Literary Confessions

I have bookshelves in nearly every room.

Sometimes I feel the need to fill the gaps in my education by reading some of the classics of literature. In one of these self-improvement fits I bullied myself through "Pride and Prejudice," and then Dickens’ "Bleak House." I really hated "Pride and Prejudice" (stop gasping. You probably just watched the movie), but "Bleak House" was okay. The main problem I had with BH was that it was so dang long—I had other, probably far more entertaining, books waiting for my attention. Also, as I read new scenes which introduced yet more characters I wondered if I should pay close attention. Were these people important? Were we going to continue with them, or were they once-n-dones?

I’ve always heard that Dickens’ stories are more entertaining than a lot of other old literature. Apparently authors were afforded much mercy at that time. In BH you have to get past the first two dreadful chapters of the book. Readers now haven’t the patience to wade through page after page of a never-ending lawsuit, so writers are expected to jump into a scene and explain—if needed—later.

At a writer’s conference a few years back, agent extraordinaire Janet Reid, a/k/a Query Shark, yanked the first five pages of my manuscript from my novel’s opening and said, “One, two, three, four, five pages about three people we really don’t much care about. Start here where the story gets interesting and we love the characters.” Too bad she wasn’t around in 1853 to tell Dickens to leave off those first boring sections and jump right in with Esther.

My classics-jones is tempered for the time being, and I’m back to new stuff. Well, newish stuff. My reading schedule is similar to my fashion schedule. I don’t reach for the buzz books anymore than I search the mall for the latest style of dress. The dresses I have in my closet are fine.

Books sort of come to me whenever, through the library, friends, gift cards for book stores, and used book sales. I read The Da Vinci Code in about 2010, although it was published in 2003. A little late to that party, eh? And to carry through with the comparison, no, not all my dresses are that old. 

Wait. What year was my nephew married?

I have a blue file folder on my desk jammed full of names of books I plan to read someday, names of authors whose work I've enjoyed. It's not an actual list; There are many lists, print-outs, scraps of notebook paper, whatever. If I read a book a day for the rest of my life I'd never get through the list. But I'm not worried. In my life, plans are very fluid. Which is one of the things that drives my always-planning husband craziest. Opposites, and all that.

How about you? Do you scout the best seller lists? Sign up on library waiting lists for just-published books? Wait for word-of-mouth reviews? 

How do you acquire the books you read? Tell me--because God forbid I should miss a book.

 

Gift Shopping Frenzy

The holiday season is almost upon us, and you know what that means. Everyone gets a gift!

I’m not good at gifts. First of all, I don’t like to shop. Unless it’s books or kitchen stuff for myself. Second, I am not good at listening to others and making note of the books, music or games they’re coveting, and have to ask outright, “What do you want?” or go with a (Thank-God-they-make-them-or-you’d-all-get-sausage-and-cheese-gift-sets) gift card.

Almost everyone collects something. Figurines, sports memorabilia, antique hat pins. Makes it easy to shop for them for Christmas and birthdays—just buy the latest bear figurine in the collection. But I didn’t collect anything. (Well, books. I find them everywhere—gift shops, antique shops, even in actual book stores. And, no, I’m not a book hoarder. Don’t listen to my husband; I never do.)

People have tried to force me to collect things. When I asked my 90-year-old grandmother for something meaningful to remember her by, she gave me an ugly frog figurine. People thought it was so funny my one heirloom was a hideous frog they started bringing me more.

Then I confessed my loathing for squirrels (see my blog post Squirrel Dreams for my rational and intellectual reasons why), and certain family members now look for squirrelly items to torture me with.

So in self defense I decided on a collection I could live with, nightmare-free. (If that doesn’t make sense to you, I remind you of the Squirrel Dreams post mentioned previously. Now maybe you’ll listen the first time I tell you something.) I settled on salt and pepper sets.

But then I added a codicil. Not just any salt and pepper sets. They had to mean something to me, such as the oxen/covered wagon ones to honor my obsession with the 1800s pioneer journey west. Asparagus ones to memorialize the two summers I spent as a teenager picking asparagus for a cool $1/hour. Corn ones for the incredible sweet corn Uncle LaVern grew and shared with us.

My insistence that the s&p’s mean something to me, though, makes it nearly impossible for others to add to my collection. Oops. Kind of defeated my purpose. So last Christmas most of my gifts were books or gift cards to bookstores.

I couldn’t have planned it better if I’d tried.

Remember, if you don’t want a lovely sausage and cheese gift basket it’s time to throw obvious hints my way. Let the holiday shopping frenzy begin!

Obsession

Disclaimer time: I'm sorry it's been so long since my last blog. Life got in the way: I was taking care of ill parents. Their computer has no word-processing software at all, and has a dial-up connection (shoot me now!). And the computer was in the sick-room. Enuf said! On to this week's blog.

I love walking through other people’s homes, seeing their furniture, their knickknacks and décor, their lives. When I interviewed folks for a small newsletter I always conducted the interviews in their homes. You can find out a lot about people by seeing the things with which they surround themselves—and the things they don’t.

Recently I was a spur-of-the-moment guest in a gorgeous home so perfect the owners could entertain royalty—or in-laws—in an instant. I looked around at that perfection and realized I didn’t see a single book. Not a bookcase, not a bookshelf, nada.

I buy books new and used, collecting them like some people collect fine crystal or Teddy bears. When I travel I pack books in my suitcase, and stuff one in my purse for every appointment or errand, just in case. There are books in every room in the house: Fiction, history, travel, cookbooks, writing books—books everywhere you turn, stored, stacked, bookmarked and available. Recently I won some money and my first thought was, “More bookcases!” (I was dreaming. We bought new tires. Sigh.) When I was a kid, I won the local library’s summer reading program and the prize was a book to keep forever. Choosing a husband was easier. (Note: I still have the husband. The book is gone.)

What about you? Are you obsessed with books, helpless in the clutches of Barnes and Noble and Borders? Do you frequent your local library? Are you irresistibly drawn to used-book sales? What books surround your world?

Settlers vs. Pioneers

As a child I put Barbie dolls in a shoebox/Conestoga wagon and took them for outdoor prairie adventures à la the “Little House” books. I love the pioneer era in history and have a collection of women’s diaries of the trip west and other histories of that time.

So it was a huge shock when it finally dawned on me that I was a settler, not a pioneer.

All these years I had this image of myself as a pioneer, even though I married at 19, dragged my feet about moving, and anchored myself with overstuffed bookcases. One day I looked back at the high school Valerie and realized she thought she would have a glamorous life. Not lamb-chops-and-little-black-dresses glamour, but a more bohemian big-city-adventures-and-literary-people glamour.

Yet here I am in my South Carolina home with a few awards and publishing credits, still trying to sell my first novel. I’m no pioneer—I’m about as traditional as they come, with kids, grandkids, my “Barbie dream kitchen” home. Did I become a settler because of the way I lived? Or was I always a settler and didn’t know it?

I guess I don’t have to be a pioneer to love reading Cathy Luchetti’s history books, and I don’t have to be a bounty hunter to enjoy Janet Evanovich’s Stephanie Plum series. I didn’t have to be an Elvis fan to read “Tender” by Mark Childress, which seemed like a thinly-disguised biography of The King. I read all sorts of books. I just love to read.

Do you like to read? What are your favorite books? Let me know—I’m open to suggestions. And if you always wished for a Pioneer Barbie (but they didn’t create one until 1995), I want to know that, too!