New Book Timeline: Poo Poo No More

There are those who poo-poo the idea that a new author's row to hoe is difficult. Nope, no names. That would get me into poo-poo trouble.

But it occurred to me that a simple post would do the trick, provided it was well-written, down-in-the-dirt honest, and gritty with that kind of real world earnestness you can't fake.

You see what kind of trouble I'm in? Yeah, me too. But then it occurred to me: I didn't have to write it myself. So, no worries, then!

Without further ado, here is THE TIMELINE, written by Aprilynne Pike, author of Wings.

(The cover was so pretty, I couldn't resist tacking it up -- even though it has nothing to do with this post.)

Divine-Feline Photo Essay: Never Before Seen Photographs Reveal the Cat Behind the Name

Just as J. W. Waterhouse used the same model as the inspiration for many of his paintings, so the resident divine-feline inspired Maryn, the guardian of Ceilyn. Maryn is a central figure in Ceilyn's Calling, appears briefly in Ceilyn's Curse, and then reappears for an intriguing role in Ceilyn's Crown. I often wonder if Garth Nix has a white cat that he fashioned Mogget after.

After Anthony & Kiersten commented on the delights of Maryn, I couldn't help but post the following photo essay in honor of the little darling. These photos are intended to provide an intimate look at the various faces of His Majesty in all of his reigning glory. Oh, all right: They're actually just aimed at pleasing the divine-feline since he loves staring at his own precious mug and since he insists upon lounging on my lap whenever I type.

The Secret Garden is one of his favorite places to hang out. Surrounded by barberry, the tiny space has a section of lush grass and a brick patio, replete with tiny table and chairs, perfect for royal relaxation. Sunlight filters through the leaves of the lone cherry tree planted in the center of the postage-sized expanse of grass -- and which also doubles as the perfect scratching post.

Intensely self-indulgent, he shows great interest in words penned about him. He is particularly insistent upon sharing lap time with the laptop, indignant that anything should receive more attention than paid to him.

Here lies the Royal Rug, where his majesty spends an inordinate amount of time. Whenever the words "outside" are muttered, he races to his rug, sprawls upon it, and pretends that he is in the middle of a thorough washing. Here he is studiously ignoring the tiny pink and white mouse lying beside him in case excessive movement earns him banishment to the outdoors.

Yes, he is darling. Yes, he is the tyrant of my heart. Yes, I pet him excessively.

Although there is a "cat couch" (the futon you see in the background of the laptop picture), His Majesty insists upon relaxing upon the other resident male's armchair. Nope. He ain't spoiled at all. He's simply made for indulging.

Reading for Survival: Beyond the Frippery

I happened across an essay by John D. MacDonald this summer entitled, "Reading for Survival" written only months before his death in December of 1986. I've been mulling the concepts over, filtering them through my own experiences, readings, and understandings, working to enlarge my focus of so many things touched upon within these pages. MacDonald's essay is not the epitome of philosophic contemplation -- in fact, his own description of the essay reads, "the mountain has labored and brought forth a small, mangy, bad-tempered mouse of 7200 words." But buried within the sometimes tedious examples and pontification glitter gems of inescapable brilliance.

Although MacDonald struggled long over this essay, he ended up (upon the advice of Jean Trebbi) crafting a Socratic dialogue between Travis McGee and Meyer, fictional characters of his detective series, in order to communicate his philosophic beliefs. It's a short read, and I recommend it to anyone who considers herself a "reader" or "educated" or "passionate" in the best, liberal arts sense of the word.

"The man who does not read good books has no advantage over the man who can't read them." Mark Twain

In my combating elitism post, I indicated that certain self-entitled "educated elites" are tedious and self-important. Stu rebutted with the observation that there are those who disdain all educated individuals as lacking common sense. I think both statements contain truth. However, MacDonald's essay reveals that education lies not within a degree but within reading.

