from years of rejection, Edgar has the opportunity to literally replace the "absentee paragon," Barrington Saddler, about whom "no one from New York to Cinziero can stop talking for more than ten minutes using a stopwatch." As he channels Saddler's persona, he is forced to reevaluate his desires for promotion from sidekick to leader.

And how does that work out for him? What's better - to be the admired or the admirer?

Shriver takes the reader on a long and meandering path before Edgar comes to this final conclusion.

Edgar considered his life long position of second-in-command. Sure, constitutionally Edgar was a sidekick. But there was nothing disgraceful about lieutenancy should your captain be splendid. ... As Edgar reviewed the short list of his idols...he concluded that in every case he himself may have got the better end of the deal. It was probably more interesting to adore than be adored, more transporting, more engrossing, and in any event much less creepy. What the hell, given a choice, Edgar might rather revere a hero than be one.

The New Republic is an interesting look at two very large personalities and invites the reader to consider what it is that make people popular.  It's exploration of international terrorism was less successful for this reader, but some with a more political bent might find it of keener interest.

Thanks to TLC Tours for the opportunity to read this book.

The author's Facebook page.

Write On Wednesday: Connectivity

Most writers would probably agree that the internet is both a blessing and a curse. The blessing is that it puts a world of information, resources, and opportunities to connect with like minded people at our fingertips.

The curse is that it puts a world of information, resources, and opportunities to connect with like minded people at our fingertips.

It requires a lot of discipline for a writer  to refrain from constantly taking a refreshing dip into the waters of the world wide web. And once you've taken that first small step, it's hard to pull back before the tide pulls you right in and you're floating happily down the current of blogs, chats, tweets, and status posts. I'm as guilty as anyone, and it's an ongoing battle to keep my mind on my work and not click on the Internet Explorer icon at the first sign of brain blockage.

But I'm wondering if the internet doesn't deprive us of more than just time. I think we're often substituting our online connections with people for the real thing, thinking that because we share our status on FB or post our opinions in pithy 140 character offerings on Twitter we've "connected" with our friends and colleagues in a meaningful way.

I'm beginning to believe that those connections aren't as meaningful as we've led ourselves to believe, and that writers especially need the kind of give and take that only can occur in real conversations with real live people. Although I'm an introvert through and through and do my best work when I'm alone in a quiet room with no distractions - human or otherwise - I've found myself recently craving the company of another writer, someone I could sit down with over a cup of coffee and "talk shop" -  brainstorm ideas about our writing projects, bemoan those days when the muse fails to call and wonder why she always does when we have nine million other things on the calendar. We could discuss the future of publishing, and dish about the way our favorite writers do what they do.

A lot of the writers I follow on Twitter carry on these kinds of conversations in their Twitter-feeds. Maybe it's my age - after all, I grew up when the only way to communicate electronically was via a rotary landline telephone - but that's just not as satisfying in any way as hearing the person's voice or catching the expression on their face.

I've never been part of a writers group, or even had one real-life writing friend, at least not since middle school when my friend Raine Beaser and I spent one summer working side by side on our respective "novels." But I've belonged to enough musical groups to know that artists working in tandem produce a lot of creative energy. There's something about the shared experience that boosts everyone's enthusiasm and inspires them to move forward.

I'm craving that experience in my writing world. I'm craving that old-school kind of connection where people sit in the same room together and talk out loud to one another. I think my writing would benefit from it, and so would my soul.

How about you? Do you find your online connections a little lacking at times? Are you able to connect on a personal level with other writers, or other artists who work in your field? If so, is this beneficial?

The Sunday Salon: Of Wind (and Windbags); Closets; and Special Places

Blustery. That's the best word to describe the general state of our weather this winter, and it seems to be carrying over into this makeshift of a spring season. This morning the wind whipped around the north side of the house like a twister, rattling the very window panes like the angriest of March lions.

But wait - it's APRIL.

I wonder what the climate change experts are making of these prevailing winds?  Perhaps we should be investing in wind turbines after all.

Today's temperatures are somewhat seasonable, but yesterday was winter redux. Thirty-seven blustery degrees for a high, with not a whimper of sunshine in sight. Nevertheless, I took a leap of faith yesterday and flipped my closet, meaning I transferred all the winter clothes to the the winter closet, discarding an entire 30 gallon plastic sackful in the process. Haven't worn it all year? Gone. Worn it but unhappy whilst wearing it? Into the sack.

Then I did the same with my spring clothes.  The remaining pieces are now hanging, color coordinated, in my closet. And if I have a moment's panic that there are only half a dozen t-shirts left instead of three dozen, I remember that for most of the winter I wore the same four shirts over and over again.

I have become ruthless - RUTHLESS, I tell you -  when it comes to paring down. I do believe my husband and dogs are frightened of me when I get into "pitch it" mode. They huddle up together on the couch, trying to disappear as if afraid they too will get tossed into the nearest bin.

Of course they're safe, but I really have completely embraced the concept of less-is-more, especially since moving into this house. We have lived here over six months now, and I figure that anything I haven't missed yet I'm not going to miss. Yes I only have one set of dishes, but that's really all I need. Instead of 30 different coffee mugs stacked precariously in the cupboard, I have six and that has been plenty. I feel lighter all over without so much stuff taking up space in every corner of my house. (Yes, Deb Smouse, you are spot-on again!)

