Monthly Archives: March 2012

For the first time ever, someone besides me or Miss Carol is reading my book.

It’s weirdly unsettling.

I didn’t know this before I started, but writing anything, especially a book, is a deeply personal and private thing and having or watching or thinking about anyone else reading it is really skeeving me.

But I needed and wanted an opinion other than Miss Carol’s ’cause ya know she’s just a little biased, maybe?

So.

I sent the first chapter to my littlest sister on Tuesday.

My littlest sister is cooly abrasive and cleanly objective and I’m pretty sure she’ll tell me if it sucks so I’m pins and needling it ’til I hear whether she wants to read chapter 2.

My brother and his little cupcake called last night while Miss Carol and me were eating dinner.

They were super uber excited. 

We’ve hated where we live for a long time!, they said.

We’ve wanted to leave where we’re at and come down to the island and be with you guys!, they exclaimed.

Seriously they said, we’ve put our house on the market and the agent is going to have an open house in April and he thinks it’ll show well and sell quickly!

So we can move in with you! they yelled.

They whooped, hey!-we’re gonna pack up the first load tomorrow afternoon so we should at your place by midnight!

And don’t worry about a thing they squealed, we don’t need any help unpacking. We know you both have to work on Friday so we can handle it! You guys just go about your day!

And then my brother’s little cupcake chirped, but could ya maybe get us a coupla bottles of red wine?

And my brother said, and you know, some Bud Light? buddee?

This is gonna be soooooo much fuuuuuunnnn! they both shrieked- and then they hung up.

He’s your brother, Miss Carol said.

And I sat and tried to swallow whatever it was I’d been chewing on.

So just like that she’s off and running and rolling.

Four trips and 1374 miles and 213 gallons of diesel.

And according to Chris, she’s pulling loads like there’s nothin’ back there. Just cruisin’ and haulin’.

How much do I love you, Trixie?

You go girl.

Miss Carol hurried home, worked out and hurried out to play bunco tonight.

She says she’s just humoring some old lady she works with- that they need an alternate, a substitute, at the bunco table. 

But I don’t know. I’m not so sure.

For example, tonight, just like last time, some guy sporting mirrored aviator sunglasses pulled up in a yellow corvette and before I could go out and introduce myself Miss Carol had sprinted across the yard and leapt into the ‘vette and they’d roared away.

So I stood watching Miss Carol disappear marveling that the bunco players were being picked up in yellow corvettes. Bunco must be fun.

Maybe I should try it sometime.

But bunco must be a hard game too, ’cause last time when Miss Carol got home her skirt was on backwards and she’d lost her bra and her lipstick and hair were all messed up and smeared. 

And when I said, Miss Carol what happened!?

She’d smiled kinda blearily at me and said, Bunco, and then she’d gone upstairs to bed and she’d slept for a looooonnnnngggg time.

So I don’t know what’s gonna happen this time.

I’ve felt I’ve been getting behind in some things, what with all that’s been going on, but I didn’t really grasp the stupidness of the getting behindness until I thought about posting one of my lame book reviews and realized I had five (5?) books I’ve read recently to choose from.

What a posting treasure trove, I thought. I can drag this shit out for weeks, I thought.

But then I remembered I’m not getting any younger so here you go in no particular order:

I love Stephen King. Anybody who shudders and says he’s horror writer is only about half right. Read the Dark Tower series if you need convincing.

That said, I wasn’t really crazy about reading 11/22/63. Yeah it’s Stephen King but yeah it’s about the Kennedy assassination which is something that, I don’t know, I just don’t care that much about. Or maybe I’m just over it.

Whichever.

Classic Stephen King, great story, grrrreat look into time travel and its repercussions and a WHOLE LOT about the Kennedy assassination and Lee Harvey Oswald.

It’s good but, I hate to say it, ever since Stephen gave up drugs and alcohol?

I admit I’ve never actually read a Lee Childs/Jack Reacher book. I’ve listened to a bunch on CD while I’m driving and Dick Hill’s narration has always been riveting so I was totally primed to finally actually READ one. 

I was disappointed.

The story sucked and I missed Dick Hill telling it to me.

We The Animals is Justin Torres first book and I wish I could write half as beautifully as he does. Even though my rampant cynicism kicked in at the beginning of the story ’cause it just seemed a little TOO contrived, it’s an amazing little book.

Read it.

In Lost Memory of Skin, Russell Banks tackles the prickly pear of child molestation in a way that, I don’t know, makes you wonder.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m no advocate and neither is Russell Banks. But in his novel his characters and their stories tug you both ways.

It’s interesting and well worth the time. Go ahead, do it.

Elmore Leonard is the hip, cool, king of narrative writing. Over the years I’ve read his books and I’ve listened to his books and I’ve always been drawn to one character- Raylan Givens, federal marshal.

So you can imagine my tingly excitement when I ordered his new book Raylan. I couldn’t wait to get it and I couldn’t wait to read it. Raylan, baby.

And it sucked. 

I don’t know what Elmore was doing but even though the narrative is cool the story is so scrambled and disjointed that I just kinda gave up.