It's a familiar story: I have a deadline looming large and I'm doing everything possible to avoid it. Hello, Facebook, toenail polish, Libba's apple dip and blog. My brain is overtired and I can't quite work myself up to tackling a blank Word document.
This is just one way in which I find editing to be so much easier than writing. Someone else has already done the hard part; all I have to do is make it good. In comparison, it's practically mindless.
The worst part of this story is that Matt's next door playing poker, and I almost invited a couple of people over for a mini-girls' night -- and then I decided not to because of these 4,000 unwritten words. What a waste!
That settles it. I'm going to go do what I can to redeem myself. Here's hoping the words flow.
Saturday, August 18, 2012
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
Saturday, August 4, 2012
Memory
Once in a great while I read a book so spectacular it ruins the next few for me. That's what happened with "The Glass Castle," by Jeannette Walls, which was so good I accidentally typed in "amazing.com" on my first attempt to find its Amazon link.
Although there are some memoirs I like, I have a history of failing to finish them, but this was definitely an exception. As soon as I read the last page I wanted to start again at the beginning. I didn't, but it's our September book club pick, and I probably will then. I had never heard of it before it came up in book club, but I'm so glad it came across my path, and I cannot recommend it highly enough. Buy it, don't borrow.
I have a couple of issues with most memoirs, one of which is that they bore me (they usually seem a little self-indulgent and overdramatic) and another of which is that I don't fully believe them. People went all crazy on James Frey with his "A Million Little Pieces," which I see is now being promoted as a "semi-fictional memoir," but apparently have no problem believing that Frank McCourt's recollection of dozens or hundreds of conversations and events dating back half a century, as recorded in "Angela's Ashes," is essentially accurate.
I doubt it. It seems to me that "semi-fictional" is implicit in "memoir." However, I know my memory is worse than most: It's a rare book or movie that I can recall in ANY detail a few months after finishing it, and I couldn't perfectly recreate a conversation I had five minutes ago. I have brought this up with a couple of friends and one of them claims she can recall entire conversations from years ago. I can't imagine how this is true, but she's credible, so it made me wonder. She credits (?) her ADD with her detailed memory.
Memory, of course, is only part of the problem. The truth of a person's past is inevitably blurred by his or her biases, misperceptions, motives and wishful thinking.
That's all I have to say about that. We're off to the outlets and then a late dinner -- likely back at Georgio's. Don't hate.
Although there are some memoirs I like, I have a history of failing to finish them, but this was definitely an exception. As soon as I read the last page I wanted to start again at the beginning. I didn't, but it's our September book club pick, and I probably will then. I had never heard of it before it came up in book club, but I'm so glad it came across my path, and I cannot recommend it highly enough. Buy it, don't borrow.
I have a couple of issues with most memoirs, one of which is that they bore me (they usually seem a little self-indulgent and overdramatic) and another of which is that I don't fully believe them. People went all crazy on James Frey with his "A Million Little Pieces," which I see is now being promoted as a "semi-fictional memoir," but apparently have no problem believing that Frank McCourt's recollection of dozens or hundreds of conversations and events dating back half a century, as recorded in "Angela's Ashes," is essentially accurate.
I doubt it. It seems to me that "semi-fictional" is implicit in "memoir." However, I know my memory is worse than most: It's a rare book or movie that I can recall in ANY detail a few months after finishing it, and I couldn't perfectly recreate a conversation I had five minutes ago. I have brought this up with a couple of friends and one of them claims she can recall entire conversations from years ago. I can't imagine how this is true, but she's credible, so it made me wonder. She credits (?) her ADD with her detailed memory.
Memory, of course, is only part of the problem. The truth of a person's past is inevitably blurred by his or her biases, misperceptions, motives and wishful thinking.
That's all I have to say about that. We're off to the outlets and then a late dinner -- likely back at Georgio's. Don't hate.
Friday, August 3, 2012
Getaway
Matt and I are at the beach celebrating our 10-year anniversary (a mere seven weeks late) and this long weekend is already wonderful. Five years ago we thought we'd celebrate 10 years with a trip to Europe. By a year ago we'd set our sights down a couple of notches, to Chicago, where I've never been. Six months ago that got downgraded to Greenville, S.C., where Matt's never been.
And then sometime around May 25 we were fantasizing about our anniversary getaway and realized all we really wanted to do was go somewhere we could bum. You can't go somewhere really awesome and feel good about sleeping late, reading all day, and indulging yourself with a nap whenever the mood strikes. You have to be somewhere like Myrtle Beach to be OK with that. And since that's exactly what we really wanted to do with our kid-free four days, Myrtle Beach is where we are.
Last night as soon as we got here we walked to Georgio's and downed a large greasy delicious pepperoni pizza and a pitcher of light beer. This morning we woke up at 7:30 by habit but stayed in bed as long as we could stand it just on principle. We got drive-through breakfast in our pajamas, watched the U.S. women's soccer game, read and eventually showered. No agenda, no obligations, no monitors. This is bliss.
Thank you, amazing family, for making this possible for us!
And then sometime around May 25 we were fantasizing about our anniversary getaway and realized all we really wanted to do was go somewhere we could bum. You can't go somewhere really awesome and feel good about sleeping late, reading all day, and indulging yourself with a nap whenever the mood strikes. You have to be somewhere like Myrtle Beach to be OK with that. And since that's exactly what we really wanted to do with our kid-free four days, Myrtle Beach is where we are.
Last night as soon as we got here we walked to Georgio's and downed a large greasy delicious pepperoni pizza and a pitcher of light beer. This morning we woke up at 7:30 by habit but stayed in bed as long as we could stand it just on principle. We got drive-through breakfast in our pajamas, watched the U.S. women's soccer game, read and eventually showered. No agenda, no obligations, no monitors. This is bliss.
Thank you, amazing family, for making this possible for us!
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