There are two things that I have trouble tossing - one is books (although I give A LOT of books to our local library book sale) and the other is pictures. Even though nearly all of our new photographs are stored digitally, I have hundreds of old printed ones that I can't bring myself to throw away. I know I could have them digitized, but I like having them in their original format. Happily, they've all found a home inside a wicker storage chest in the basement.

As for books..well, even thought I have plenty of empty shelf space in the "library," there are some books I won't have any qualms about consigning to the book sale. I am reading one right now (well, I was reading it until I finally said 'enough') in which the "hero" is such a slimy, self-serving windbag that I can hardly wait to drop it into the big wooden bin for donations at the library. "Pitch it" mode, indeed.

Now I'm cleansing my mind's palate with the latest Peter Robinson mystery, featuring DI Alan Banks. If you've never read this series, I highly recommend. My husband and I both enjoy these books (which is a rare occurrence - usually our reading tastes never intersect). Watching the Dark is the 20th volume, and it's starting out to be just as well-written and compelling as the rest. Robinson masterfully weaves a lot of stories together in his books, and the narrative of Banks, his family, and his colleagues carries through from book to book which I always enjoy. Plus, they're all set in Robinson's native England - another plus for this closet Anglophile.

The thought of England brings me to thoughts of special places, which I've been contemplating this morning at the behest of my friend Bella Cirovic, and her lovely online group 30 Days in April. "Where is the place that you go outside of your home that is your special spot?" Last year that questions was easier to answer - our home in Florida was always a retreat from the world, a place where everything was pretty and clean and new. And even though I couldn't get there every day (or even every week!), just knowing it was waiting for me got me through some rough times.

Bella's right -we need "special spots" to go when the winds get too blustery and life is too cluttered. Spots where the air is calm and clean, and there is space to stretch your arms out wide and breath deeply. I've claimed that kind of space inside my house by clearing away clutter and making room to be still.

But there is value in having a place outside and away to retreat and renew, because those concepts work in tandem. And so I am on a quest now for a new place that fills my spirit with calm and peace and hope. Maybe it will be as close as the pond behind the house, or as far away as the undulating green hills of southern England.

Maybe the wind will take me there.

Mash Up

mash up

noun

[mash-uhp]

2. Slang. a creative combination or mixing of content...

Today's mash up of content is brought to you by a week where this writers thoughts and efforts have been other places besides this blog.

Such as...

Organizing myself: Thanks to the insightful and inspirational Deb Smouse, I've been working on getting my Life In General put together in a way that helps me feel less scattered and more purposeful. I've developed a series of lists for each of the activities I've involved in (Daily Living, Work, Writing, Community Theater) which I update each week. (To make it more fun, each master list gets typed on robins egg blue paper and filed in one of these bright folders.) From that list, I prepare an index card for each day of the week and schedule in the things I want/need/plan/wish to accomplish on each day. I sat down for an hour last Sunday night and updated the lists, plus filled out a weeks worth of index cards for initial planning. Also at that time I did my meal planning for the week, and updated the grocery list accordingly. Naturally things happen which upset the most carefully laid plans... but as long as they're on the list, I don't less upset about it than I would have in the past. Deb's advice about list-making was spot on. If something is written down somewhere, I feel better knowing it's "on my list" - it eliminates a good deal of the free-floating anxiety I get when I feel like there's too much going on (and when is this not true?)

Write On Wednesday: You'll notice I have a Writing List in those folders. This week I put a whole bunch of projects on that list. One thing I never lack is writing ideas. They flash in my head all the time, urgent and sometime irritating lightning strikes for essays and articles and blog posts. Lately, it's been ideas for novels...crazy, since my only efforts at novel writing were five and six years ago when I completed NaNoWriMo twice in a row and then filed the "manuscripts" away never to be seen again. My problem is getting around to actually writing this stuff I'm always thinking about. It's the motivation, the stick-to-itiveness that I lack. This weeks Write On Wednesday Epiphany? Since I never seem to have a problem writing my morning pages, I'm going to treat these creative writing ideas like morning pages. Get myself a notebook, and just start writing three pages of something about any one of them. Maybe it'll be drivel, but maybe there will be a few "diamonds in the dustheap" as Virginia Woolf called them.

Books are stacking up around here. Finished books that is. I read 10 books in March, and already have two down for April. What isn't stacking up are the commentaries. Several of these books (With Or Without You, Tomorrow There Will Be Apricots, The New Republic) were accepted as review books, and now that I've read them that obligation must be honored. For the most part they've been interesting reading, but I haven't organized my thoughts about them in a way sufficient to present to the public at large.

Today I'm not planning anything other than a trip into town for lunch, a stop at Great Harvest bread for some Honey Whole Wheat and Cinnamon Swirl, a run through Celebrity Pets for Magic and Molly's favorite chew sticks, and maybe (*wink*) a quick browse in The Next Chapter.

So, how about you? What's the mash-up of your life been this week?