tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25010185409960141412024-03-19T04:33:57.326-07:0099 MonkeysBecause eventually, even if it's an accident, I'm going to write something that's really really good.Deborah Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13437812947833118376noreply@blogger.comBlogger121125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2501018540996014141.post-1302702678596702072016-02-06T10:01:00.001-08:002016-02-06T10:01:51.911-08:00Serendipity and The Last Two Detectives (Book Review Twofer)<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/815595.The_Last_Detective" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"><img alt="The Last Detective (Peter Diamond, #1)" border="0" src="https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1356154821m/815595.jpg" /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/815595.The_Last_Detective">The Last Detective</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/30746.Peter_Lovesey">Peter Lovesey</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1539519991">3 of 5 stars</a><br /><br />
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/241936.The_Last_Detective" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"><img alt="The Last Detective (Elvis Cole, #9)" border="0" src="https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1388177599m/241936.jpg" /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/241936.The_Last_Detective">The Last Detective</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8944.Robert_Crais">Robert Crais</a></div>
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My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1539515822">3 of 5 stars</a><br /></div>
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A happy accident! <br /><br />I logged in to my library’s website to check out Robert Crais’ <i>The Last Detective</i>, then thought no more about until I picked it up to start reading. Wait a minute. Where’s the hero I was expecting? There’s no Elvis Cole here. Check the cover...who's this Peter Lovesey dude?<br /><br />A good writer, as it turns out. <br /><br />I went back and checked out the book I was originally after, paying attention to the author's name this time, and read one after the other, back to back. They are both detective novels, and they are both good, but the similarities end there.<br /><br />Robert Crais’ <i>The Last Detective</i> is the ninth book in the Elvis Cole /Joe Pike series, fun modern PI fiction that is like popcorn to me. This installment pulled me in more than any other in the series has done, and toward the end I couldn't put it down.<br /><br />Peter Lovesey’s <i>The Last Detective</i> is the first in a series of British police procedurals in the vein of P.D. James and Ngaio Marsh. Detective Peter Diamond hates technology and loves Sherlock Holmes and doesn’t mess around getting to the bottom of things. Also a very good read with a quickening pace toward the end - I was so engrossed I almost missed my bus stop.</div>
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Deborah Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13437812947833118376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2501018540996014141.post-110151072431961952016-02-04T04:46:00.001-08:002016-02-04T04:46:26.069-08:00Charge It (Six Sentence Stories, Installment 3)<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 18.666666666666664px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Okay, she'd sat here long enough. No matter how awful she felt, staying away from her desk any longer was going to raise eyebrows, if not tempers.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 18.666666666666664px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Although the colors were what she was used to seeing, it wasn’t the right design. Alerted now, she looked even more closely, and felt the world start to slip out from under her feet again -- the design was almost right, but the name wasn't her name at all. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpQLo0myOOQ44XXbCeiJumDsXSnQUpJ2dm_DmDfS8BFIhbgu3moEJJ_a_OcAWVrEeKlzdgBEQrHBPUi0DDt5bmJL9W3-vqRi_Tr7z2tTpy08cQ59kPxQ92ObyfEZDYzlhu_fKMj_7trXlj/s1600/charge+card+Ed+Ivanushkin+Flickr+CC.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpQLo0myOOQ44XXbCeiJumDsXSnQUpJ2dm_DmDfS8BFIhbgu3moEJJ_a_OcAWVrEeKlzdgBEQrHBPUi0DDt5bmJL9W3-vqRi_Tr7z2tTpy08cQ59kPxQ92ObyfEZDYzlhu_fKMj_7trXlj/s320/charge+card+Ed+Ivanushkin+Flickr+CC.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ed Ivanushkin, Flickr/Creative Commons</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 18.666666666666664px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px; line-height: 25.76px;">This is a <a href="https://unchartedblogdotorg.wordpress.com/2016/02/04/welcome-to-six-sentence-stories-15/">Six Sentence Stories</a></span><span style="font-size: 18.6667px; line-height: 25.76px;"> installment, #3. The cue was "charge."</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 18.666666666666664px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 18.666666666666664px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="http://ninetyninemonkeys.blogspot.com/2016/01/can-or-can-not-six-sentence-stories.html">Click here for Installment 2.</a></span><br />
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<span id="docs-internal-guid-6e95595b-a70a-5366-2848-27d7e0684962"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="http://www.inlinkz.com/new/view.php?id=605254">Click here for the linkup</a> to great Six Sentence Stories by other writers.</span></span></div>
Deborah Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13437812947833118376noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2501018540996014141.post-46782555950084617822016-02-03T03:33:00.000-08:002016-02-03T03:37:43.372-08:00It's a Scary World, Jane DoeJane Doe is on my mind a lot lately. It's her fault I can't sleep tonight. So, I sip at a mug of chamomile tea and write a bit about Jane Doe.<br />
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If you read this blog regularly, you've come to recognize Jane as a fictional character I write about in flash fiction. Her stories can be found under the "Flash Fiction" tab above, or click <a href="http://ninetyninemonkeys.blogspot.com/p/flash-fiction.html">here</a>.<br />
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Jane started her life as the protagonist in my 2015 NaNoWriMo novel. I won NaNo by completing a full draft of a novel consisting of at least 50,000 words (I finished with 73,270) in 30 days. She was born there, but she hasn't taken shape or come into her own yet. That's rewriting and editing to be done, a lot of it. I love NaNoWriMo. I've participated every year since 2008. It's crazy creative fun and a wonderful way to choke a story out, to by-god get that first draft written so you have something to bitch about having to rewrite and edit, and it's expected to be shit, because as Papa Hemingway said, the first draft of <i>anything</i> is shit. So, I love NaNoWriMo. But the drawback to NaNoWriMo is that with a crunch of a deadline like that, you're not going to get a lot done in the way of character development, or logical story arcs, or well-crafted settings, or subplots, or any of that novel-y stuff.<br />
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Enter flash fiction. I stumbled across the weekly flash fiction challenges held over at <a href="http://carrotranch.com/">Carrot Ranch Communications</a>, and not only am I enjoying participating with other writers and having a ball with flash fiction in general, but I've been using it for little Jane Doe vignettes, and Jane is fleshing out far more than she did on the pages of that draft novel. I might be on to something here.<br />
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The defining thing about Jane is her homelessness, and that's why I named her Jane Doe. That's who she is to the majority of the people who pass her on the street: a hapless unknown, a lazy good-for-nothing, a nameless, voiceless nobody. I want to give her a voice and make her a somebody, help the world see that she is a real person, with fledgling dreams and broken dreams, loves and losses, starts and stops and failures, and she's still out there trying, and surviving. Barely surviving.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmUI1etm3CwG98wNIZI_-6jFMgtZcMdG23qKbAoMdUPG3iDWLeTpMhJuVdlAkFT1vIYOKhzjx42q5jPSkbsNlOdTkUMMQGX-sOkcYNl_3xBUwqKP4DNg06_MVUOQY-KmfFdQVC7dvp7umG/s1600/Hanibaael+via+Flickr-CC.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmUI1etm3CwG98wNIZI_-6jFMgtZcMdG23qKbAoMdUPG3iDWLeTpMhJuVdlAkFT1vIYOKhzjx42q5jPSkbsNlOdTkUMMQGX-sOkcYNl_3xBUwqKP4DNg06_MVUOQY-KmfFdQVC7dvp7umG/s320/Hanibaael+via+Flickr-CC.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Another defining thing about Jane Doe is that she is Anywoman, she is Everywoman. Any one of us could be Jane. I was hit by the bad economy in 2012-2013, when I lost my job in Nevada, moved to Washington because that was the only place that extended an offer of employment, and immediately lost two more jobs once I got here. I'd intended to keep my Nevada home as a rental and sell it when the market recovered, but I couldn't hang on, and I lost it. If I hadn't had a 401(k) to cash out, I don't know what we would have lived on. Poof, home and retirement, gone.<br />
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(That could be my own fault, because I was unable to figure out how all these lazy unemployed people are riding high on unemployment benefits. <i>My</i> benefits were good for less than a year and didn't even cover groceries for a month, let alone rent and all those luxuries like electricity and prescriptions and gas for the car and tampons and a phone and an Internet connection so I could look for another job, and if you think this paragraph is two barrels of snark aimed at unemployment haters, you're absolutely right.)<br />
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I'm not bitching, not really. I've lost what I had invested and put by, but I did find another job and I'm still here. The Tominator and Dream Girl and I have a roof over our heads and food on the table. But it's scary. I've heard it said a lot lately that most of us are one paycheck away from being unable to pay for that roof, and I've been close enough to believe it. I didn't end up homeless, but the thought of it haunts me. I lost more than my house and my retirement. I lost security in my own capabilities and worth, my sense of my place in this world, my faith that I'll always be able to take care of myself. Because for every one like me who had resources to fall back on and was able to find another job, there are thousands who didn't, and couldn't. How easily that could have been me. How easily it could still be me, at any time.<br />
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One of the things I did in response to my economic crisis was go back to school. Part of it was bucket list, part of it was a genuine desire to prepare myself for a new career, to make myself more marketable generally. But all the rah-rah you hear about a college degree guaranteeing you a good living is just that: rah-rah. I have a good friend who is highly educated, highly intelligent, highly capable, a powerhouse of get-things-done-genius, with a killer resume - who has been in various stages of unemployment for more than eight years. He would be homeless and without all his possessions, right now, if not for the kindness of his friends. And it's not laziness. He estimates he's applied for <i>half a million</i> jobs in all this time, and he has worked, happily, whenever someone invited him to, even temporarily. Overqualified? He doesn't care. He'll take it, and be grateful, and he'll stay with you just to prove his gratitude. Unemployed too long? That's bullshit. Those are the people who should be getting preferential treatment, if you ask me.<br />
