tightrope

We have to dare to be ourselves, however frightening or strange that self may prove to be.

May Sarton

I wonder sometimes if, in all my endeavors to be real and genuine, I am actually fake. One thing that is very important to me is to surround myself with people who are genuine. I can't tolerate being around fakeness, and I go quickly in the opposite direction if I encounter it. But, I've been pondering things. I strive to create a happy, cheerful, and optimistic presence online. 

On Facebook and Instagram, I post items that are upbeat and uplifting. I intentionally do not air dirty laundry, or post negative words, or anything that may cause my friends to argue and fight. If anyone crosses certain lines I have in my head, their comments are deleted and we all move on. I strive to create a happy environment online, especially on Facebook. I rarely speak about any troubles I'm walking through, or any struggles of any kind. I rarely (if ever) tell my friends that I'm having a bad time. 

But, I wonder, if in doing so, I'm really only showing a fake side of myself. Maybe I'm showing an unattainable goal. I'm creating a beautiful, picture-perfect life online, but when in reality, my life is far from perfect. 

Am I being the very thing that I hate? 

Where is the demarcation point? 

Can I display my true reality while being both optimistic and honest? Should I?

I don't know.

We all create an image (whether consciously or subconsciously), for others to see. We create the "us" that others see.

But...

It's not truth. It's fiction. 

Tightrope - Alexander Millar

epilogue: a grand adventure!

What a grand adventure!

Writing is dirty and gritty and tough. The Write31Days challenge has been a fantastic growing experience for me, and also the most difficult thing I've ever done as a writer. I spent a lot of time outside my comfort zone. I learned about myself along the way.

I had to get over my perfectionism in a hurry. Before participating in this challenge, I wrote for the public eye very sporadically. Sometimes once a week, but more often, I posted once or twice a month. This gave me plenty of time to not only write “better”, but to also proofread, rewrite, and allow my wonderful team of dedicated “pre-readers” take a look at my work.

For the challenge, I had to post content every day, regardless of whether or not I was 100% happy with it. There are several typos and errors I've caught after publishing my words. But I've learned to move on, and go to the next project. I've learned its okay to not be perfect.

I've learned to not be so hard on myself. I have a tendency to be over-critical and extremely judgmental of my own work. During this project, there was simply no time to dwell on the typos or misspellings. I've had to move on to the next project. I suppose we need to live life like that – moving forward always

I signed up at the very last minute, with just barely an idea forming in my head. Since then, most of these posts have (thankfully) popped into my head in just the nick of time. Most mornings, I would wake up, and have absolutely no idea what to write.

I realized I've not read nearly as many classics as I thought I had. A friend sent me a link of “best books ever written” to help jolt my memory for books to write about. As I perused the list of 1500 books (no, I never reached the end) I saw so many I’d heard of which I’d never read. I intend to read more “classics.”

This month also challenged me to balance my life better. To prioritize. I need to pay attention to what I need as an individual. I have to learn to say no. There have been several outside stressors in my life, in addition to writing the daily posts. Although it’s not easy, I discovered I can handle setting aside more time to write.

I need to write more. I don’t write enough. I call myself a writer, but I need to write daily, so I can stretch my mind and get more proficient. So, one day I can publish something really worth reading.

Oftentimes, I fall into the trap of comparing myself to my writer friends; they are extremely talented. I need to only compare and compete against who I was yesterday.

What matters is me improving myself, and my craft. If I waste time on comparing, I’m unhappy, and while stuck the comparison trap, I won’t grown as a person, or progress as a writer.

The comments, the conversations, and the page views were all a wonderful bonus; but I did this challenge for myself most of all. I wanted to prove to myself I could do it.

To my many dedicated readers, old and new, for not only reading, but encouraging me to continue writing, thank you for believing me in me: Joanne, Becky, Abby, and Judy. I truly appreciate you.

I've been encouraged and helped immensely by others who were also participated in this challenge: Amy thank you for encouraging me to get over my need for perfectionism. Corie thank you for being such a kind and patient teacher. Chris thank you for encouraging me to share my words, and for reminding me to call myself a writer. David thank you for being a fantastic cheerleader, and adding my links to your posts.

Thank you Jay for getting me lunch on the days I was too busy writing to stop and eat.