Meyer, who serves as a sort of educated moral compass for Travis throughout the mystery series, states, "I would not demand that a man read ponderous tomes, or try to read everything -- any more than I would expect our ancestor to examine every single leaf on a plant he remembers as being poisonous. I would expect that in his reading -- which should be wide ranging, fiction, history, poetry, political science -- he would acquire the equivalent of a liberal arts education and acquire also what I think of as the educated climate of mind, a climate characterized by skepticism, irony, doubt, hope, and a passion to learn more and remember more" (25).

Meyer goes on to note that "common sense is uncommon, dear boy. And in more cases than you could imagine, it comes from reading widely, and from remembering" (31).

While Socrates writes, "The life unexamined is not worth living," Meyer observes that "the life unexamined is the life unlived" (26). It is only through examining and drawing relationships between and contemplating and discussing and mulling over ideas that we truly come to life. "Complex ideas and complex relationships are not transmitted by body language, by brainstorming sessions, by the boob tube or the boom box. You cannot turn back the pages of a television show and review a part you did not quite understand. You cannot carry conversations around in your coat pocket" (25). While technological advances of the last decade have changed the literal truth of MacDonald's claim, the philosophical truth is inescapable. As a stereotypical whole, we tend to eschew the complex and embrace the simple.

This is glaringly evident in MacDonald's final warning to the nonreaders of our nation. Although I have not verified the figure, Meyer quotes an article in Psychology Today, saying that, "sixty million Americans, one out of three adults...cannot read well enough to understand a help-wanted ad" (25). Epidemic illiteracy is devastating not only because of what it means to our economy or our status in the world or the future of our children, but especially because of the multiplying impact it has upon every aspect of our lives, from the minutiae to the enormous. "The nonreader in our culture, Travis, wants to believe. He is the one born every minute. The world is so vastly confusing and baffling to him that he feels there has to be some simple answer to everything that troubles him" (32).

I do not agree with every statement or hypothesis or theory espoused by MacDonald within Reading for Survival. I believe MacDonald would be disappointed if I did. His intention was to enter the dialogue, offer a messy collection of suppositions, thoughts, and claims, provide pieces of evidence, and invite the rest of us to respond, refute, endorse, embrace, argue over, contemplate, and...most importantly...enter into the dialogue ourselves.

Filling the Bucket

I know we're supposed to have 'a cup that runneth over,' but I've always been a nonconformist. Well, that and overly inclined to bite off more than I can chew. I have a bucket. Because I live where I do, my bucket is usually full to overflowing simply because all I have to do is look outside. Zing! Instantly joyful to the brim.


This weekend, however, I decided to immerse myself completely. Thanks to D. M. McReynolds (you are awesome!), I left for parts unknown, happy that my blog was in good hands. I left all writing implements behind, suited up in hiking boots and long underwear, slipped into waterproof outerwear, and spent two days hiking my little heart out. In the rain. The fog. Brilliant bursts of sunshine. The vastness and the closeness vied for dominance in my brain: Grand vistas stretched for miles, and once on top or on a point or on a bare ridge, all you had to do was turn and look and be amazed. At other times, deep in clumps of tag alder and the crimson leaves of huckleberry plants, you couldn't see beyond the leaf or branch in front of you. The majority of my time was spent in the dense foliage, pushing through wiry branches and tripping over the hidden ones snaking about at ground level. Even this was glorious, with the sweet scent of spruce and elderberry and moss producing a heady mixture of happiness.


Oddly, it was in the midst of a particularly difficult section of trail that I stumbled upon a sequence for unraveling a gnarled bit of plot in Conscripted. The harder I pushed myself on the trail, the clearer this portion of my book appeared. Sometimes, getting away from it all produces the best results. Sometimes, physical exhaustion produces hallucinations. I contend, however, that it is the beauty of nature, the scent of pristine wilderness, the mountains that stretch forever...they unlock a piece of humanity that we've tucked away deep inside, the part we've told ourselves that we've 'evolved' past, the sliver that unites us with the universe at large and its Creator, the best part of who we are.