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I did a bit of research about college degrees among the homeless but I didn't find much. I found <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/01/03/homeless-college-students_1_n_802844.html">this story on Huffington Post</a> about homeless college students, and <a href="https://sites.google.com/a/umn.edu/pstl-1281-8-group-1/home/55-year-old-homeless-man-carries-2-masters-degrees">this story</a> about a well-educated and highly qualified man who is homeless, and <a href="http://homelessandunemployedcollegegrad.blogspot.com/">this blog</a> about being a homeless college grad. Nothing's been written on the blog for a while, and I hope it's because she found a job and was able to move in with her boyfriend and is now insanely busy and happy with her new career and their life together. I really hope that. But I would be interested to know how many of our homeless population are college-educated professionals who hit the wrong luck on the wrong day and don't have anyone in their lives who will help them.<br />
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One of the things I've learned from my own experience is that once you start to slide down this slippery slope, you've been marked. One woman wrote to me that after a brief stint of homelessness followed by the blessing of a home, she is still afraid. My good friend lives in fear now, and may always be even if he wins the lottery and buys his own island. I didn't end up homeless, but my experience with jobs disappearing from under my feet and being <i>just that close</i> to not being able to pay the rent have left me frightened as well. I have a job now, I've had it for more than two years, but it still keeps me awake at night, how easily a secure life can turn upside down. This is not imagination; <a href="http://www.theglobeandmail.com/report-on-business/rob-commentary/a-bad-economy-means-more-reasons-to-watch-our-mental-health-at-work/article26373227/">it is a real phenomenon</a>. It hurts us, and it leaves scars. I'd read <i>The Grapes of Wrath</i> again if I wasn't sure it would only leave me teary and depressed.<br />
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Getting back to Jane Doe, I'm starting to think that her story can best be told through a series of interconnected short stories, rather than a longer novel. Her desperation calls to me, creeping in and making its presence known in different ways and at different times and in different places. Jane's resilience and determination define her as much as her homelessness does. The twin antagonists of her stories are fear and shame.<br />
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Your world is scary, Jane Doe, and I do want you to tell me all about it, so I can tell it to others.<br />
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But for now, please, let me sleep.<br />
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Photo credit: Hanibaael via Flickr/Creative Commons<br />
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Deborah Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13437812947833118376noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2501018540996014141.post-21688301723360955862016-02-02T06:23:00.002-08:002016-02-02T06:23:36.625-08:00A Grave Talent by Laurie R. King (Book Review)<br />
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/17883605-a-grave-talent" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"><img alt="A Grave Talent: A Novel" border="0" src="https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1381541454m/17883605.jpg" /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/17883605-a-grave-talent">A Grave Talent: A Novel</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6760.Laurie_R_King">Laurie R. King</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1110099486">3 of 5 stars</a><br />
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First, for those who don't want the "gay PC" or "gay agenda" "shoved in your faces," not because you're "not haters" but because "it doesn't matter to the story": I call bullshit. Would you complain and say Kate's romantic relationship doesn't matter to the story if her lover were a man? Of course not. A character's love is part of who the character is. Characters drive a good story. It does matter.<br />
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You're not fooling anybody.<br />
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That said, I enjoyed this book. Good police procedural, nicely plotted and paced, likable and realistic characters. Good flavor of the City by the Bay. I'll definitely read the rest of the series.<br />
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<br />Deborah Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13437812947833118376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2501018540996014141.post-83993899670161937512016-01-31T12:17:00.000-08:002016-01-31T12:17:41.227-08:00In Their Shoes (Flash Fiction)<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 18.6667px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="http://carrotranch.com/2016/01/27/january-23-flash-fiction-challenge/">Congress of Rough Writers January 27 Flash Fiction Challenge:</a> In 99 words, no more and no less, write about a community outreach:</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 18.666666666666664px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">People saw the shoes. Many signed the petition, most just kept walking. But hundreds, thousands, saw.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 18.666666666666664px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In Westlake Square, more than 3,000 pairs of shoes, to make it real, how many people are without shelter in this city. How many kids’ shoes.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 18.666666666666664px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Jane Doe is here, too. She signed the petition. Mostly she’s here for the free hot dog and coke.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'; font-size: 18.6667px; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">Demonstration over, the organizers give the shoes away to those who need them. Jane shakes her head no, thank you, she has shoes. She has a home too, so to speak. Unheated and illegal, but it’s shelter.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: RealChange.org</td></tr>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 18.6667px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Author note: This flash isn’t strictly fiction. It is based on the </span><a href="http://realchangenews.org/2014/05/23/their-shoes" style="line-height: 1.38; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 18.6667px; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Real Change demonstration</span></a><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 18.6667px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> in May 2014, where they laid out 3,123 pairs of shoes in Westlake Square, Seattle, to make it visible how many people are without shelter in King County, Washington. It was part of a petition to make things happen to lower the One Night Count, an annual head count performed by volunteers to determine how many people are sleeping outside.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 18.666666666666664px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The count did not go down. In </span><a href="http://www.homelessinfo.org/what_we_do/one_night_count/2015_results.php" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1155cc; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 18.666666666666664px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">January 2015 was 3,772</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 18.666666666666664px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, and in </span><a href="http://www.homelessinfo.org/what_we_do/one_night_count/2016_results.php" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1155cc; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 18.666666666666664px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">2016 it was 4,505</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 18.666666666666664px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 18.666666666666664px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I have previously ranted about our society’s neglect and cruelty to its own <a href="http://ninetyninemonkeys.blogspot.com/2014/10/homeless-in-seattle.html">here</a>.</span></div>
<br />Deborah Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13437812947833118376noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2501018540996014141.post-18811716538748719802016-01-29T04:14:00.000-08:002016-01-29T04:14:15.785-08:00Cryptonomicon by Neal Stephenson (Book Review)<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/816.Cryptonomicon" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"><img alt="Cryptonomicon" border="0" src="https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1327931476m/816.jpg" /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/816.Cryptonomicon">Cryptonomicon</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/545.Neal_Stephenson">Neal Stephenson</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1089316540">5 of 5 stars</a><br /><br />
I just finished reading this for the second time. It's STILL probably the best historical, cryptanalytical, mathematical, technological, warfare, nerd-heaven, looking-for-buried-treasure tale ever. It's a doorstop at 900+ pages so if that intimidates you, turn back now. If you love complex plots and intertwining timelines and a good long read to lose yourself in for days, this is the one. And...it's got Alan Turing in it!<br />
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Deborah Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13437812947833118376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2501018540996014141.post-87343638460050213212016-01-28T00:31:00.000-08:002016-02-04T04:50:41.731-08:00Can, or Can Not (Six Sentence Stories, Installment 2)<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 18.6667px; font-style: italic; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">I don't know if I can do it. </span></div>
<b id="docs-internal-guid-a168711e-8755-af13-c1a6-306f2392f3f4" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 18.666666666666664px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She'd been sitting here in the coffee house for fifteen minutes now, thinking she was just a little dizzy, all she needed was a cup of tea and she'd be fine. She'd drunk the tea, she'd sat quietly, but she didn't feel better in the slightest. Everything still had that just-off-of-normal look, and her heart was still thumping right along. </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 18.666666666666664px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">If she could just make it out the door, up the elevator and back to her desk, she'd be safe, but here she sat, too frightened to move. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 18.6667px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Why can't I do this?</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUVXQ9SAwe58G0urum3bHDpgnW5m806GIyd95kk_tI-KllXDSJWoo19IikDSqOvNNFVa95yoknMnP_EBosoZJH5aDjxoGS-EQZkiXaORpN60NMrNBl325gLacpqtvO9SGInoxHpgOevApw/s1600/512px-Cup_of_tea_Scotland+Laurel+F+Wikimedia+Commons.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUVXQ9SAwe58G0urum3bHDpgnW5m806GIyd95kk_tI-KllXDSJWoo19IikDSqOvNNFVa95yoknMnP_EBosoZJH5aDjxoGS-EQZkiXaORpN60NMrNBl325gLacpqtvO9SGInoxHpgOevApw/s320/512px-Cup_of_tea_Scotland+Laurel+F+Wikimedia+Commons.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: 18.6667px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 18.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">This is a <a href="https://unchartedblogdotorg.wordpress.com/2016/01/24/six-sentence-stories-get-a-cue-2/">Six Sentence Stories</a> Installment, #2. The cue was "can."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 18.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 18.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="http://ninetyninemonkeys.blogspot.com/2016/01/trippy-flash-fiction.html">Click here for Installment 1.</a></span><br />
<br />
<a href="http://ninetyninemonkeys.blogspot.com/2016/02/charge-it-six-sentence-stories.html">Click here for Installment 3.</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.inlinkz.com/new/view.php?id=602619">Click here for the link-up to read Six Sentence Stories from other writers.</a>Deborah Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13437812947833118376noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2501018540996014141.post-8157540117713594002016-01-27T05:40:00.000-08:002016-01-27T05:40:10.053-08:00A Boy and His Dog (Flash Fiction)<span id="docs-internal-guid-dfbe5676-7e09-dc9a-e03b-2ff142d139a1"></span><br />
