Books Books Books

I may have mentioned before that I'm a reader.

Wiki pageBooks, books and more books, magazines, blogs the back of a cereal box.... if it's there I'll read it. Last year a friend sent out a challenge to read as many of the Orange Prize long list as possible before the short list was announced. I took up the challenge and read some very beautiful and heart wrenching and gut gnashing books; many that will stay in my mind and whose stories will become a part of my personal mythology (Jamrach's Menagerie I'm looking at you) . I'm thinking I may just have to have a go at this year's long list when they announce it in March.

I'm a little embarrassed to say this but up until last year I'd become stuck in a little rut of reading. I'd found a circle of writers who I read and re-read and then maybe read again. Adding an author here or there and then including them to my rotation. Tolkien, Pratchett, Gaiman, Gibson, Lackey, Tepper, Ondaatje, Atwood and Coupland are all well worn and traveled worlds in my private library as well as in my local public library and I know that I'll take their paths many more times to come. Last year I read so many new and new to me authors that some of them have melded together into a melange of plots characters and landscapes. My circle of authors grew with the additions of Miéville, Wynne Jones and a few others who are escaping my still addled Mommy Brain.


So what am I getting at? Where am I going with this? Well, I just thought that I'd like to share a few of the books I've got in my diaper bag, on the bedside table and sitting on the edge of the couch right now.


Starting with one of my Good To Go To Authors; Douglas Coupland's All Families Are Psychotic  is in my diaper bag. I've been reading it when I wait for the Peanut to be done for school and the Bean has fallen asleep. It's a story about a very dysfunctional family who has come together to watch the daughter who is an astronaut be launched into space. So far it's told from the point of view of the Mother and the Eldest son who both suffer from AIDS. I find Coupland's books always make me think outside of the story. 


On my Bedside table is Austin Grossman's Soon I Will Be Invincible a twist on the super hero comic book. It's a novel told from the point of view of the Super Villain Dr. Impossible and Fatale the newbie member of his defunct nemesis super hero group reformed after the disappearance of the worlds most powerful super hero Corefire. This is a re-read for me since I saw it on the shelf at the library and could remember reading it sometime in the last two years but couldn't remember anything about it other than I had enjoyed reading it.

Stacked on top of that is Heather B Armstrong, better known as Dooce' It Sucked and Then I Cried I'm laughing out loud and nearly peeing myself with this one. The episode in the first part of the book where she eats the Pizza to bring on labour springs to mind. I made the husband drop what he was doing and run to the bedroom to read it.

In addition I have books on deck to read including the Bio of GNR guitarist Slash (in between when the husband has it to read). What are you reading? What would you recommend? Want to read one that I'm currently in and compare thoughts when you're done?

I may be deluding myself

But I've got a big stack of books for reading over the next week or so. Of course I'm not taking into account the whole going to be taking care of a newborn in about 3 days or so.

The thing is, is that I can't not read. I read and re-read books just to have a story going at all times. The problem is that I get in author ruts and find it hard to pick up a new one without some sort of recommendation. To be honest my book reading practice has become very much like that of a finicky eater who is longing to break out of a rut. I read books that I've love and re-read them because the choices open to me when I step into the library are so vast that it's easier to pick the tried and true than it is to venture into uncharted territory. And then when I do taste something new and fresh and I enjoy it; it becomes an obsession and I collect the plots of a new author.

I'm fortunate in that I have this amazing friend who is as avid a reader as I am... OK if I'm going to be honest she's more avid a reader than I am, she devours books like chocolate, she always has something new in her bag to read. She's been tossing the odd suggestion my way over the last little for which I'm very grateful, after all, there's only so many times you can read the same book in one year...

So with the Bean on the verge of reality I'm piled high with some new reads and looking for more, What else should I be doing while I'm breastfeeding? Watching TV? What's on your night table? What book are you reading that you just can't put down, can't stop thinking about? Me? I've been reading China Miéville; courtesy of a suggestion by my above friend, I just finished Kraken, Looking for Jake and Iron Council and I'm looking forward reading Un Lun Dun.

a little story

This house was not always so tall. Once it was a simple bungalow shared by a group of deep thinking philosophers. These learned people would sit around day and night (as philosophers are wont to do) and talk about the meaning of love.

What is the meaning of love?
How do you love?
Why would you love?
When do you know love?
What is love?
Who can love?
Where can you find love?

One day, the darkest existential thinker of these learned philosophers stood up and declared "Love is dead".

Stunned, the rest sat in silence. One by one they each began to mourn the death of love. With tears of loss, they spoke to each other about their pain. They shared their sadness, tears fell.

But one small philosopher sat back in deep thought and observed her peers sitting together, but deeply alone with their pain.

She stood and moved to the philosopher who was sitting next to her. He was in such a deep anguish that a black cloud was forming over his head. As she looked around she noticed that there was a darkness growing throughout the small room, making it smaller. The little philosopher took her neighbors hand and pulled him into a comforting hug.

"Don't cry," she whispered into his ear, and with these heart felt words the black cloud that had been forming around him dissipated and he saw that he loved the little philosopher, and he knew that if this was so, then Love could not be dead.

Armed with this insight he smiled at the her and looked around the room at the rest. With a soft kiss they broke their embrace and moved on to the rest of the room, comforting each man and woman with hugs and kind words, awakening each of them from their fugues.

With each embrace and caring whisper the knowledge that Love was not gone filled the house up to bursting. There was so much love that the tiny bungalow stretched up creating more space for the love to fill until it could grow no more.

Now the house stands three stories tall and it is said that if you are feeling lost, alone and loveless and you walk past this house your step will become light, the day will become brighter and you will feel love.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Not too long ago I came across this blog give away. Writing a little story about the item up for giveaway and following the blog was required to enter, the above story was my entry.

