I shared this story a few years ago on my old, old blog. I was reading through some of them again and found this particularly entertaining, so I figured I would share it here.
When I was wee, we often drove to my uncle’s house in CT in the summertime. He lived on a lake (or something: pond? river?), and we’d always go out there for July 4th because he did fireworks over the water and took us out on his motor boat. This one time, a guy named Norm gave me a sip of his beer, but that’s neither here nor there and a different story altogether. The road that took us to Voluntown was very shadowed with bushes and trees that reached their thin, wispy, leaf covered limps right to the very edge of the road. I used to reach out the window to try to grab the big leaves, and my mother used to scream things at me, like “Do you want to get pulled out of a moving vehicle???”, “You’ll lose your arm!”, and my personal favorite: “Don’t think your father won’t pull this car over and leave you on the side of the road!”. But I didn’t care. They were always saying this last thing to me and my sisters when we were misbehaving in the car. A few times they pulled over or slowed down just to scare us, but they never made good on the abandonment threats. Besides, I just wanted to touch the leaves!
Alli, my younger sister, had this book with illustrations of dinosaurs showing us what not to do like take candy from strangers or walk across the road without an adult. It was called Dinosaurs Beware! (we had a lot of Dinosaur themed books as children). One of our favorite pages was the one where the baby Brontosaurus (it was still called that when I was wee) had stuck it’s head out the window and got it’s long neck stuck around a telephone pole as the car kept going. But seeing that poor extinct green cartoon juvenile in distress did nothing to deter me from what I wanted on the long, arduous, boring 30 minute drive.
And then one day it happened. My sometimes-secret efforts paid off! A leaf grazed my fingers in whip-like fashion where the break-down lane was nearly non-existent. I pulled my hand back in the car faster than the speed of light with one thought pumping through my blood from my brain to my extremities. I felt it in every fiber of my being, a feeling of elation so intense I thought it couldn’t be contained inside my tiny body:
VICTORY IS MINE!
I’ve had a hard time picking books to read lately. I haven’t wanted to read anything new in months. Last night I finished reading the Dark Elf Trilogy by R. A. Salvatore (it’s one of my personal favorites), and now I’m wondering what to read next.
I picked up the new Sevenwaters book that came out in November, Flame of Sevenwaters, and I put off reading it right away. I’m afraid to read it, because it’s the end. It’s the last of the books in the Sevenwaters series by Juliet Marillier, and I don’t want it to end. (Pre-separation anxiety?) It’s the most fantastic series of books I’ve ever read (especially the first book, Daughter of the Forest). And after I finish reading a particularly amazing series, I always feel like there’s nothing left out there. I might start reading Flame of Sevenwaters tonight. We’ll see.
But what about after that?
I tried to read The Life of Pi, but I couldn’t get into it. Maybe I’ll try it again.
In the past year, I’ve re-read the Dark Elf Trilogy, the Harry Potter series, The Hobbit, the Symphony of the Ages trilogy, a few of Sarah Dessen’s books, The Diary of Anne Frank, Atlas Shrugged, the Twilight books, The Hunger Games trilogy, The Gallaghers of Ardmore trilogy, The Other Boleyn Girl, and probably some others that my tired brain can’t remember right now. The only new books I can think of that I’ve read in the past year are a few romance novels by Valerie Sherwood and this one really crummy romance novel on my phone.
I just haven’t wanted to read anything new. I’ve wanted the known, the comfortable stories. I still don’t really want to read anything new, but I’m out of re-reading material and I think I need to read something new to get out of this re-reading funk.
I need some books recommendations, something from the dystopian, historical fantasy, historical fiction, or historical romance genres preferably. I’m probably going to go book shopping at some point this month, so I’ll make a list of good looking books and check them out.
I spent hours today doing research for my NaNoWriMo novel. HOURS. It’s kind of amazing how little there is on certain topics on the internet. So I have to wonder, if it’s not on the internet, does it even exist?
I meant to go to the library today to get a library card, but that never happened. There’s always next week, I guess. I’m hoping I’ll find more on what I’m looking for there.
This blog still doesn’t feel like ‘home’ to me. This makes me sad, and I’m far less inclined to write here. I’ve been meaning to write, but I just kind of haven’t been writing at all lately, not even in my journal. It’s like that whole month before NaNoWriMo starts I just want to save up all my writing energies for the month when I know I will need them. Probably desperately. But I think that’s only part of it. I feel like all I ever write about anymore is my mother, or she’s all I ever want to write about anymore. And nobody wants to read about someone they don’t know, especially when it’s all “Oh, I’m so sad because I miss my mom” and stuff like that. So I guess I just don’t write at all. And my journal, well I’ve just been ignoring that.
I’ve been doing a lot of reading, though. I got into reading romance novels a couple months ago, books that were my mom’s by Valerie Sherwood. I like them. Well, one of them I had to stop reading like a quarter of the way in because it was so boring, but the rest I’ve read are good. Sure there are some cheesy love scenes, but they aren’t as filthy as they could be. I’ll take cheesy over tasteless any day. To Love A Rogue was really good, and These Golden Pleasures has been my favorite, I think. I’m taking a break from romance novels until after NaNoWriMo, and right now I’m rereading the Hunger Games series. It won’t take me long to read them, so they won’t cut into my writing time once November hits.
I’m just ready for November. Have I said it enough yet? I AM READY FOR NOVEMBER. I want to get started on my novel. I was hoping my manager would find an assistant by the beginning of the month, but it doesn’t look like that’s going to happen. So I won’t be taking any time off for writing, which makes me sad.
Maybe I’ll write more here, even if it’s crap and nobody wants to read it. I just need to write. I shouldn’t slack off on writing just to get ready to write. That doesn’t really make any sense, does it? I’m just making excuses.