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<span id="docs-internal-guid-dfbe5676-7e09-dc9a-e03b-2ff142d139a1"><a href="http://carrotranch.com/2016/01/21/january-20-flash-fiction-challenge/" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-size: 18.6667px; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Congress of Rough Writers January 20 flash fiction challenge:</span></a><span style="font-size: 18.6667px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> In 99 words, no more and no less, write a story about a boy and his dog.</span></span></div>
<span id="docs-internal-guid-dfbe5676-7e09-dc9a-e03b-2ff142d139a1">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl-wLmRKkZwmBlhfArsM0uj23Pdgb_Z1eOX7kK_AUvIM_CTKrT-2RqF3skY1tLLiYpcU13lZkU4qqAlpgcO3lUFU-zmfeHg3501GQjc6u5ZGrHx_JMnpHuWJolSeraY_Qx_FCBFudP2Bff/s1600/Boy+and+His+Dog+ciadefoto+flickr+cc.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl-wLmRKkZwmBlhfArsM0uj23Pdgb_Z1eOX7kK_AUvIM_CTKrT-2RqF3skY1tLLiYpcU13lZkU4qqAlpgcO3lUFU-zmfeHg3501GQjc6u5ZGrHx_JMnpHuWJolSeraY_Qx_FCBFudP2Bff/s1600/Boy+and+His+Dog+ciadefoto+flickr+cc.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">ciadefoto: Flickr/CC <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/">Attribution 4.0 License</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 18.666666666666664px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Jane watches Troubles run around the dog park. A soft voice speaks. She hadn’t felt anyone sit down on her bench.</span></div>
<b id="docs-internal-guid-dfbe5676-7e04-631f-2031-5af928d5d918" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 18.666666666666664px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I like your dog. I had a dog but he ran away.”</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 18.666666666666664px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She glances at the boy beside her. “I like him too.”</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 18.666666666666664px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Where’d you get him?”</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 18.666666666666664px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She doesn’t want to say she found him, abandoned along with the house she broke into and squats in. She inspects the boy surreptitiously: healthy, expensive clothes, could afford to feed Troubles better than she can. Sadness limns his face.</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 18.666666666666664px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This boy needs this dog as much as she does. Almost.</span></div>
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<br />Deborah Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13437812947833118376noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2501018540996014141.post-55007882317433730822016-01-23T09:19:00.000-08:002016-01-23T20:56:45.636-08:00Night Film by Marisha Pessl (Book Review)<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18770398-night-film" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"><img alt="Night Film" border="0" src="https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1397425352m/18770398.jpg" /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18770398-night-film">Night Film</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/2362.Marisha_Pessl">Marisha Pessl</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1516330177">1 of 5 stars</a><br />
<br />
Next time I’m stuck with nothing but a Marisha Pessl book to read, I’ll just kill the hours by picking my toes instead.<br />
<br />
“...the territory between two people who were <em>once</em> soul mates but were <em>no longer</em> was akin to…”<br />
<br />
and<br />
<br />
“I noticed the wicks were still smoldering orange, <em>three orange pinpricks in the dark</em>.”<br />
<br />
and<br />
<br />
“I swore I heard a man's <em>dull, prolonged moan</em>.”<br />
<br />
and<br />
<br />
“...grabbed the black iron grating over the arched window and began <em>to climb</em>. ..hoisted himself higher, <em>dangling</em> there. ..”<br />
<br />
By page 27, the way <em>this writer</em> italicizes <em>everything</em> for no <em>apparent reason</em> had become <em>very annoying</em>. For me putting up with that, the book owed me <em>phenomenal</em>. <br />
<br />
It did not put out. <br />
<br />
“ ..his shoulders were rising and falling, <em>as if he was out of breath</em>. “<br />
<br />
Is that so I know what I need to pay attention to? I don’t need the help. I can read. And if I’m not bright enough to figure it out for myself, well, that’s what the denouement is for.<br />
<br />
“A <em>human shadow</em> had just moved <em>directly</em> behind it, though, as if sensing we’d spotted it, it <em>froze</em>.”<br />
<br />
Reading this is what I imagine it would be like to listen to a narrator read all 600 pages in a singsong tone. Is it for want of an editor who knows what italics are for? Or is it some artsy-fartsy thing I don’t get because I’m a philistine? Don’t care. Annoying as hell.<br />
<br />
And purple prose? It doesn’t get much more purple than this. “[Men] melted and sweated and went weak in front of her like a bunch of idiot iced teas.” Just awful.<br />
<br />
So while the story is badly over-written with its endless italics and clumsy metaphors, it manages to be under-written at the same time. There was a lot of potential for surrealistic creepiness but it never got there. There is no tension. We just traipse from here to there, find out this, find out that, oh, look, another clue conveniently lands in our laps so now we’ll go over here, but there is no sense of urgency. It could have been pruned of 200 pages and not lost a thing. By around page 350 I was weary of the whole tedious mess, but was stuck with nothing else to read, which is admittedly no one’s fault but mine. Long before I made it through the acid-trip-hexagon-coffin scene, which should have been wonderfully Kafkaesque but was merely another slog, I was anticipating those fucking italics even where there weren’t any, but at that point, I’ve got 100 pages left, might as well finish the thing and find out the unrealized premise behind it all. Right?<br />
<br />
Wrong.<br />
<br />
I’m around 60 pages into the denouement - seriously, <i>another</i> 25,000 words to tidy everything up and finish it off, that’s how tiresome this book is - and I’m still not sure I’ll finish it. I just don’t care.<br />
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Deborah Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13437812947833118376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2501018540996014141.post-58108860766399196632016-01-21T05:34:00.001-08:002016-01-29T04:29:13.523-08:00Trippy (Six Sentence Stories, Installment 1)<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 18.666666666666664px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The world lurches, the floor trying to escape from under her feet. The world seems to be melting around her, like that time she dropped acid in high school.</span></div>
<b id="docs-internal-guid-5c06c3dc-57be-e36c-202b-97bec5307d29" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 18.666666666666664px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She gets a grip on the table’s edge and lowers herself back to her chair, reaches for her tea to see her hand trembling violently. Now she notices, through the whirling fog that seems to have descended over her mind, that her breath is short and her heart is pounding.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 18.666666666666664px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Are you all right?” a voice asks.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 18.666666666666664px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Embarrassed, feeling herself flushing, she tosses back, “Fine, just took a little trip without leaving the farm.”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 18.666666666666664px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrZdjCAsETsT7BYE-qxpi4kjSu21tqrRmNv88hROX1CY7lxInpiMGPMfCo-EjdVb7TtWbMlxrcRz2IteLfwp4h2Q8S3APF54dkZDyjqG-Mo8fpNbYV-XQd-d6UUAJS510i1UQx9B1VQ92k/s1600/Distorted+70023venus2009+Flickr-CC.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrZdjCAsETsT7BYE-qxpi4kjSu21tqrRmNv88hROX1CY7lxInpiMGPMfCo-EjdVb7TtWbMlxrcRz2IteLfwp4h2Q8S3APF54dkZDyjqG-Mo8fpNbYV-XQd-d6UUAJS510i1UQx9B1VQ92k/s320/Distorted+70023venus2009+Flickr-CC.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">70023venus2009, Flickr/Creative Commons</td></tr>
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<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 18.666666666666664px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This is the first installment in a series for </span><a href="https://unchartedblogdotorg.wordpress.com/2016/01/17/its-time-to-get-a-cue/" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1155cc; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 18.666666666666664px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Six Sentence Stories</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 18.666666666666664px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. The cue was “trip.” I’m looking forward to seeing where this goes.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 18.666666666666664px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 18.666666666666664px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="http://ninetyninemonkeys.blogspot.com/2016/01/can-or-can-not-six-sentence-stories.html">Click here for Installment 2.</a></span></div>
<br />Deborah Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13437812947833118376noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2501018540996014141.post-74850580134994675662016-01-21T01:17:00.000-08:002016-01-28T01:04:08.143-08:00#1000Speak: Forgiveness Sucks, So Let's Try Something Different - UpdatedHere I am again, awake. I have what may be the world's worst insomnia. Tonight I'm not worrying about money or children or husbands, and it's not noisy people. I was actually asleep, but a bad dream woke me up.<br />
<br />
I moved to Seattle to take a job after no luck finding one in my home state of Nevada for a year. It should have been my dream job, stepping up to the big leagues of paralegal-dom after many years working for country, but good, lawyers. It should have been a whole new vista for me, an exciting new professional experience in an exciting new city in beautiful new country.<br />
<br />
It was the job from hell. Seriously. In my 40 years in the work force, I could not imagine a more horrific experience. I suspect my boss was a true narcissist, and I'm dead certain she was emotionally and mentally abusive. In current nomenclature, I was bullied mercilessly. The three months I worked at that firm was the longest, most horrific time I can remember aside from one marriage I've worked hard to block from recall. It should be noted that the dynamics of an abusive intimate relationship and an abusive employment relationship are extremely similar. That job and that woman <i>damaged</i> me. I needed counseling to get past the worst of it.<br />
<br />
I'm still damaged. What woke me up a little while ago was a dream that I was right back there, working for that harridan again. I woke gasping, with the electricity of a panic attack running through my veins.<br />
<br />
Great.<br />
<br />
Don't get me wrong; I've moved on with living my life, and I've accomplished a lot since then. I stayed in counseling for a year and unpacked a lot of things. I made the decision to return to school, excelling at that and enjoying it, and I have another job I more or less enjoy too. It doesn't challenge me and the pay is middlin', but I don't bring any work stress home at night either, and that's worth a lot. I am the only person in my office; I run the whole damn state for my company and for the most part, I like that solitude and independence just fine. If some jerk brings donuts into the office when I'm cutting out sugar, well, I have no one to blame but myself. To further my healing, I considered writing her a letter but opted instead for scathingly honest review on Glassdoor, and if it saves even one person from what I went through, I'm glad.<br />
<br />
