Celebrating Book Drunkenness

Reading widely obvious has advantages. Your vocabulary will grow. You might win games of Scrabble, or at least take home laurels for scoring the most points per word. You'll be familiar with reams of cultural references which is something I especially enjoy. It will give you something to talk about with strangers or to think about on road trips. Reading's great. We all acknowledge that. But I'm always thrilled when I find even more ways reading is fantastic. Want to know what some of those are?

When dead authors and current wordsmiths express matching sentiments about a subject:

"They dress a man up in peacock feathers and insist on looking at him that way. Up to the very last moment they hope for the best. They have a kind of foreboding as to what's on the other side of the coin, all right, but they wouldn't breathe a word of it, perish the thought! They keep pushing the truth away with both hands. Until such a time as the peacock man steps out of his feathers and personally crowns them fools."
-Crime & Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky

"And so it goes one foot after the other till black and white begin to color in. And I know that holding us in place is simply fear of what's already changed."
-Sara Bareilles "Manhattan"

When other people cherish the books that have grown to be a part of your heart: 

"Here are some of my girls' favorite books that we've read aloud to them, some multiple times!" writes @dosaygive. Her favorite book was "The Secrect Garden" and her favorite book to read to her children is "Happy Little Family!" What was your favorite book as a child? What books do you pass on to your children now? Take a photo & tag it with @washingtonpost and #firstreads. Be sure to check back to see if your photo was chosen, as we gear up to celebrate Beverly Cleary’s 100th birthday on April 12! Her iconic characters, among them sisters Ramona and Beezus, inspired generations of children to turn to books for connection and inspiration. Your photo may appear on our site or on our other social media channels too! (Photo courtesy of @dosaygive) #books #reading

A photo posted by Washington Post (@washingtonpost) on Apr 6, 2016 at 4:26pm PDT

When you check out a book from the library and it still has the sign-out sheet in the back. All those people. All their stories. All the thoughts they thought while reading it.

When you read a line and it feels so perfect that you have to reach for a scrap of paper, the back of a receipt, or even your phone's notes section and write it down.

When you're traveling and notice someone is reading a book you've enjoyed.

On the airplane when everyone else has to put down their device but you smile and continue reading.

When you know the topography of a book so well that  you can remember events just by looking at a stain or a crumpled page.

Now 'scuse me while I reply to a letter and elbow room for Crime & Punishment.

The Fifth of November: Celebrating The Fallow Year

"Read. Read constantly. Read the kind of stuff you wish you could write. Read until your brain creaks. Tolkien said that his ideas sprang up from the leaf mold of his mind: your readings are the trees where your fallen leave would come from."

"The first thing is that writers should be voracious readers. We live in a narcissistic age, which means that many want to have the praise that comes from having read, without the antecedent labor of actually reading. Wanting to write without reading is like wanting to grind flour without gathering wheat, like wanting to make boards without logging, and like wanting to have a Mississippi Delta without any tributaries somewhere in Minnesota. Output requires intake, and literary output requires literary intake."

"Read like a reader and not like someone cramming for a test. If you try to wring every book out like it was a washcloth full of information (and nothing but information), all you will do is slow yourself down to a useless pace. Go for total tonnage, and read like someone who will forget most of it...Most of what is shaping you in the course of your reading you will not be able to remember. The most formative years of my life were the first five, and if those years were to be evaluated on the basis of my ability to pass a test on them, the conclusion would be that nothing important happened then, which would be false. The fact that you can't remember things doesn't mean that you haven't been shaped by them."