Everyone, THANK YOU!

>> If you'd like to read all of my 31 posts: click here.

Photo Credit: Wesley Jobes, August 1, 2010

This post is part of the 31 Days of Bibliophilia series.

The Passage

“We live, we die. Somewhere along the way, if we're lucky, we may find someone to help lighten the load.” 

I’ve never read a book like this before. It was recommended to me by my friend Chris, when I signed up for Audible several months ago.

It’s a very intense story. There are many characters; it’s somewhat difficult to keep track of them all in your head. But hang on, I promise it will be worth it. This tale reaches out and grabs you. Despite the horror, the heartbreak, and the downhill spiral, you have to know how it ends.

One of the most intriguing sections, and an integral part of the story, is the top secret experiment which began in a secret underground lair deep in the mountains in Colorado.

The US government rounded up twelve death row inmates, and, after convincing them to sign release forms, conducted experiments on them. The scientists wanted to produce super soldiers for the US Army. The experiment content originated from a man named Fanning, who had been a survivor on an expedition into Bolivia, where he had been bitten by an infected bat.

If you think you know where this is going, you might be right.

The twelve subjects slowly grew stronger. The scientists didn’t feel as if they saw much progress; all the “creatures” did was to eat 9 out of the 10 rabbits they were given for food.

By this time, they were referred to as creatures, because their bodies had morphed into weird rabid-looking beings. They hung in the corners, making clicky noises with their throats. Their claws clicked on the walls, and their eyes glowed with liquid green fire.

The scientists, and the soldiers guarding the compound, received orders to shut down the operation. There was no perceivable success. The subject had so far shown no signs of superiority or special immunities. They were freaks.

However, unknown to the scientists, the twelve have developed the ability to communicate in their minds.

One of the assistants, Grey, was able to understand them clearly, and, on the insistence of Babcock (one of the twelve), he unlocks the secured area, releasing them all. He is bitten, becoming the first casualty.

What follows is utter chaos. The twelve ran rampant across the country, killing. The people, whom they did not kill, were changed into creatures like themselves. The entire population of North America is nearly wiped off the face of the earth.

Much later on in the story, someone remarked, “Sorry, we made vampires; it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

But what follows is a delightful collection of twisty plots and surprises. It’s a magnificent book, and I’m happy this was my first great vampire story. 

The Passage, 2010, Justin Cronin

This post is part of the 31 Days of Bibliophilia series. 

The Hunger Games

“I am not pretty. I am not beautiful. I am as radiant as the sun.” 

I can be a very stubborn woman. This delightful trait was handed down to me from many generations of stubborn Polish ancestors. It can be a blight on my personality, but there might be a good reason for it.

I was extremely stubborn about this book. Despite the well-meaning and gentle (some not so gentle) suggestions of family and friends, I absolutely refused to read it. I don't like to do what everyone else is doing. Neither will I often read what everyone else is reading. I want to make up my own mind about reading a book. If it's popular, and everyone else is reading it, I walk swiftly away from it. I'll read it eventually, maybe, but always on my own terms.

Finally, I picked it up on a Friday night. I didn't go to sleep until I'd turned the last page. No, that's a lie. I intentionally left myself two pages for that Saturday morning, because I didn't want to admit that it had such a strong hold on me. I wanted to keep in control of myself.

The story is that of Katniss Everdeen, a young woman, sixteen years old.

She lives in Panem, a country created sometime after what we assume is the demise of earth as we know it. Inside the boarders of Panem, lie the Capitol and twelve districts in various states of poverty.

Katniss is the responsible one; she takes care of her mother and her younger sister Prim. Her father died in a mine explosion, leaving her mother nearly comatose with grief. Her mother stays home all day, barely lucid. Katniss supplements their meager rations by illegally hunting small game (and if she's lucky, a deer or two) on government property. She is proficient in bow hunting, and can also find edible berries and plants in the woods.

Many years before Katniss was born into District 12, an uprising took place in the 13^th, the most outermost District. The rebellion was swiftly overthrown by the existing government.