And yet, here I am dreaming about that horrid woman, and still losing sleep to her, three years down the road. What gives?<br />
<br />
I was lying there, having burned one of my precious few anxiety pills and trying to read a bit of <i>War and Peace</i> in the hopes I could return to sleep, when I realized it.<br />
<br />
Forgiveness.<br />
<br />
And then: Why should I? That bitch <i>hurt</i> me. She's hurt lots of people, that I know of; I was far from her first. Why does she deserve anything from me?<br />
<br />
And the truth is, she doesn't.<br />
<br />
And I know the platitude, that forgiveness isn't for the other person, it's for <i>you</i>, and I kinda believe that, but then again, I don't believe it at all. To forgive is to absolve the person of what they did, and I'm just not going to do that. She's accountable, past and future, because I know she's still doing it to others who were looking forward to a terrific position just as I was. When I was there I saw payroll records for three other legal assistants in the eight months before I arrived. Add me, that's four in a year. She's <i>accountable</i>. I might not be willing to confront her any more directly than an anonymous online employment review, probably because I loathe conflict with a flaming purple passion, but it's what I can do.<br />
<br />
No, what popped into my head from the depths of I-don't-know-how-long-ago was another definition of forgiveness I heard once attributed to Oprah, I think it was, and I'm not a fan of Oprah, but I'm a fan of this definition, because it <i>works</i>:<br />
<br />
<b>Forgiveness is giving up the wish that things had been different.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
And as I lie there still unable to go back to sleep but also unable to unscramble the letters on the pages of <i>War and Peace</i>, I realized that's what I need to work with.<br />
<br />
I am not making the buckets of money I did, briefly, at that firm. I do not have the nice house, and the nice new car and maybe a truck for the Tominator, and long weekend trips up to Vancouver and Whistler and a canoe for all the lakes around here. I do not have a 401(k) and killer health insurance. I do not have the prestige of high-end law firm experience in a posh downtown office tower. And that's what I should have had. It's what I'd worked for, for so long. It's what I was offered when I left my family behind, left my home with my Mother's Day rosebushes tended lovingly in the yard, and dragged the Tominator and Dream Girl and my stuff up here, and I should have it. I was robbed.<br />
<br />
Yeah, I know. Shit happens and who said life was fair, suck it up buttercup. But underneath it, as superficial as it sounds, I am angry about that. Still. I moved up here for professional and financial advancement but here I am, scraping by from paycheck to paycheck, as I have for most of my life.<br />
<br />
But on the other hand, as I struggle through many of my days, one of the first things I count when I'm reminding myself of all I have to be thankful for is that I no longer work for that Medusa. I may not have what I should have had, but I have enough, and I'm away from her, and I'm nowhere near anyone remotely like her, and that should be nothing but good.<br />
<br />
I don't have to absolve that woman of anything, but I can give up my wish that it had worked out. I can do something radical, even, and wish for something good <i>tomorrow</i> instead of in the past.<br />
<br />
New entry on tomorrow's to-do list. Make that today's to-do list; cruising up on one a.m.<br />
<br />
I'm going to try to get some sleep now. And even if I don't, even if tomorrow - no, <i>today</i> - is another day I have to wade through in a sleep-deprived fugue state, I know one thing I can work on toward my own brand of forgiveness: I can wish forward instead of wishing behind.<br />
<br />
It's a start.<br />
<br />
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<br />
Update: Yesterday I was scrolling through job listings, thinking it might be time to go for an upgrade, and I see this Hagatha is advertising for a new <strike>victim</strike> paralegal. The ad doesn't list the firm but I know her writing style, and the location is the same. Oh, God, all I can do is pray for the poor <strike>sacrificial virgin</strike> new hire. Another one. A therapist can make a career out of this woman's employees.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Deborah Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13437812947833118376noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2501018540996014141.post-14352924839185228932016-01-19T02:55:00.000-08:002016-01-23T20:52:10.463-08:0033-1/3 - Gettin' Into the 2016 Reading ChallengeI have 18 books on my <a href="http://ninetyninemonkeys.blogspot.com/2015/11/2016-reading-challenge.html">reading challenge for 2016</a>. Incredibly, I'm a third of the way done and we're only barely halfway through January -- and that's with work and school. I believe it's because I picked some pretty good ones.<br />
<br />
Rather than one ridiculously long post, I'm going to break this up.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>3. A book with more than 500 pages.</b><br />
<br />
It was time to get around to this one:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/29044.The_Secret_History" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"><img alt="The Secret History" border="0" src="https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1327733397m/29044.jpg" /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/29044.The_Secret_History">The Secret History</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8719.Donna_Tartt">Donna Tartt</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1479279653">3 of 5 stars</a><br />
<br />
I’ve seen this book described as a murder mystery, which is inaccurate. You know what’s coming, you just don’t know when or how. The mystery is in the aftermath, which is half the book and even more fraught with tension than the first half. The whole thing is a high-falutin’ study of human nature and our yearning for beauty - “a morbid longing for the picturesque at all costs” - which hasn’t changed since the ancient Greeks started contemplating it.<br />
<br />
I really got into the characters, which is interesting given I didn’t like any of them. Well, maybe I liked the narrator a little bit, but only because he wasn’t really rich, just trying to look like he was, which is even more fake, so never mind, I don’t really like him after all. I’m having a hard time buying the concept of college kids who aren’t legally old enough to drink but still guzzle top-drawer Scotch from leaded crystal highball glasses and use chafing dishes and dress in custom-tailored suits and silk ties. But then, I’m not disgustingly wealthy and did not attend a hoity-toity private liberal arts college in New England, so maybe this is just me having no idea how the better half lives.<br />
<br />
I saw a couple of reviews complaining that it’s a ripoff of <em>Brideshead Revisited</em>, but that didn’t bother me since I’ve never read <em>Brideshead Revisited</em>. I probably will now. I enjoyed Tartt’s writing style and I’ll probably read her other books just for that. While the story moves slowly, it does grab you, being richly told, with a lot of literary themes and classics references and a level of introspection that surprised me from such snooty, snotty kids. Perhaps self-absorbed can also be self-aware. There were some subplots that left me dissatisfied as they weren’t explored too deeply or resolved - Charles and Camilla? Henry and Camilla? Francis and Richard? Hello? What was up with all that? What happened? Why bring it up if you’re not going to finish it? And then there’s Julian, who may be the biggest mystery in the book. Or is that just another reflection of life itself, that we don’t always get to know the how or why or the way it ends up? In real life, a lot of things just fizzle out without going anywhere, but I’m used to having things tied up neatly with pretty bows when I read about them in books. It’s entirely possible that I’m missing the point. It may just be a paradox, that the Greek Clique’s very cohesion was what blew them apart.<br />
<br />
“I suppose at one time in my life I might have had any number of stories, but now there is no other. This is the only story I will ever be able to tell.” It did leave me thinking after I’d finished it, which for me is the sign of a good book.<br />
<br />
<b>4. A book with bad reviews.</b><br />
<br />
Because sometimes books piss people off by jabbing at the comfort zone, and that can be a good thing:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18133.Lolita" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"><img alt="Lolita" border="0" src="https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1372767118m/18133.jpg" /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18133.Lolita">Lolita</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5152.Vladimir_Nabokov">Vladimir Nabokov</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1453620756">4 of 5 stars</a><br />
<br />
Reading <em>Lolita</em> was a foray into both the land of classic literature and the land of banned books. It is as difficult to review as it was to read. Nabokov was a genius with language in ways I can’t begin to understand, no doubt partly because he was trilingual (Russian, French, English) from childhood, no doubt partly due to his <a href="http://www.livescience.com/169-rare-real-people-feel-taste-hear-color.html">synesthesia</a>. The literary references, word games, allegories and motifs are innumerable and I’m sure most of them went over my head. No, I probably don’t really get it, and I never will, because while the writing is gorgeous, the novel itself is too disturbing for me to read again.<br />
<br />
The rich prose pulled me in, to fascinated horror as events unfolded. Our unreliable narrator seems perhaps not-so-unreliable: he paints a grim picture of himself throughout, acknowledging his own depravity, his compulsion and lurking and plotting, his madness, his crimes against the young Dolores Haze. At all times he fully admits he is a paedophile, vile and a danger to nymphets everywhere while at the same time professing his undying love. Part of Nabokov’s artistry lies in the reader’s understanding of Humbert’s love and Humbert’s suffering. The pinnacle of ecstasy is synonymous with the abyss of despair. The brilliance of this book is that I can come away feeling sympathy for a monster and not a little impatience with Lolita herself, which of course is completely bassackward, and all of it leaves me with that uncomfortable squirmy feeling in my stomach.<br />
<br />
One lesson here is that maybe it doesn’t matter what you write about so much as <em>how</em> you write about it. This is one of the things art is for: to pull us out of our comfort zones, to view the world through another lens. I can’t say I exactly enjoyed this book, but I do appreciate the experience of reading it.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>6. A book that was published the year you were born.</b><br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/13624127-hombre" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"><img alt="Hombre" border="0" src="https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1355074137m/13624127.jpg" /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/13624127-hombre">Hombre</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/12940.Elmore_Leonard">Elmore Leonard</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1465667178">4 of 5 stars</a><br />
<br />
Late to the party, as usual, but I <em>love</em> discovering a new favorite writer. Elmore Leonard has crossed my radar several times over the years but I'd never read anything by him until now. I will now be reading every other book he wrote. I don't think I've seen dialogue done better.<br />
<br />
I am intentionally not gushing, because I wish I could write like Elmore Leonard.<br />
<br />
<b>9. A book based on/turned into a television show.</b><br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/162085.Pretty_Little_Liars" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"><img alt="Pretty Little Liars (Pretty Little Liars, #1)" border="0" src="https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1377830522m/162085.jpg" /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/162085.Pretty_Little_Liars">Pretty Little Liars</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/93970.Sara_Shepard">Sara Shepard</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1510298564">1 of 5 stars</a><br />