On our way back from our Alberta trip last month I managed (after having almost zero internet contact throughout the trip) to check email in the Calgary airport which is when I found out I had the winning story. To be fair there were three stories that were finalists in the giveaway and my name was the one pulled out of the draw bag. My pin came in the mail today and I have to say I am so impressed with the workmanship, the details and the lovely bright colours and the magical translucency of the plexi-glass.

Circle 'round and I'll tell you the tale

of the first ever extreme makeover that turned a lowly scullery maid into a beautiful princess to send her to the ball.

Growing up we moved a lot, wherever we ended up living my Mom always planted a bleeding heart in the front garden. My Mom taught me this when I was a little girl and then promptly regretted it when I denuded all her bleeding heart blossoms to do it myself. So here we go How to tell the story of Cinderella with a flower:




take a full bleeding heart blossom from your plant (if the flower doesn't belong to you please ask permission first) turn it so that the bottom of the flower is facing up. this is the beautiful ball gown created by the Fairy Godmother.








Very carefully pull off the outer pink petals to reveal the magical coach. you can imagine the wheels turning as she speeds over the roads to get to the ball before midnight.















Every Princess needs to accessorise. Gently pull the heart shaped pieces apart. These two pieces are Cinderella's drop earrings.










And of course the heart of the story: Shoes. pull the center of the coach apart to make a lovely pair of slippers to fit on her tiny feet, notice that the slippers are perfect for dancing until midnight.







And in the end; none of it would have happened had there not been a magic wand to help create it.

on pop culture, music and TV

I have a few friends who turn up their noses at TV.

One of them didn't watch any TV for a whole ear and found upon re-entering the TV viewing populace that there was nothing worth watching. All of it garbage, all of it trash.

While I love love love this friend I can't love her opinion ( kind of feel a little embarrassed around her because of my TV viewing). I am as previously stated in earlier posts a TV junkie. I love a good story. Her opinions are a bit of a slap, and while I know it's nothing personal; a part of me questions my tastes and my intelligence for willingly sitting in front of a box and staring at all the pretty lights...

On the other hand a part of me knows that I'm not just a big boob sitting in front an idiot box with my brain leaking out of my ears. I question what I'm watching, I critique and I get drawn in; if the story is written well enough.

Of course I also have moments when I'm exasperated by what passes for entertainment on the television. There are only so many dating shows, talent/ model contests and lowest common denominator situation comedies that I can stomach. Over the last few years I've paired down what I watch, picking and choosing what I'll sit in front of but I can't bring myself to turn my nose up at those who happen to like those other shows. Who am I to judge anyway?

As an artist I think it's important to be aware of popular culture and what's being consumed by the masses. Being in the know about new shows, bands and other media is also kind of cool too. Who doesn't want to be one of the cool kids?

I recently joined Blip.fm, a website/ social media platform that uses music sharing as it's method of communication. I'm hooked. Mainly because I've been re-introduced to bands I've almost forgotten about over the years and introduced to bands and performers I might not have come across otherwise, but also because the site allows for other users to show their appreciation of your musical choices. Of course this leads to a little performance anxiety.

What if one day you decide you just have to have to have to listen to some mass produced empty calorie pop music, something with minimal musical meat to it but a catchy hook that is slickly produced?

The other day one of the people I follow on twitter complimented my taste in music. The responsibility that went with that tweet was tremendous. With that tweet, (and the 40 odd props on my Blip.fm page that have gone with it) I all of a sudden felt the need to live up to that comment. Now I have to check myself if I all of a sudden have a yen to listen to some retro Back Street Boys. Talk about pressure.

Thankfully, that hasn't stopped me from blipping whatever comes to my fancy, like the sweater song with the kooky 50's/60's vibe, or a random They Might Be Giants tune. I like a well rounded play list.

Any one else feel the same things about your entertainment choices? The pressure to be super cool with your musical and other pop culture tastes?

Share a little, it can't be any worse than my adoration for John Cleese of Monty Python fame; he's on my free list of celebrities... him and a certain member of Depeche Mode......

Speaking of Purging

I'm a reader, I have books books and more books. I kept most of my text books from College and I have authors that I haunt the book store in order to read them. My favourite art history class at Emily Carr was one that compared literature to film. We had a reading list that looked like it belonged to an english major and we got to watch a film every week.

I have a fairly good selection of Canadian Literature including both Margarets and a number of signed books from contemporary writers visited and read at Red Deer College. I used to be an English Major and I had hopes of being published but not the discipline for self editing and rewriting.

My secret reading indulgence is fantasy. I blame Tolkein, I read The Hobbit for the first time at the age of 7. I've re-read it numerous times and I'll probably read many many many many many many more times yet. I have a number of fantasy novels that I have read and re-read. I've been packing them around with me for the last 15 years.

They say not to judge a book by it's cover but I buy my fantasy books based on the cover art. I can remember studying the cover art for The Hobbit, probably because I was still at an age where I liked picture books; and if a fantasy novel's cover isn't interesting to me I'll pass it by. I've probably missed out on any number of good reads this way but I've never been disapointed with the ones I have chosen. I also choose Miranda's books by the artwork. I guess I've never outgrown liking picture books.

As we were packing up our books for our most recent move I decided to let some of them go. On one hand it's a little sad, the stories have meant enough to me that I've revisited them more than a few times; on another it's kind of liberating to cull tehm from my library. So I have about 50 books that I'm looking for new homes for. I've emailed the library to see if they'll take them but haven't heard back yet. Selling them to a used book store is kind of sad. I've spent hundreds of dollars on these books and they have become a part who I am. Having a stranger rummage through them and then offer a monetary amount (which will inevitably be much less than I'd like to get for them) kind of feels a little strange.