As a cruel reminder to the populace, the president of Panem, his fellow politicians and advisors, hold an event: The Hunger Games. Annually, two young “tributes” (a male and female) between the ages of 12 and 18 are selected from each district. The tributes are then tossed (after some physical preparation and training) ceremoniously into an arena; they must fight to the death until only one remains, all while being recorded and watched, and their odds being bet on my people who don’t care if they live or die.

The names of potential tributes are added throughout the year, as they become eligible, into a giant lottery. Some, those who have poor families, have their names in the bowl many times. For a small loan, the families can add the name of their child again.

Katniss has her name added countless times; her family had to eat, so she added her name, and they ate. The odds, for her, are high. Prim, who has only just turned twelve; her name is listed only once.

At the annual selection ceremony, which everyone is required to attend, a silence creeps among the villagers. It is a horrible “game.”

A tipsy woman in spidery stilettos, with bright pink hair and a glimmery purple face slowly draws the first name.

Her voice echoes loudly across the still clearing, “Primrose Everdeen!”

I have a lot of admiration for this story. I love the strong, resilient female hero that Katniss portrays. I admire her courage. She faces fear and does not run away. She doesn’t depend on outside resources for help, or rely on someone else to save her; she saves herself.

It’s story well worth reading.

The Hunger Games, 2010, Suzanne Collins

This post is part of the 31 Days of Bibliophilia series. 

Divergent

"I don't want to be just one thing, I can't be. I want to be brave and I want to be selfless, intelligent and honest and kind."

Divergent is a Young Adult title that reads easily, and is rather difficult to put down.

This is the story of Beatrice (Tris, as she later calls herself). She lives with her family in a future world near what, in years past, was Chicago. There are strict rules and laws in place that govern their society.

At the age of sixteen, every person takes a test that determines what “faction” they will belong in.

Abnegation: selfless

Amity: peaceful

Candor: honesty

Dauntless: brave

Erudite: intellectual

Once the test has determined what faction they should be in, each young person can choose. There is a ceremony during which each individual can either choose the faction that the test determined was best-suited for them, or they can go against the grain, against what they are taught, and choose another faction. Once their faction is chosen, they are no longer part of their old life. They no longer have any contact with their old life or anyone who was part of it.

“The future belongs to those who know where they belong.”

This seemed similar to me of when a young Amish person goes through Rumspringa. They have a certain number of years when they can “live English” but if they make the decision to leave the Amish church, they are “shunned” and can no longer contact their family and friends in the Amish church. In fact, their family treats it as if the person dies, and never speaks their name again.

After choosing their faction, each sixteen year old must to go through rigorous physical and mental training, evaluations and tests. If they fail, they will be tossed out as “factionless.” It is better to die than be factionless. Many factionless roam the streets, hungry and homeless. Groups made of Abnegation members often goes out to them, bringing food and clothing.

Tris took the test. However, her results were “inconclusive.” Instead of the normal one-faction result, her test shows Tris has a propensity for Abnegation, Erudite, and Dauntless. Confused, she asks the test-facilitator. She whispers Divergent, and quickly erases the test results, sneaks Tris out a back door.

Tris is filled with confusion. She thought her test would tell her where to go, where she would fit it; she thought her questions would have been answered. She was born into an Abnegation family but never quite felt like she fit – she had a very difficult time being selfless.

This story is somewhat similar to titles such as The Hunger Games, The Maze Runner, and The Giver.

These are all situations in which a young adult comes of age and has to decide for who they are going to be. Will they obey all the rules set in place by their elders, or, filled with conviction, move forward rebellious, wantonly abandoning the rules in pursuit of a higher, more worthy, purpose?

What decision did Tris make? You’ll have to read the book to find out! 

Divergent, 2011, Veronica Roth

This post is part of the 31 Days of Bibliophilia series. 

October's Party

Today is my birthday; and this is my favorite poem about fall, my favorite season

October's Party
By: George Cooper

October gave a party;
The leaves by hundreds came—
The Chestnuts, Oaks, and Maples,
And leaves of every name.
The Sunshine spread a carpet,
And everything was grand,
Miss Weather led the dancing,
Professor Wind the band.

The Chestnuts came in yellow,
The Oaks in crimson dressed;
The lovely Misses Maple
In scarlet looked their best;
All balanced to their partners,
And gaily fluttered by;
The sight was like a rainbow
New fallen from the sky.