<br />
This was part of my reading challenge as a book made into a TV show. I picked it because everything else I could find was either more goddamned vampire/zombie/werewolf crap, which we should be over by now, or else I’d already read it.<br />
<br />
This one also happens to be YA. I’ve read some YA books that were excellent enough to break out of the genre and really impress me.<br />
<br />
This is not one of those books.<br />
<br />
Not only is this written for teenagers, it reads like it was written <em>by</em> a teenager. “He gestured at the police cars and random news vans…” They’re not random; they’re there because of the crime. It’s an irritating word misusage and teenagers are generally the culprits.<br />
<br />
Still, a book written for teenagers, by a teenager, dealing with teenager issues, is not necessarily a bad thing. S.E. Hinton knocked that stuff out of the park; John Green more recently. But that’s not what we have here. The plot consists of various flashes of adolescent drama cobbled together as a vehicle for four spoiled rich brats to parade their endless Kate Spade pajama pants and Chanel lip gloss and Gucci sunglasses and blue fur-lined clogs bought in Iceland and APC skirts and John Fluevog cowboy boots. This label-dropping conspicuous consumption is diarrhea on virtually every page. In between hurriedly pushing their hair into fashionably messy ponytails and looking for their BlackBerrys, they do some actual teenage stuff, like make out with their sisters’ boyfriends and crash other people’s Porsches when they’re drunk and stay skinny by vomiting up their food and find out they like kissing other girls and shoplift at Tiffany and bang their English teachers in disgusting bar bathrooms. But mostly they flash their Paper Denim jeans and whine because they can’t take their yappy overbred dogs to school in their Prada handbags.<br />
<br />
Ugh.<br />
<br />
The constant mention of The Jenna Thing did not rope me into reading the next book to find out what it was. I know how to Google stuff. More spoiled rich white girls behaving badly.<br />
<br />
I only finished the book in the hopes it would beat one night’s bout of insomnia, which still plagues me despite the soothing ways of <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/27500.Angela_Carter" title="Angela Carter">Angela Carter</a> and <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/49011.The_Bloody_Chamber_and_Other_Stories" title="The Bloody Chamber and Other Stories by Angela Carter">The Bloody Chamber and Other Stories</a>. It didn’t help. I suffered through the next day with a hangover fashioned of no sleep <em>and</em> the memory of this awful book.<br />
<br />
Double ugh.<br />
<br />
<b>17. A popular author's first book.</b><br />
<br />
I'm qualifying this one, since Gaiman's first published works were mini-series, graphic novels, comics, and television scripts. Also, his first published novel was a collaboration with Terry Pratchett. <i>Stardust</i> is his first published plain-old-novel novel, written solo.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18280911-stardust" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"><img alt="Stardust" border="0" src="https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1375557408m/18280911.jpg" /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18280911-stardust">Stardust</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1221698.Neil_Gaiman">Neil Gaiman</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1479260380">4 of 5 stars</a><br />
<br />
I loved this book, a wonderful fairy tale, or should I say a Faerie tale? Deceptively simple, beautifully told in the prose only Gaiman can write, it has all the elements of the classic once-upon-a-time-in-a-land-far-far-away fable, with all of the different elements coming neatly together in a beautiful magic circle at the end.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>18. A nonfiction book.</b><br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/1898.Into_Thin_Air" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"><img alt="Into Thin Air: A Personal Account of the Mount Everest Disaster" border="0" src="https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1446286672m/1898.jpg" /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/1898.Into_Thin_Air">Into Thin Air: A Personal Account of the Mount Everest Disaster</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1235.Jon_Krakauer">Jon Krakauer</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/713505388">4 of 5 stars</a><br />
<br />
I have no idea why I’m so fascinated with Mt. Everest. I am not the slightest bit athletic, hate being cold, and am terrified of heights. When I read about the drugged, underwater feeling of hypoxia and knowing there was “7,000 feet of sky on either side” and that “I would pay for a single bungled step with my life,” I literally had a panic attack. I love nature and the outdoors, but at my age and with the sorry state of my knees, my idea of outdoor recreation is enjoying a few beers around the campfire, on terra firma, well away from Himalayan precipices and crevasses. Oh, and I like canoes, too.<br />
<br />
I know Krakauer was criticized for his criticism of unskilled climbers and a wealthy socialite who added to the work of the Sherpas by bringing along a CD-rom player and a printer and an espresso maker, for chrissakes. I have to take his side of it. He did not stint on noting the contributions and failings of anyone, including himself, but to me it is obvious that less skilled and frivolous climbers increase the danger to everyone else. (Krakauer particularly pillories Ian Woodall, who deserves it as far as I can tell. I tried to find something from Woodall’s point of view and found a book, <em>Everest: Free to Decide</em> by Woodall and his girlfriend Cathy O’Dowd. It has a lukewarm rating and four, count ‘em, four, reviews on Amazon, none at all on Goodreads, and the closest library that has it is 800 miles away, so I’ll take Krakauer’s word for it, <a href="http://www.rockandice.com/lates-news/everest-96-unheard-voices-of-the-1996-disaster">which is backed up by others.</a> Anyhow, I can’t imagine how Woodall would defend lying about his experience and qualifications, among other things, and refusing to let others use his radio for a rescue effort when people were dying.) That aside, I have to agree that the commercialism of Everest is a bad thing, if for no other factor than the amount of garbage human beings leave behind themselves.<br />
<br />
The upshot is I don’t think Krakauer did much blaming beyond citing Woodall’s refusal of his radio, which is pretty serious dickdom, and questioning guides who decided not to use supplemental oxygen, thus lessening their ability to make rational decisions and to assist their clients when needed the most. He related several different incidents and cited the contributing factors, generally altitude sickness and miscommunication, but not leaving out ego, inexperience, and mountain fever. These incidents in and of themselves might not have been disastrous, but taken with the intrinsic perils of such a climb served to create the perfect storm, almost as deadly as the storm that trapped so many climbers near the summit, hypoxiated, frostbitten, hypothermic, debilitated by altitude sickness, exhausted, weak, and lost.<br />
<br />
Krakauer explained technical matters so I understood them, without being condescending. His insights into the personalities and desires of the men and women who seek to conquer Sagarmatha, “the goddess of the sky,” are sharp and perceptive. He spins a good yarn, full of terror and heroism.<br />
<br />
The illustrations by Randy Rackliff are stark and striking but I would have enjoyed some photographs as well. I kept stopping to Google photos of the Khumbu Icefall and Hillary’s Step and the Balcony. The endpaper map helped a little but I would have liked a more detailed map of the route.<br />
<br />
Except for putting it down to Google photos and maps, unputdownable.</div>
Deborah Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13437812947833118376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2501018540996014141.post-49707091506534694452016-01-15T14:51:00.000-08:002016-01-15T14:51:02.405-08:00Once Upon a Time (Flash Fiction)<a href="http://carrotranch.com/2016/01/14/january-13-flash-fiction-challenge/">Congress of Rough Writers January 19 flash fiction challenge:</a> In 99 words (no more, no less) begin a story with "Once upon a time..."<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHOAbZmvO5GLf__e1Pfyo0qFIue8cQ8F4iE0QXNYYkqzvPE-3mXpwRm3HjTGjOD7kyEp1vI6V3QMB-uhnR1rcgCfBzm8iMBWfvmbvvp2lFzYlN0XtMwB_ib5k8x841u43g2IiR4377_ikr/s1600/Glass+Slipper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHOAbZmvO5GLf__e1Pfyo0qFIue8cQ8F4iE0QXNYYkqzvPE-3mXpwRm3HjTGjOD7kyEp1vI6V3QMB-uhnR1rcgCfBzm8iMBWfvmbvvp2lFzYlN0XtMwB_ib5k8x841u43g2IiR4377_ikr/s320/Glass+Slipper.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">09kszabo/DeviantArt, used under <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/">Creative Commons License.</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Once upon a time…</span></div>
<b id="docs-internal-guid-37fe448b-4777-1d68-0f35-4beaa49ebb35" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Jane Doe flushes under the smiling, expectant gaze of this most attractive man. Imagine, someone asking her out to dinner! Here is proof that her efforts are worthwhile, a few dollars a month for the gym and access to a shower, her thrift store clothes carefully selected. Maybe she's pulling it off well enough to fool a potential employer. </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She entertains Cinderella’s daydream for a second, then shakes her head regretfully. He likes her now, but what happens when he finds out she squats in an abandoned house? At least Cinderella had a proper home. </span></div>
Deborah Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13437812947833118376noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2501018540996014141.post-45468431700618961842016-01-10T17:59:00.001-08:002016-01-10T17:59:37.455-08:00But I Trusted You by Ann Rule (Book Review)<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6372106-but-i-trusted-you-and-other-true-cases" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"><img alt="But I Trusted You and Other True Cases (Crime Files, #14)" border="0" src="https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1388275334m/6372106.jpg" /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6372106-but-i-trusted-you-and-other-true-cases">But I Trusted You and Other True Cases</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/9678.Ann_Rule">Ann Rule</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1504696782">3 of 5 stars</a><br /><br />
I’ve always enjoyed Ann Rule’s true crime, but this one left me wanting. I feel bad saying that, too, because she recently passed away.<br /><br />I don’t recall her other books taking the preachy note this one seems to, somehow implying that victims are irresponsible for putting themselves in harm’s way or trusting the wrong people or having lifestyles Rule doesn’t approve of. At one point I was disturbed when Rule seemed to imply a female victim may have inspired lust in her unknown attacker by being attractive and wearing only a bathing suit. I would think a woman with Rule’s law enforcement background would know that rape is a crime of violence and power, not lust, but I guess she bought into the unfortunately typical tendency to blame the victim. If you don’t sit in your campsite, on your long holiday weekend, wearing a bathing suit and looking pretty, you won’t be attacked. What the hell.<br /><br />The writing is not as tight as in other books. At one point Rule writes about the possibility the victims may have been “killed and hidden in some mine whose existence had been known only to old-timers - now long dead…”, which means, I guess, that these long-dead old-timers must have done it? There was this kind of odd conjecture throughout. I don’t recall that in Rule’s other books.<br /><br />Also, and this has been bugging me for a decade or more, why are all the cases in Rule’s books so old? The majority throughout the years date from the 1960’s and 1970’s, occasionally the 80’s. I would like to see some recent cases treated with Rule’s deft touch and gift for humanizing the stories, but with her passing that won’t happen now.<br /><br />Perhaps I’m just irritable today.<br /><br />Still, Rule’s knowledge of investigative techniques brings a lot to the table as investigations unfold, and her access to detectives and family members and their perspectives has always made Rule's true crime superior. If you like true crime and don’t mind a little judgmentalness here and there, this book is decent to pass the time with.<br /><br />RIP, Ann.<br /><br />Side note: The story of the <em>Spellbound</em> intrigued me, and I found another book on that case, <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18877768.Dare_I_Call_It_Murder__A_Memoir_of_Violent_Loss" title="Dare I Call It Murder? A Memoir of Violent Loss by Larry M. Edwards">Dare I Call It Murder?: A Memoir of Violent Loss</a>. Then I noticed that out of 17 written reviews, 4 of them are from the author, with five stars of course, and repeated links to buy the book as though I’m not smart enough to find it for myself. What a turnoff.<br />