All of these very, very excellent quotes come from a slim little volume by Douglas Wilson titled Wordsmithy. I was given this book in the coffee shop I'm sitting in now. It was a gift from a friend who, I hope, didn't feel like giving it to me because she could sense my drought. I must confess the year 2014 was a year of output. Massive output. I published two novels and a novella, started a new job, and worked my precious little butt off. The understandable assumption was that the year 2015 would be the same. It was not, however. 2015 has been a year of immense personal schedules. The girls I mainly nannied in 2014 I am now schooling, which adds a dimension and a half. I now plan their lessons, teach them, and have had the huge privilege of seeing them go from their alphabet to real books, explaining our ridiculous English language, and showing them the world, such as it is. This year I have also rediscovered my love of reading.I'm sorry to say that I forgot about it for a little while. Not about my love of stories - that never faded. But of how easy and delicious it is to lose oneself in a book. To nose so deeply into the pages and words and characters that one forgets present constraints. Is it summer? Is it autumn? Does it rain outside or are we having dry weather?
I forgot about this love because I consciously kept myself in. I am a book drunkard. I give myself up entirely to the story and if I lose myself early in the day, I am lost until whatsoever time the book has coughed me up ashore like a word-soaked Jonah. Knowing this about myself, I was careful not to get too entangled in a book. I only read if I deemed I had time to read. And, predictably, my word output shriveled. If I had no time to read, I certainly had no time to write and here was the vicious cycle. Friends, however, gave me books for my birthday. I visited the Holocaust Museum in Washington D.C. and bought a couple more. Pretty soon I had a stack of unread books waiting on my shelf. Waiting for that day when I had "time to read." The temptation was, quite simply, too much. Since summer began, I have given into my passion and picked up Wodehouse's Summer Lightning. I don't have hours upon hours to read - I am a busy working woman. Still, I elbowed other things to make time. From Summer Lightning, it was a short step to swallowing Schindler's List piecemeal between bouts of more Wodehouse. Harper Lee's Go Set A Watchman grabbed me and shook me by the throat as I soared through it in two or three days, and Wordsmithy dribbled through my fingers as well. Cocktail Time rounded to a close and Blandings Castle was waiting, all uncracked-spine and crisp pages. And do you know what? I found a piece of myself that had gone into hibernation. Ever so slowly, I'm coaxing her back out. I do have time to read. I can choose to put aside my phone, to postpone that drawing commission, or to go to bed a little early and pick up a book before sleep. I can choose to spend my evening reading rather than watching White Collar or The West Wing, as painful as that choice is.

Reading opens massive, massive worlds. How could I ever have let it go? Since picking my books back up, I have found that my mind is brighter. I am not at a loss for things on which to think. Words spring readily to mind. I've almost finished the first draft of my story for the Five Magic Spindles contest with the overflow. But you know what? The paradigm shift was as subtle as it was important: I did not read to turn the words like so much straw into WIP gold. I read for reading's sake; for the sake of losing myself in another world for what might be half an hour, or a full afternoon. I found the joy again of diving so deep that when I emerged, I had to shake myself a bit and look about and remember where and whom I was.

Farmers rotate crops so that a given piece of ground is not stripped of a particular nutrient; different crops suck different things from the soil. And though the farmers, by rotating the variety of crops grown on that piece of ground, can keep the soil fairly healthy and thriving, fallow years are necessary. A year of rest for the soil. A year of building up again the depleted stocks, of fertilizing the ground and waiting. A year where nothing will grow that is lucrative, but wild-flowers and grasses will knit its wounded, harrowed soul back together, leaving that field fresh-faced and ready for the following spring. 2014 was my insanely productive year. 2015 has been my fallow year. But a fallow year is necessary, and I will not apologize for (unofficially) taking it. I will only turn back to my books with a fond smile, write as I can, and thank God for the great, great joy it is to be literate and to know the thrill of traveling lands afar through the wilds of an unread book. I feel myself healing. Oh, rest is a beautiful, needful thing.

It has been a year today since my last release of 2014.  A warm happy birthday to my dear first mystery: Anon, Sir, Anon! If any of you feel like burying yourself deep for a cozy, British afternoon, head thataway to say hello. Supporting independent authors is a wonderful way to explore deeper waters in the joy of reading. Buy a copy for yourself, for a friend, or to show a lonely little mystery that though the promise of a sister-mystery has been delayed, it has not been forgotten.

All My Love,
         Rachel

Positive Jealousy: When Comparison Helps

You've heard it said that comparison is the thief of joy. In many ways, I feel that I could look in the corners of the Antipodes and not find a truer saying. When I give in to comparing my life to other peoples' lives, my body type to that of other women, my income to others' income, my relationship status to someone else's, my indie-publishing to that blogging-friend's big-publisher book contract, the joy ebbs like a low-tide. But there is one way in which comparison has served as a catalyst for inspiration. See, the amusing burden of being a reader and a writer is this: one spends half one's time thinking:

"Golly, what a phrase. Wish I'd thought of it first."

My most common thought while reading is not, "Oh, what a lovely book! I'd like to read more like it." Rather, it's much more of a, "What a killing plot. I'd like to write something like this in my genre before anyone else does." I am only halfway in jest. My best ideas are always already in the works. Isn't that terrible? Two days before hearing about Liam Nisson's film, Non-Stop, I said to a friend while crossing a downtown city street:

"You know what'd make a great mystery? A murderer committing his crimes on a plane."