So, here I am, back in the midst of humanity, getting ready for another Monday on the job... and filled to the brim with equal parts joy and soreness, giddiness and exhaustion. My bucket is full to overflowing, and I can't wait to get home again to start working on my novel. Some days it feels like we're fighting through the tag alder, unable to see anything beyond the branch that just slapped back into our faces -- but it's all worth the struggle once we make it to the top: the chance to look back where we've come from and to look ahead to where we're headed makes every hike worth the welts.

Time Out: Remembering How to Breathe

En route to the Pacific Northwest Writer's Association's Summer Conference in Seattle, I found myself zinging along the back roads that curl across eastern Washington. I had left home later than prudent, a million things still milled about on my to-do list, and a dozen responsibilities percolated in my head, assuring me that taking time to go to a conference was the most asinine idea I'd had in a while.

I wasn't so lost in thought, however, that I missed the vast and silent beauty stretching out before me. In fact, the sheerness of air, the distinct layers of land, and the myriad of colors did more than take my breath away. They also reminded me how insignificant my problems are; how eternal the purity of nature is; how gracious and generous our Creator is; and how incapable I am of naming every shade or texture or shape that graces the landscape. The moon, pregnant with possibility, lent a new sense of purpose to my journey. I felt less foolish, more hopeful. I pulled the car over, prayers of thanksgiving on my lips, and sat in wonder, just soaking it all in. Then I leapt out, dug through my luggage, and found my camera.

Deciding to take time out to simply breathe is more than token gratitude. Most days, it is a matter of survival, determining our levels of response and our abilities to face new challenges. Although I'd love to say I daily practice yoga and deep breathing and, yes, even spinning, the truth is that I often forsake exercise & meditation and opt instead for frantic coping, moments of clarity, and those precious detours that remind me how to breathe.

Most Influential Poet: John Keats

I discovered Keats as a sophomore; he still speaks to my heart almost twenty years later. It's been a beautiful day of firsts for me, so I wanted to spread the joy around. I can think of no better way to accomplish that than to leave you with the words of a magnificent poet. Here are my favorite three stanzas (out of eight) from "Ode to a Nightingale."

MY heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:
'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,
But being too happy in thine happiness,
That thou, light-wingèd Dryad of the trees,
In some melodious plot
Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,
Singest of summer in full-throated ease.

...

Darkling I listen; and, for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death,
Call'd him soft names in many a musèd rhyme,
To take into the air my quiet breath;
Now more than ever seems it rich to die,
To cease upon the midnight with no pain,
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad
In such an ecstasy!
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain—
To thy high requiem become a sod.

...

Forlorn! the very word is like a bell
To toll me back from thee to my sole self!
Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well
As she is famed to do, deceiving elf.
Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades
Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep
In the next valley-glades:
Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
Fled is that music:—do I wake or sleep?

Do you have a poet (or poem) that influenced you or gave you strength or made you laugh?

LiveScribe Your Life

I have a tiny attention span. Hmmm...that doesn't sound at all flattering. Strike that. I am consumed with curiosity and a constantly roving desire to learn. That sounds better. So driving down the road, I flip through every radio station I have access to, skipping anything monotonous or boring. When I happened upon an interview with LiveScribe CEO Jim Marggraff the other day, I was transfixed. Even though I had reached my destination, I sat in the car and listened.

And then I came home & jumped online to explore what I had heard. The techie geek in me greatly desires the Pulse smartpen. I am enamored with the idea of a pen that records audio (lecture, music, thoughts) as you jot down your notes. I am seduced by the fact that you can upload both notes & sounds to your computer. The beauty of this? You can search for key words within your notes. You can share everything you've done on-line. You can convert your writing to interactive flash movies or pdf's... the possibilities are endless.

I haven't bought one yet, so if anyone has, please email me. I'm curious about your experience. The smartpens are available at amazon.com and Target, with 1GB costing about $149 and 2GB for $199 (which equals over 200 hours of recording).