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Deborah Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13437812947833118376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2501018540996014141.post-62709567308387488712016-01-09T09:21:00.000-08:002016-01-18T05:49:35.637-08:00We Don't Like Your Kind Here (Flash Fiction)<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 18.6667px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="http://carrotranch.com/2016/01/07/january-6-flash-fiction-challenge/">Congress of Rough Writers January 6 Flash Fiction Challenge:</a> In 99 words (no more, no less) write a rebellion.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: Graphplosivo/DeviantArt, <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/">used under Creative Commons license.</a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 18.6667px; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">Jane Doe pulls the bills from her pocket and counts out the correct number, handing them over. The cashier’s stare seems as weighty as the backpack Jane wears. Now she sees the tight line of the mouth, eyes hard and glittering as diamonds. She accepts the change thrust at her.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 18.666666666666664px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Go on now, “ says the cashier shortly, jutting her chin toward the door. Why so rude? Then Jane remembers her backpack, the bedroll screaming, “Street person!”</span></div>
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Deborah Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13437812947833118376noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2501018540996014141.post-88547131462586816902016-01-07T04:15:00.000-08:002016-01-07T04:15:38.123-08:00I Am Livia by Phyllis T. Smith (Book Review)<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/20874139-i-am-livia" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"><img alt="I Am Livia" border="0" src="https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1441814072m/20874139.jpg" /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/20874139-i-am-livia">I Am Livia</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7267515.Phyllis_T_Smith">Phyllis T. Smith</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/928183515">3 of 5 stars</a><br /><br />
Roman history lite. Livia Drusilla, the first Augusta of Rome, was a fascinating woman. This book gives interesting insight into daily life in ancient Rome, particularly domestic issues and the status of women, from Livia’s first marriage to Tiberius Nero through her marriage to Octavian, Caesar Augustus and the defeat of Cleopatra and Mark Antony. I appreciated that it didn’t go too far down the romance path, which it easily could have. I would have enjoyed more politics and intrigue - what else was ancient Rome all about, after all? Twenty-three daggers for Julius Caesar yet not a single poisoning! But I suppose not all historical fiction can be <em>Julian</em> or <em>I, Claudius</em>. Competently written with good plotting and character development. I would have liked more depth, but it’s still a fast and entertaining read, good for travel or a lazy weekend.Deborah Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13437812947833118376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2501018540996014141.post-54407733214380971612016-01-04T18:58:00.002-08:002016-01-04T18:58:42.835-08:00The Piper's Son by Melina Marchetta (Book Review)<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/7417780-the-piper-s-son" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"><img alt="The Piper's Son" border="0" src="https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1394240860m/7417780.jpg" /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/7417780-the-piper-s-son">The Piper's Son</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/47104.Melina_Marchetta">Melina Marchetta</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1076002852">3 of 5 stars</a><br />
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A good-enough book. I am most intrigued by the cover art. The Australian version of the book has nearly identical cover art to that of the CD "Feeler" by Pete Murray, also Australian.<br />
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It's the same cityscape, same street, the same guy carrying the same pair of shoes, but he's walking toward the camera in "Feeler" and away from the camera in "The Piper's Son."<br />
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I am unable to locate the name of the artist. I like it, though.<br />
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Deborah Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13437812947833118376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2501018540996014141.post-79803864671357349532015-12-30T18:09:00.000-08:002015-12-30T18:09:33.510-08:00Makin' Me Cray-Cray: Words to FINALLY Retire in 2016<span id="docs-internal-guid-bf7d8e3b-eb55-79f7-f0d7-0572aec53ea4"></span><br />
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<span id="docs-internal-guid-bf7d8e3b-eb55-79f7-f0d7-0572aec53ea4"><span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Out with the old, especially when they're annoying as all hell. Here are my choices for words and expressions that need to disappear with the last of 2015:</span></span><br />
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<span id="docs-internal-guid-bf7d8e3b-eb55-79f7-f0d7-0572aec53ea4"><span style="font-size: 16px; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">13. "...and then she does THIS</span><span style="font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">,"</span><span style="font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">or "</span><span style="font-size: 16px; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">until she did THIS"</span><span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> or "</span><span style="font-size: 16px; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">but I never thought she'd do THIS</span><span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">," or whatever <b>THIS</b></span></span></div>
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<span id="docs-internal-guid-bf7d8e3b-eb55-79f7-f0d7-0572aec53ea4"><span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We've all seen these headlines. We're all just plodding through this tedious world where nothing can move or surprise us anymore, and then THIS came along and lifted our hearts away from suicide and restored our faith in humanity and showed us that yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. It was a hook of a headline, about 3 times. It's played out, and is almost never justified anyway. I won't even click on something with this kind of headline anymore.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>12. "I just threw up in my mouth a little."</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Gee, thanks. Now I did, too.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It was always gross. Now it's overused and gross.</span><br />
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<b style="font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">11.</b><span style="font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;"> As annoying and pervasive as the idiotic “hack,” please, please, for the love of all things holy, stop </span><b style="font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">calling everything “passive-aggressive.”</b><span style="font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;"> This has become the trendy term for anything and everything, particularly if it involves leaving a note for someone who is being an asshole. The vast majority of the "hilarious passive-aggressive" notes people leave on the office fridge or other people's windshields are in fact rather assertive, along with being sarcastic and/or retaliatory. "Hey, jerkoff co-worker who keeps stealing my lunch, you should know that yesterday I spit in it just for you" is pretty </span><i style="font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">active</i><span style="font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">-aggressive.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It makes no difference whether the writer of the note is identifiable or it is unsigned. "Anonymous" and "passive" are not synonyms.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">"Passive-aggressive" means to hurt another through </span><span style="font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">inaction</span><span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. If I let you leave the ladies’ room without telling you the back of your skirt is stuck in the waistband of your underwear, </span><span style="font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">that</span><span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> is passive-aggressive. Letting my despised boss turn in an important report without telling her about the potentially embarrassing error is passive-aggressive. A bit less blatant, but still passive-aggressive, are the tactics of </span><span style="font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">consistently</span><span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> frustrating things by chronic lateness or absence, "forgetting" to do things, doing a substandard job, sulking, or retreating instead of actively participating. </span><span style="font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Consistently</span><span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. Forgetting something once isn’t passive-aggressive; it’s just forgetting.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>10. "That's so gay."</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Are you homophobic? Or simply too lazy to find a word that doesn't insult a good portion of the population? Come up with something else.</span><br />
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">"That's so straight."</span><br />
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Hmm, maybe.</span><br />
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>9. "Epic" and "Awesome."</b></span><br />
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">No, usually not. As with "THIS," I don't even click on headlines with these words anymore. "Awesome" means "to inspire awe," like a spectacular singing performance or the view from the ISS. "Epic" correctly refers to feats of heroic proportions or difficulty, or a long struggle, or both, such as Homer's <i>Odyssey</i> or the centuries-old fight for women's rights. Your lunch is not "awesome." A snappy comeback to a fat-shamer, no matter how well-deserved, is not "epic."</span><br />