Then, in the rustic hollow,
At hide-and-seek they played,
The party closed at sundown,
And everybody stayed.
Professor Wind played louder;
They flew along the ground;
And then the party ended
In jolly "hands around."

Photo credit: awelltraveledwoman

This post is part of the 31 Days of Bibliophilia series. 

books: life-changers

A good book is hard to read, on account of how often it makes you stop and think.

Chris Brady

If I'm engrossed in a book, I have to rearrange my thoughts before I can mingle with other people, because otherwise they might think I was strange.

Anne Frank

While the consequences are often quite hellish, I am absolutely and perhaps permanently against ignoring books recommended from the heart by very nice people and strangers; it is too risky and inhuman; also the consequences are often painful in a fairly charming way.

J.D. Salinger

Reading is sometimes thought of as a form of escapism, and it’s a common turn of phrase to speak of getting lost in a book. But a book can also be where one finds oneself; and when a reader is grasped and held by a book, reading does not feel like an escape from life so much as it feels like an urgent, crucial dimension of life itself.

Rebecca Mead

One must always be careful of books and what's inside them, for words have the power to change us.

Cassandra Clare

A book is a magical thing that lets you travel to far-away places without ever leaving your chair.

Katrina Mayer

But when your heart is tired and dumb, your soul has need of ease,

There’s none like the quiet folk who wait in libraries–

The counselors who never change, the friends who never go,

The old books, the dear books that understand and know!

Margaret Widdemer

Image credit: booklover

This post is part of the 31 Days of Bibliophilia series. 

A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court

You can't depend on your eyes when your imagination is out of focus.

In the home I grew up in, we had a parlor room. It went through several evolutions, new furniture, wall paper and then pink (yes) paint, but one thing that stayed always was the giant wooden bookcase. It covered one entire wall, floor to ceiling, and was full of books.

My mother always bought books, lots and lots of books. Most of them were very old, some were homeschool curriculum, a lot were religious. Sometimes I wondered how certain books made their way there. (Especially the time I crossed paths with the book State Fair (1932) by Phil Stong. I am pretty sure I was too young for that book.)

This is how I stumbled into A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court (1889, Mark Twain.) I picked it up randomly from one of the shelves. I remember it was in the lower right-hand corner, almost hidden. It has a pretty blue cover and red lettering. I had read Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn, of course, so I assumed I would love it, as I loved them.

However, this story, at that time, for me, was one of the most preposterous, confounding ones I'd ever read. I was taken aback by its utter ridiculousness. And, I felt like a horrible person, when I truly believed the story (even though by such a great author) was BAD!

Hank Morgan, a 19th century resident of Hartford Connecticut, after a strong blow to the head, finds himself magically transported to Medieval England.

He's befuddled, understandably so, as are the people around him. His dress, and his speech, they all make him stand out. King Arthur, upon the insistence of a bumbling Merlin, sentences Hank to be burned at the stake. For no real reason at the time, other than he looked and acted strange.

Happily, Hank discovered what day it was - June 20, 528 -  and his vast knowledge of history gave him an advantage. He threatened the people with darkness, for he remembered a solar eclipse would happen on that day. They ignored him of course.

But as he stood, tied to a stake, the sky grew dark. The people begged for the return of the sun! The king said he would be pardoned, if only he would bring back the sun. Slowly, the sun appeared again.

Hank then became a second in command in the kingdom. They called him "the Boss." He set up all manner of "modern" contrivances: electricity, telephone, roads, explosions.

He debunked and hornswoggled Merlin and his "magic" on several occasions.

There are many more incredulous adventures, I won't relay all of them here.

It is absolutely a story well worth reading, so you can make up your own mind. 

These days, I have a much less skeptical view of time travel, and I don't think the story is quite nearly as preposterous as I once believed.

A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court, 1889, Mark Twain

This post is part of the 31 Days of Bibliophilia series. 

Mr. Mercedes

This is one of those stories that pulls you in and doesn't let go. You always want to know what's around the corner, wondering what new twist will jump out.

In the beginning you learn about the sad, desperate lives of those standing in line outside of a great meeting hall.