Well thank you, Hollywood, for stealing my thunder. So although I still appreciate a good book for a good book's sake, I try to harness that honest enjoyment and make it work for me. Wild horses may not be able to drag secrets, but they can certainly drag me a few miles before giving it up as a bad job. I have learned to use this "positive jealousy" to understand more about a given genre. I keep a list when reading mystery novels to note what tactics this author seems to be using to reveal clues, corral suspects, and work out the denouement. By this, I hope to learn how to write a better mystery novel.
Obviously I don't intend to copy any author wholesale but I see nothing wrong in learning where their road went right and benefitting from the general trailblazing spirit. What a stupid lot the pioneers would have been if they insisted on cutting their own Oregon Trail. Rather, the whole group worked off of their own and others' prior experiences, wisdom, and knowledge of the way. The ruts of their wagon-wheels can still be seen in some parts of the prairies today. That's called teamwork. Avail yourself of it.

Perhaps the best moments of this useful jealousy come to me when I am standing in the children's section of Barnes & Noble or other bookstores like it. Try as I might to be a grown-up, there is something about children's books that I find utterly irresistible. I never walk down the contemporary fiction aisle. I skip science fiction entirely. Romance? I wouldn't know where to begin with all the covers that look identical and promise hunky heroes and willowy heroines who, no matter the direness of their circumstances, always inherit a dukedom and the arrogant duke to go along with it. Of course the heiress ditches the duke in favor of a humble peasant who, after the suitably humble wedding, realizes he is a marquis in real life. Bad luck, Duke-y darling. Anyway. Groping my way to the children's section via P.G. Wodehouse, Georgette Heyer, and the mysteries, I stand strangely dry-mouthed in the presence of my childhood incarnate. The feeling that my creative and artistic breakthrough which, like the Fountain of Youth or Eldorado, must be just around the next cape or continent or end-cap, is nearly palpable. Have you never felt it? It thrums around me...
The sense that I could write The Book With No Pictures if BJ Novak hadn't done it first.
That Harv Tullet simply beat me to the fingerpaints with his Press Here.
That Lemony Snicket's wit is only my own, rather scalded by life and choosing to laugh through the pain.
That A.A. Milne is my kinsman.
That Newberry Honor Medals are handed out like gold stars for participation.
Of course I soon realize that success is not quite as even-handed as indie publishing would have me believe. The Book With No Pictures is brilliant because BJ Novak did the nearly-impossible and made accessible to millions something so obvious none of us could see it. A way to teach children to adore the written word for mental pictures it can conjure: show them a good time with not a single picture by putting the adult on display and pointing out the fact for the kid's edification: "You just had a blast without asking once to see the pictures. Get it now?"
Making an obvious abstract tangible for the laymen and children among us is a terrific and talented effort. I applaud Novak and Tullet and Mo Willems and so many other authors of the children's books coming out today for their creativity in story-telling, art, and an understanding of children. Their work reminds me that there are authors as talented and inspiring as Margaret Wise Brown, or Margaret and H.A. Rey, or Ludwig Bemelmens, or Kay Thompson in the present day. And more to come. We are still going strong, we race of authors. Not all of us will gain a place in the hearts of hundreds of thousands of children...not all of us will so impact someone's childhood that they stand in that section Barnes & Noble reliving their childhood through the dear book-faces on the shelf. But some of us will. Some of us will....and I could be one of those.
That is why I say comparison is not always the thief of joy. I am given a gift when jealous inspiration thinks, "You know, if I just keep working, I can do that too." Harness it. Follow it. Let it drag you across genres and art mediums and indie publishing and query letters and rejections and contract offers. Let it have you. Experiment. Enter contests you'll never win. Write in a tone that is unlike anything you've used before. Choose a chancey subject and write it well. Or try. Fail and try again. And again. You never know when you'll find that Eldorado. The brain has so many, many trails to blaze.

So here's to standing gape-mouthed in book stores. Here's to relentlessly pursuing creativity. Here's to blazing the trails together. And here's to applauding those who have written the literature that has affected our lives from the moment we realized what stories were. May we all try our hardest to be like them and add to the beauty of literature.