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I have become more aware of my own hyperbolic usage of "awesome" and am making a conscious desire to cut it out. I'm so awesome. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.656; white-space: pre-wrap;">Stop. Just, so much stop. I can't even.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>6. "I really wanted to like this."</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’m not sure why it was so important to someone’s sense of personal fulfillment to find a movie or book or restaurant or whatever to be pleasing. Chance after chance after chance, but it still failed to live up to expectations, or hype, worse than wanting to like a new romantic interest who, it turns out, won't stop texting during an expensive dinner. A desire for conformity, maybe? I find it easier to conclude that I have more discerning taste than the philistines who surround me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>5. Bae, cray-cray, nom-noms, totes adorbs, and so forth.</b> Actually, I can accept these from teenagers, since I'm assuming they'll grow out of it and I remember being young and uttering idiotic things too ("Neat-o!"). If you are an adult and you use these expressions, I am laughing at you. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>4. "My bad."</b> Your bad what? OK, yes, I get it, you're acknowledging a mistake. I guess it's okay if it's a minor mistake, but absolutely not if it's used in place of an apology. That's lazy and unacceptable. If the misstep is serious enough to warrant an apology, then apologize. Properly. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>3. "Huh?"</b></span><br />
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<span style="line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">When I hear this I feel like I'm trying to converse with a cow. Again, use your words. "Excuse me?" "I'm sorry; I didn't catch that," or even a mannerless "What?" are better than the boorish "Huuuuaaaaah?"</span></div>
<br /><span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>2. Random.</b></span></span><div>
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<span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Used these days to mean cool, unexpected, unique, as in “look how irrelevantly awesome I am! “ No. “Random” means without design, purpose, or discernible pattern, not cray-cray. (It's also the name of one of my favorite Roger Zelazny characters in some of <a href="https://www.sfsite.com/10b/ca91.htm">the best fantasy fiction of all time</a>, but I'm not sure I expect anyone misusing the word to know that.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>1.</b> Still in the number one place is <b>calling everything a "hack,"</b> although I've noticed it has dropped off <a href="http://ninetyninemonkeys.blogspot.com/2015/05/the-most-impactful-vocabulary-hacks-you.html">since I griped about it some time back</a>. I'm going to go ahead and take credit for that.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The crusade continues. </span><br />
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Deborah Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13437812947833118376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2501018540996014141.post-26298737484444890192015-12-26T08:28:00.000-08:002015-12-27T09:43:10.632-08:00Mick Jagger by Philip Norman (Book Review)<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/13623806-mick-jagger" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"><img alt="Mick Jagger" border="0" src="https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1340897110m/13623806.jpg" /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/13623806-mick-jagger">Mick Jagger</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/20136.Philip_Norman">Philip Norman</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1478460414">1 of 5 stars</a><br />
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I'm on a biography kick lately and wanted the other half of the Glimmer Twins. The Mick half is a big snore.<br />
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One thing we all probably want out of a biography is detail, but there's way too much of it here. I mostly skipped the childhood chapter, but I have to be fair and admit that it's difficult to make anyone else's childhood interesting to me. I yawned my way through two more chapters, not caring much about what kind of jersey Mick wore when he finally sang for the first time with the band that had become the Rolling Stones. At that point I gave in to the urge to just flip through the pages. I managed to pick out the sections on Brian Jones' death and Altamont, where I didn't learn anything new, although I did see enough references to the Mars bar non-incident to know that somebody's a wee bit hung up on it. I'd have been interested to read about life with Bianca and Jerry, but I wasn't up to sifting through all the minutiae to get there. <strike>DNF'd.</strike><br />
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I am disappointed that the story of one of rock's most charismatic and controversial frontmen is such a tedious slog, but I suppose Norman did a creditable job given that his subject wouldn't cooperate. The photos aren't that great either; you can find better with a Google image search. If you want personal insight and what someone actually thought and felt about it all, read Keith Richards' autobiography instead. The truthfulness of either book is not for me to know, but <em>Life</em> gives a lot more satisfaction.<br />
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UPDATE ADDITION: It was bugging the crap out of me that I hadn't finished the book so I went back and skimmed through all 600 +/- pages, although I did start after the photos section in the middle, skimmed to the end, and then skimmed from somewhere near where I'd originally left off near the beginning, to finish up in the middle. I doubt it made much difference. Still tedious, and also quite definitely some tit-for-tat in re Keith's book going on there, so much that I kept muttering, "Oh, grow up" and rolling my eyes at each catty new potshot. The exaggerated phonetic translation of Mick's singing, such as "Yes, I used to looeerve her, bu-u-rd it's awl over now" and "Wawld, wawld hors-es, we'll ride them serm-day" and making "lerve serm-tahms...so fahn" for every single song lyric I came across became annoying as all hell. And what's with referring to him as "Sir Mick" every single time after his knighthood? Yes, I know he really was "Sir Mick" at that point, but it seems...suck-up-y. I did come away with big admiration for Jerry Hall - now there's class. I'm revising up to two stars partly because I went back and "finished" the book, but mostly for Jerry.<br />
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<br />Deborah Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13437812947833118376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2501018540996014141.post-9365698479612939402015-12-20T11:49:00.000-08:002015-12-21T06:37:45.320-08:00Your Best Christmas<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">roslyn via Flickr/Creative roslynyoungrosalia</td></tr>
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I was thinking about Christmas in a strange land, again, and wondering if I'll ever get used to it. It's not so much that it's a strange land anymore. We've more or less acclimated, the rain and the traffic and the recycling. This will be our third Christmas in this apartment. It's still not what it used to be. We moved from a four-bedroom home in Nevada into a two-bedroom apartment in Washington that we rented online. We were in a hurry so I could start a new job, so we placed many of our belongings into storage in Nevada, figuring we'd be able to move into something bigger and return to Nevada for the rest of our things in a few months. That was stupid. That was almost three years ago. We still do not have the Christmas things I have collected over more than 30 years.</div>
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In my recent cleaning frenzy and <a href="http://ninetyninemonkeys.blogspot.com/2015/12/the-troll-diary-and-bit-about-life.html">discovery of The Troll Diary</a>, I got to pondering The Troll time of my life. It was chaotic, depressing, hopeful, confused, tear-filled. It was a period of my life I had to go through in order to get where I am now. That first Christmas after I left him, The Troll had stubbornly refused to return to me any possession I hadn't immediately taken in my brief window of opportunity, and I'd used that window to take the essentials. He wasn't going to give me a damned thing else without a court order. (Have I mentioned that he's an asshole?)</div>
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I was broke. I had two children who needed a Christmas tree. Who is a tree for, if not for the kids?</div>
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I badly depleted my skimpy holiday fund for an artificial tree I found on sale for $30. The description on the box made it seem small indeed, but when I put it together in our tiny apartment, it was plenty big enough. I found a website with printable patterns for paper snowflakes, and the kids and I spent hours cutting those things out. I spent my last three bucks on pipe cleaners (if you're going to be health conscious and politically correct they are now called "chenille art stems," but to me they're <i>pipe cleaners</i>, used to clean residue from tobacco pipes, and the memory of the wonderful smell of my grandpa's pipe tobacco is something PC cannot take away from me). The red and white ones we twisted together and bent to make fuzzy candy canes. Green ones were bent into circles and embellished with glued-on Red Hots candies to make little wreaths. When we were done, the carpet was littered with so many tiny bits of paper it looked like it had snowed inside, but we had ourselves a by-god Christmas tree, decorated with three dollars worth of pipe cleaners and paper snowflakes. More snowflakes were stuck to the window with clear tape. You would understand what an accomplishment that was for me if you knew how clutzy I am when it comes to crafts.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leonora Enking/Flickr/Creative Commons</td></tr>
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We had Christmas. That Christmas remains in my memory as one of the best Christmases ever. In a sea of everything going wrong if it possibly could, that Christmas was an oasis of making the joy happen anyway.</div>
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A couple of months later my divorce was final and I had my possessions back, at least the ones The Troll hadn't destroyed or thrown out. My vinyl collection, some of it autographed, was gone, but he hadn't made it as far as my Christmas things. The following Christmas it was such a relief to put my tree together with old favorites.</div>
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I think about this now, as I look at the small tree we've purchased for our small Washington apartment. It's a pretty enough tree. I have a fireplace over which to hang stockings, and I'd better enjoy it because I probably won't have a fireplace after we move in a few months. But I want my advent calendar. I want our special handmade stockings, and the special ornaments collected over the years, given as first anniversary and new baby gifts, bought on trips to San Francisco's <a href="http://www.dickensfair.com/">Great Dickens Christmas Fair</a> and that beautiful Christmas shop in Virginia City, proudly created in my children's grade school classrooms. I want <i>my</i> <i>stuff</i>.</div>
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I'm learning that this may be the best time of year to avoid social media, for two reasons. It may seem obvious that seeing other people's picture-perfect holidays should make me feel happy for them, but it doesn't. It just doesn't. It just makes me want my own picture-perfect holiday back. I'm also sick and tired of this supposed "War on Christmas," one of the most infantile things dreamed up yet for people to fight about. If someone takes the time to wish me happiness at this time of year, I'm happy for the wish, no matter how it's phrased or what -ism it's based on. Someone who's not capable of sharing something as simple and universal as a holiday season is probably not capable of sharing much else.<br />