They are standing in a twisty line, waiting for a weekend job fair to open its doors. Some of them have been there all night, and in the early morning fog, they crawl out of their sleeping bags to stretch. A young woman with a baby struggles to stay awake. A kind, older man in a tattered denim jacket standing nearby helps her calm the baby. They don't know each other. But he's a kind man, and offers her his sleeping bag. She crawls inside it, with her child, thankful for relief from the cold damp air. 

Off in the distance, the sleepy group hears a blaring horn. It's foggy; no one can see past the curb. None of them give the sound a second thought.

Suddenly, a giant black Mercedes burst through the fog. Barreling through the vast almost-empty parking lot, it aims straight for the crowd.

The people scream. Realizing they are in deadly peril, they scramble in vain to get out of the death path. It’s almost impossible, the crowd is packed tightly in a very small space, the old and weak are trampled.

Some escape with injuries: an arm torn off, a leg broken; but many more are killed, their bodies cold on the ground in the light of the rising sun.

One year later...

Retired detective Hodges sits in his old decrepit recliner, the repetitive daytime television blaring in his living room. He slowly fondles the gun in his hands. He's pondered many times the thought of offing himself. His life is over. He’s alone. He has nothing left to offer the world. There were a handful of cases left unsolved when he retired; they stick in his craw, irritating him. But most irritating of all, is that of the “Mercedes killer.”

He sighs, a heavy, weary sigh, and slowly drinks another beer.

He hears the metal mail slot in his front door clink. Wearily, he trudges to the door, leans over painfully and picks up a handful of mail. It’s mostly junk mail and some ridiculous nonsense about AARP.

But then, he notices an odd envelope. There is no return address; the label is printed, leaving no traces of it's origins.

Curiously, a strange sense of foreboding settles over him. And he opens the letter.

What follows is a delightfully twisty tail of suspense and mystery. You need to read it for yourself.

I never read any Steven King book before 2014 and this is the second book of his I've read. I "read" this via Audible, I finished it only a couple of day; I listened every free moment I could.

Mr. Mercedes, Stephen King, 2014

This post is part of the 31 Days of Bibliophilia series. 

Back Roads

What really knocks me out is a book that, when you're all done reading it, you wish the author that wrote it was a terrific friend of yours and you could call him up on the phone whenever you felt like it. J.D. Salinger

I won’t tell you too much about this story. I want you to read it. I want it to leave an impression with you.

I will tell you how it affected me. This book elicited one of the strongest emotional responses I’ve ever experienced while reading a book.

The story is that of Harley, a boy of nineteen. His mother has recently been thrown into prison, convicted of murdering his abusive father; leaving him, a young man of nineteen, to parent his three younger sisters. He does the best he can. He’s angry, of course. Harley is angry at his mother for leaving him in this predicament, he’s angry at his now-dead father for being the cause. He lives with bitterness as his daily companion.

He works, to support their little family; he is a good, if somewhat resentful, provider.  He tries to take care of his sisters, getting them to school, and dealing with their petty (as he sees them) issues and social injustices. But, he can’t support them emotionally; he doesn’t understand girls, and definitely not his own sisters.

He’s orphaned, barely an adult himself, and has been weighted down with the responsibilities of adult hood. It’s an extremely stressful time in his life. He resorts to drinking. He parks his truck out in the country, and drinks.

He stumbles around the countryside, exploring, looking for a way out that he knows is not there.

Then he falls in love with a neighbor. They collide with each other somewhat accidently, in a meadow.

She is a middle-aged married mother of two very young children. Tawni created a bittersweet female character: a sad woman, somewhat confident, happy to walk about in jeans and bare feet, with beautiful hazel hair, and green eyes.

They meet secretly and have picnics, and watch the stars. He sneaks into her house when her husband is gone. They talk. They drink.

When it dawned on me that Tawni was about to kill off my favorite character, I was so mad!

Angrily, I tossed the book in the back seat of the car. I left it there and didn’t pick it up for several weeks. Finally, wanting to know the ending, I did fish it out and finish reading it.

Some of the imagery is extremely graphic. I had to cringe and skip over some of it, because that’s not something I can handle. Tawni describes, sadly, the demise of my character, in grisly detail.

Undeniably, this is a story that stays with you for a long time. 