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It's time to unplug and to quit morosing around. Dream Girl and I are doing our gift shopping today. No, it won't fix everything, but I've just added pipe cleaners, or "chenille art stems," or whatever you want to call them, to the list. Later we'll have some hot cider (I don't like eggnog, so sue me) and watch the Grinch. I am trusting that somewhere, in my blahs and doldrums, is hidden another surprisingly wonderful Christmas. I'm also trusting that I'll have the ability to see it when it's smacking me in the face, because I still have so very much to be thankful for.</div>
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However you celebrate this solstice-based winter holiday, I wish you your best one.<br />
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Deborah Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13437812947833118376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2501018540996014141.post-30095631007935657252015-12-17T06:27:00.001-08:002015-12-17T06:29:31.665-08:00Running With Scissors by Augusten Burroughs (Book Review)<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/242006.Running_with_Scissors" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"><img alt="Running with Scissors" border="0" src="https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1438898196m/242006.jpg" /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/242006.Running_with_Scissors">Running with Scissors</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3058.Augusten_Burroughs">Augusten Burroughs</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1067354892">1 of 5 stars</a><br />
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There is some debate about whether this really is a memoir. Even if it is all true, while it may be cathartic for the author to write it, me reading it doesn't accomplish anything. I see lots of shock value and little else. Ick. Abandoned.<br />
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/list/23412349-deborah">View all my reviews</a><br />
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Deborah Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13437812947833118376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2501018540996014141.post-10237433491511408012015-12-14T05:23:00.000-08:002015-12-14T05:23:56.410-08:00The Troll Diary (and a bit about The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up by Marie Kondo)<div style="text-align: justify;">
Some trips down Memory Lane are not so good.</div>
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I had just finished reading <i>The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up</i> by Marie Kondo. Inspired and beyond sick of the clutter that surrounds me, and mourning the neatnik I was before motherhood and decades of constantly picking up after others wore me down, I dove in. School is out for winter break and I've got time. Like the author recommended, clothes first.</div>
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I was happily purging belongings, feeling virtuous and efficient, until my words and my wounds from 20 years ago ambushed me. The journal was hiding at the bottom of a dresser drawer. How it had hidden itself so well is beyond me; I last wrote in it 17 years ago and have moved house four times since then. My mood plummeted. It chronicled my last 18 months or so in a horrid marriage to a miserable and abusive man I call The Troll. (I originally called him The Toad, until I realized that was dissing toads big time, and I couldn't think of anything good about trolls and renamed him. This was before comment sections on the Internet when the word "troll" took on a whole new meaning. But the sentiment is much the same.)</div>
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My wave of accomplishment collapsed in on itself as I read my own scrawled words. I was transported back instantly, to a pit of despair and a self I hated being. By the time I forced myself to stop reading and throw the notebook in the trash bag, I felt exactly as I had whenever The Troll ambushed me with some new bit of marital devilry. Now I was angry with him all over again, and angry with the journal too. It felt like the journal had done what The Troll himself used to do, lurking and springing some new outrage on me when I was least expecting it.</div>
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But then I remembered what I had accomplished all those years ago, what that outpouring of thoughts and words had led to. I had secretly started seeing a counselor. I had fought through a Shelob-worthy web of depression and oppression to plan an escape and get myself and my children out to something better. I had cadged and hidden money for an apartment and other unforeseen expenses, and lined up a secret A-team of support I would surely need.<i> </i>I saved my own life.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kreg Steppe, Flickr/Creative Commons</td></tr>
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These last few years have been difficult ones, again, but it's been getting better. Our rent has been raised enough that we can't afford to stay where we are. Once again, I don't know where I'll be six months from now, but that is not as unsettling to me as it would have been two years ago. I'm getting to where I'm once again okay with where I am. I'm coming to terms with some loss and I'm working to accept some unacceptable facts. I've taken the time and effort to be kind to myself. With the love and support of the Tominator and Dream Girl, not to mention another counselor worth 100 times her hourly rate, I'm coming out the other side of another rough patch. I'm even okay with a bit of uncertainty, which is huge for someone who thrives on routine and a comfortably padded niche.</div>
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A big part of that has been examining and jettisoning many elements of my life, both emotional and physical. The premise of the cleaning-out book I was reading, <i>The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up</i>, is not just to get rid of things that don't fit. It's not about clever ways to store a bunch of crap we don't need. It's not even about deciding what to throw out. It's about deciding what to keep, specifically keeping things only if they "spark joy." If it doesn't "spark joy" when you hold it, then toss it. It is an excellent approach to dejunkifying your personal space, but it's even more about creating an environment with purpose. It's not just physical. It's cerebral, and it's spiritual. It's a way to look at every element of life, not just tangible possessions.</div>
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Back to cleaning. I've already hauled two big bags out to the dumpster, have another partway full, and have two more full of things to be donated. I can see my closet floor for the first time in two and a half years. That's joy right there. And when I look more closely at how far I've come from being the woman who wrote that journal, that's some <i>serious</i> joy.</div>
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Sometimes you have to be reminded of how much you can do. Let Memory Lane take you there.</div>
Deborah Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13437812947833118376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2501018540996014141.post-43058329736820026172015-12-12T17:58:00.000-08:002015-12-12T17:58:31.030-08:00Looky-Loo (Flash Fiction)<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<a href="http://carrotranch.com/2015/12/10/december-9-flash-fiction-challenge/" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1155cc; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 18.666666666666664px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Carrot Ranch Congress of Rough Writers December 9, 2015 flash fiction prompt</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 18.666666666666664px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">: In 99 words (no more, no less) write about a looky-loo:</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 18.666666666666664px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The woman beside her looks out the window as the bus grinds along Third Avenue, twisting her neck to peer toward the top of Columbia Tower. Office workers stream out as the skyscrapers dazzle in the deep twilight. The woman shifts from cheek to cheek in the seat, hands clutching and reclutching her shopping bag, gray streaks in her hair belying the excited child within. No sophistication in her hair or clothes. Her mouth is a little O of wonder.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">atmtx/mostlyfotos, used under <a href="http://www.mostlyfotos.com/p/usagelicensing-of-photographs.html">Creative Commons</a> license.</td></tr>
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<br />Deborah Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13437812947833118376noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2501018540996014141.post-3404102379804783852015-12-08T07:57:00.000-08:002015-12-08T07:57:06.335-08:00The Boleyn Inheritance by Philippa Gregory (Book Review)<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/16180.The_Boleyn_Inheritance" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"><img alt="The Boleyn Inheritance (The Tudor Court, #3)" border="0" src="https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1409318443m/16180.jpg" /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/16180.The_Boleyn_Inheritance">The Boleyn Inheritance</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/9987.Philippa_Gregory">Philippa Gregory</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1463357903">4 of 5 stars</a><br /><br />
“This is Henry of England!...This is a man who has been the death of three wives and is now building the scaffold for a fourth! There are no guarantees. He is a murderer. If you put me in his bed, I am a dead woman.”<br /><br />and<br /><br />“Those people like my grandmother, who are so free with their insults and their slaps, who say that it is a tremendous honor and a fine step up for a ninny like me, might well consider that a fool can be jumped up, but a fool can also be thrown down; and who is going to catch me then? “<br /><br />and<br /><br />“‘The clerk's pen is poised; I can feel the words in my dry mouth. It is over. She is ruined, he is a dead man, I am on the brink of betrayal: again.”<br /><br />A regal, savvy woman who had queenship <em>down</em>; a vain, flirtatious pinhead just asking to be a stepstool for someone else's climb to the top; and a jealous, grasping woman scorned; all played out in the looming shadow of the Tower of London. The multiple-POV is done well here with good juxtaposition and good tension among two of Henry VIII’s wives and one lady-in-waiting. I was pulled right along even though I already knew who lives and who gets the axe. Excellent fictional take on Tudor history. <br /><br />
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/list/23412349-deborah">View all my reviews</a><br />
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Deborah Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13437812947833118376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2501018540996014141.post-53360920756205654632015-12-07T06:30:00.000-08:002015-12-07T06:30:14.960-08:00A Tale for the Time Being by Ruth Ozeki (Book Review)<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/15811545-a-tale-for-the-time-being" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"><img alt="A Tale for the Time Being" border="0" src="https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1350364499m/15811545.jpg" /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/15811545-a-tale-for-the-time-being">A Tale for the Time Being</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7825.Ruth_Ozeki">Ruth Ozeki</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1062821083">4 of 5 stars</a><br /><br />
If you love Zen and quantum physics and time entanglements and multiple universes and time slippages and converging realities and 104-year-old priestesses and Schrodinger's cat, read this book! It is about love, hope, sorrow, the future, the past, the end of times, and being present in the here and now. "I'd much rather know, but then again, not-knowing keeps all the possibilities open. It keeps all the worlds alive."<br />
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/list/23412349-deborah">View all my reviews</a><br />
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Deborah Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13437812947833118376noreply@blogger.com0