Back Roads, 2000, Tawni O'Dell 

This post is part of the 31 Days of Bibliophilia series. 

The Time Machine

This book is not really about the time machine, as the title suggests, it’s about a time traveler.

In the beginning, along with a dinner party of the time traveler’s guests, we are told about his amazing invention – a miniature time machine. The time traveler sends his miniature time machine into the future. Of course, there is no way to validate this actually happened. To his dinner guests, it just disappeared. They think that is just a parlor trick – a prank – and accuse him of such.

He’s hurt, and frustrated. They left, leaving loud guffaws and incredulousity following in their wake.

The time traveler already has a human-sized time machine. He’s built it, and it sits silently in his workshop.

He has an idea! He wrote a note for his housekeeper, went to his study and locked the door.

The time traveler turns on his machine, and then commences its inaugural voyage.

At first it is jolty, and he gets sick, he’s not accustomed to the motion. As he learns and gets more accustomed to the levers of the machine, he slowly increases his rate of travel. Moving forward in time he eventually slows down and stops in the year 802,701.

He’s landed in a grassy meadow, in the shadow of a giant statue of a sphinx –like creature. The abrupt stop tossed him unceremoniously onto the soft grass, and he’s dazed momentarily.

He discovered several hundred humanoid-like creatures. They were very small and childlike. They didn’t understand his words, or his concerns about their simple worry-free life.

They were the Eloi, and lived together in a commune type of situation. Their diet consisted of fruit, and was provided for them. It magically appeared. They did not grow it themselves, nor did they even wonder where it came from.

One of them, a young female named Weena, became very attached to the time traveler after he saved her life. She had been drowning in a river, and he jumped in to save her. She followed him everywhere from that day forward. He tried to teach her his language, and she, after much persuading on his part, tried to learn his. Neither one of them was very successful.

There were other creatures in this place –Morlocks. They lived underground in great caves. At first, the time traveler thought they were the ones who were a lower order of creature, one devolved into an ape-like creature.

But, what he soon realized was that they in fact were the ones in charge of things. They raised and fed the Eloi and then ate them!

He walked with Weena to an abandoned building and found a library. He wanted to find out the history of the world between 1800 and 802,701. But he was sorely distraught when he touched the books that remained, for they disintegrated to dust in his hands.

The time traveler’s time machine was stolen by the Morlocks, and he had some difficulty retrieving it, as they had hidden it a cavern underneath the sphinx. However, they didn't know he could escape their time via his machine. So he sneaked in and turned the levers on and escaped.

He decided to travel forward once more and he watched the sun getting bigger and bigger, and then fading completely away, he watched the planet get cold and become covered with ice.

He saw a frozen beach. A giant crab, eating the carcass of a dead humanoid creature. He shivered at the cold and at the ghastly sight.

The note which the time traveler had left for his housekeeper had told her to have supper ready a week from his departure, and to invite the same guests back.

They were there at the appointed time, once again haranguing him. He was late and he was crazy and how rude of him to not show for his own dinner party.

He burst through the door, disheveled and spent. Shaking, he poured himself a glass of wine, and then another, as his guests looked at him speechless.

And then he recounted to them the tale you've just read.

This was a great book. I don’t know why I hadn't read it until just this year. The story starts out a little slow. But have patience, you will be rewarded. 

The Time Machine, H. G. Wells, 1895

This post is part of the 31 Days of Bibliophilia series. 

The Giver

“We gained control of many things. But we had to let go of others.” 

This is the story of Jonas. He lives with his family in a futuristic Utopian world. It is a place completely isolated from the rest of the planet, where everyone's decisions are made for them. 

Colors are not seen. The people only see black and white; their memories of color are gone. Their memories were suppressed, along with their ability to experience emotion.

Everything in the community is in order; no one breaks the laws, everyone lives in perfect harmony, assigned to their tasks, and assigned to their family unit.

The community advisers “protect” the people from making the “wrong” choices.  In essence, they completely eradicate the freedom of choice.

“When people have the freedom to choose, they choose wrong.”

There is continual sameness. There is nothing unique, or special defining their lives.

Jonas is chosen to be the Receiver, the only mind receptacle for all the world's memories. There is one only, in the whole community. When Jonas receives from the Giver, the memories of history, he starts to question the leaders. He wants to share the happy wonderful things he can share, the colors he can now see, and the wonderful smells. Even after he starts learning about pain, and war, and starvation, fear, and many horrible things, he still wants to share the memories with the rest of the community.

He starts breaking the rules. His friends question his decisions to speak out against the authorities, and the perceived way things are “supposed to be”, because they don’t, and can’t, understand.

“The way things look and the way things are, are very different.”

We should question the stories fed to us, we should questioning their validity and accuracy. Far too often, in our world, we take the information that is given to us, and don’t bother to do our own research, or to even think for ourselves. That is a worthy part of this story: it reminds us to live with eyes wide open. Things are not always as they appear.  

My overwhelming feeling, upon finishing this book, was disappointment. I know there are many people who love it, but it was not a great story for me. It’s possible that reading books like 1984, The Hunger Games, and Divergent have ruined me for this type of story. I do wish I had read The Giver first.

Jonas did take a baby, Gabriel, and save him from “Elsewhere” but we never find out what happens.

It ended in a weird, unsolved way. There was no real resolution.

Undoubtedly, I need to read the rest of the four-book series. Perhaps the entire story will make more sense if I read them all.

The Giver, Lois Lowry, 1993

This post is part of the 31 Days of Bibliophilia series. 

The Glass Castle

This is a beautiful and heart-wrenching tale, one that somewhat resembles my childhood. It’s a story of survival, and triumph. Some of the stories remind me of things that happened in my childhood. And, reading this made me grateful for what I did have, because what I went through was not quite as bad as everything that Jeannette and her siblings endured.

A very vivid story was when the author (Jeannette Walls) described a room in the rotting house she and her family were living in. There was mold covering the walls, and holes in the floor that led all the way to the dirt below. When I was growing up, our house was a “fixer upper” and somewhat dilapidated, but the holes in our floors at least went directly to the basement and not the true outdoors.

Her father was a drunk, and her mother was always very lost in her art. She mostly just forgot that she had children, and they were left to fend for themselves.

They didn’t go to school; her mother “homeschooled” them. Meaning, she left them to their own devices, and they read books from the library. This is one of the parts that reminded me of my life. I feel like my mother left us alone to fend for ourselves. Our curriculum was also based almost solely on library books. Because they were free.

When Jeannette was about five years old, she burned her stomach while cooking. Her mother was off in another room, painting. She had forgotten about her children. She would often disappear into trance-like states, where nothing existed in her life, except whatever painting she was working on.

(This reminds me of my life because, after my mom got her first computer in 1994, she checked out. That was the demarcation point where she stopped paying attention to her children. We were by then old enough to fend for ourselves at that point (not boiling hot dogs on the stove at five years old) but it still hurt.)

Jeannette had seen her older sister boil hot dogs. She was hungry, so she attempted to make them for herself. The scalding hot water splashed onto her belly and she ended up in the local hospital with third degree burns.

There were questions about her well-being. The doctors asked her if she felt safe and secure in her home. It was the only life she knew, she did feel safe, and it was her home. She knew nothing different. This is why, when the topic of reporting my home life to authorities came up in my very young life, I chose not to. Because the monster you know is better than the monster you don’t.

The doctors wanted Jeannette to stay in the hospital for a few days, because the burning was quite severe. But her father broke her out of the hospital. Shortly after, she and the rest of the family were on the move.

Their family moved all the time. There were many times they could not pay the rent, so they would skip town and try somewhere new. Her mother and father would always spin it as an adventure. (They were also running from the authorities, as they had never paid taxes. They didn’t want to give the government any money.)

They lived as nomads. Sometimes, they would sleep in the car because they could not find anyone who would rent to them. Her father was a drunk who could not keep a job. Her mother every now and again could sell her paintings, but the money never lasted long.

One time they got a lot of popcorn and got sick, eating too much popcorn. But it was all they had. There was no money for food. Her mother hid chocolate from her children and kept it for herself. She was not well. Jeannette tells of her anger at her mother for doing this. But, Jeannette as an adult, I feel as if she forgave her mother, because she realized her mother was insane.

It was a miracle that the children even ate at all.

Her father was always telling Jeannette about this wonderful glass castle he would build “one of these days” for their family. He would tell her about his blueprints and all the lovely things he would create. He would describe each detail to her as if he was a painter, creating a masterpiece.

Eventually Jeannette realized the castle was a creation that would only ever exist in his mind.

Jeannette Walls weaves this horrible tale with grace, forgiveness, and understanding. She holds no grudges against her parents.

Everyone should read this book

The Glass Castle, Jeannette Walls, 2005

This post is part of the 31 Days of Bibliophilia series. 

a few words about books

“But even now, with the crates piled high in the hall, what I see most plainly about the books is that they are beautiful. They take up room? Of course they do: they are an environment; atoms, not bits. My books are not dead weight, they are live weight — matter infused by spirit, every one of them, even the silliest. They do not block the horizon; they draw it. They free me from the prison of contemporaneity: one should not live only in one’s own time. A wall of books is a wall of windows.” 

― Leon Wieseltier

“Fiction does something unique in that it takes us out of our heads and puts us into other people's heads. And I think reading, and experiencing fiction through reading, is something that gives us empathy. And that, I think, is vital. It takes us out of our lives. 

Without reading, you're stuck with one life. Reading gives you more than one life. It gives you an infinite number of lives, which I think is wonderful. Or at least, not infinite, but as many as there are books on the shelves.” 
― Neil Gaiman

“She remembered one of her boyfriends asking, offhandedly, how many books she read in a year. "A few hundred," she said.

"How do you have the time?" he asked, gobsmacked.
She narrowed her eyes and considered the array of potential answers in front of her. Because I don't spend hours flipping through cable complaining there's nothing on?” 
― Eleanor Brown

“Some say they get lost in books, but I find myself, again and again, in the pages of a good book. Humanly speaking, there is no greater teacher, no greater therapist, no greater healer of the soul, than a well-stocked library.” 
― L.R. Knost

“No time spent with a book is ever entirely wasted, even if the experience is not a happy one: there’s always something to be learned. It’s just that, every now and again, you hit a patch of reading that makes you feel as if you’re pootling about… But what can you do about it? We don’t choose to waste our reading time; it just happens. The books let us down.” 
― Nick Hornby

“He read it over twenty times and though the darkness that sang on held steady about him, the unhurried words fell bright through his mind, going down golden through deep water, and when one passed another came, ceaselessly, shining.” 
― Elizabeth Spencer

Photo: blissinimages

This post is part of the 31 Days of Bibliophilia series. 

The Fault in Our Stars

“Sometimes, you read a book and it fills you with this weird evangelical zeal, and you become convinced that the shattered world will never be put back together unless and until all living humans read the book. And then there are book which you can't tell people about, books so special and rare and yours that advertising your affection feels like a betrayal.” 

This book deals heavily with sickness and mortality. It’s tough, but good. I don't think I will read it more than once. But once was beautiful.

Hazel Grace has lung cancer. It’s been invading her lungs for a very long time. On more than one occasion, she has already come close to death’s door while fighting it.

Her mother suggested she attend a cancer survivor support group, where she met Gus. She meets others, and they became friends. And there are adventures, heartaches, loss, and eggs get thrown at an ex-girlfriends car. 

What I took away from this book is a reminder of a universal truth: we all want to make a difference. We all want to leave a lasting mark on the world.

What John Green addresses is Gus’ greatest fear: oblivion. Gus fears that he won’t be able to do everything he’s wanted to before his death.

No matter where we are in life, young or old, we want to leave a hole. We want a space left where we were standing. We want an emptiness to remain.

It’s easy to start thinking we will never make a difference, or change the world. But I believe that we can, one person at a time, one moment at a time.

We should always be aware and appreciate all our moments, even the small ones.

We don’t’ know how long we will have on this earth, we should make every moment count.

That’s what really matters.

  

We can affect our world – the people around us: our family, our friends, and people we encounter every day.

It doesn't matter whether or not you make a mark on the entire world. What really matters, is the impact you make on YOUR world.

Not all of us can do a BIG thing, or move mountains, or invent inventions. 

Not everyone will know your name, but YOU can still make a difference. 

This post is part of the 31 Days of Bibliophilia series.