4 Ways to Boost Your Reading

As a person whose sole job in the world is not "reading books," my reading habits are sporadic at best. I empathize with people who say they've "just had to let reading drop" while real life happens. I understand that person. Sometimes I am that person. But though I forget it sometimes, reading is truly one of life's greatest pleasures. I don't know how I manage to forget it because reading used to be my sole passion in life. I cannot tell you how often as a child I read and read and read until I was pulled out of the book by the call to chores or a meal or bed. I can still get back that intoxicated, bleary-eyed bliss if I let myself sit without a bit of technology in a quiet place with a good story for an hour. Just an hour. Just an hour and I can find my Paradise lost of childhood reading. It's a beautiful feeling and I can be drawn in by the champagne tones of a light old favorite, the wine-heavy tongue of a Dickens, the brandy-flavored wording of Mark Twain, or the gin-and-tonic Wodehouse. It's easy for me to admit that I'm a "book drunkard," as Lucy Maud Montgomery had it. Now that I've waxed poetic and probably showed my ignorance of all forms of alcohol (interesting fact: the only times I've had it were accidental doses of Communion wine), I'll get on with the body of this post. Ways to Improve Your Reading Times. Because we all know that it's much harder to read than it is to talk about reading. I even find it ironic that I'm sitting here blogging with an ignored copy of Chesterton's The Innocence of Father Brown at my elbow and Captain America: The Winter Soldier playing on the TV across the living room from where I sit. I ought to be reading my book instead of blogging or watching a (very good) action flick. Maybe later I will. Just bear with my hypocrisy one moment longer. Below, I've compiled a list of tactics that help me fit in consistent reading even when life gets shockingly busy.

1.) Use a bookmark: if I can't find my spot in a book, I am much less likely to go back to that book if I have only a few moments. It takes too long to figure out where I left off and get back into the story. On the other hand, if I have my place clearly marked, it isn't hard to pick up the book and read a paragraph or two. Which leads me to my next tip...
2.) Don't wait for a free hour to start reading: I feel as if I've mentioned this before, but I recall reading about some Englishman who ended up making his way through a massive collection of law volumes in his lifetime by picking them up every time he used the bathroom. Don't judge me. Bathroom time is essentially the perfect time to sneak in a paragraph or two of a book. It's quiet. It's private. No one will bother you and no one will shame you for taking a while. There are other good moments to sneak in reading time...waiting to pick up a sibling from dance practice? Take a book along. Have a half-hour at the coffee shop? Read a book instead of browsing Facebook on your phone. Now for Tip Three...
3.) Be not so attached to technology: Sometimes the best way to free up time you thought you didn't have is to leave your phone, tablet, or iPad in a different room. I blush to think of how many hours I would have to devote to reading if I decided to disconnect from the WiFi and devote my attention to my book rather than my messages. I have this obsession with clearing notifications. If I see a notification pop up on my phone, I have to type in my password, open the app, check the notification, and clear it off the list. I hate seeing un-looked-at push-button notifications. Come to think of it, I ought to turn that setting off and see how it helped me.
4.) Read a book with a friend: I'm not saying you have to start up a book club. I'm not even sure what you're supposed to do at a book-club. But when I know a friend is depending on me to text quotes back and forth with her from a book we are both reading, I'm much more likely to keep at it. I will now give an embarrassed shrug to my friend Joanna who is waiting on me for a Pride & Prejudice re-read. Author Clara Thompson and I are all set to begin reading Ivanhoe together whenever she manages to get a copy. It's double the fun of reading alone: you get to read a book, and you get to share your experience of that book with a friends. It's like live-time Goodreads.

This is just the beginning of many ways (some cleverer than mine!) that there are to improve the consistancy of your reading schedule. Leave your favorite method for frequent reading in a comment below and share with the rest of us your method to a happy reading life.

5 Ways To Become Your Author's Favorite Reader

Ever read a book and enjoyed it so much that begin to wish you knew the author in real life? Ever become a little bit of a fan-girl and wondered if there was more than stalking their Facebook account and blog back-pages that you could do to support their career? Ever wanted to be more than "that one guy who always comments" in your favorite author's mind?

Good news: I have a list for you. 

Of course this list doesn't help you a bit if your favorite authors are dead, but we are supposing you have a modern author you admire. This, then, is the skinny:

#1: Buy their books. Look, we are flattered when you borrow one of our books from a friend and love it, but it does very little for sales. What really helps is you buying our books for yourself, putting them on your birthday and Christmas lists, and buying them for friends who are having birthdays or Christmases. Buy. Our. Books. It's super helpful. It makes them go up in the ranking on Amazon. It gets them on the New York Times Best-Seller list. It's helpful.
#2: Review their books intelligently. When someone is waffling about Position No. One, they might click on the reviews tab for that book on Amazon, or look it up on Goodreads. I know I do. And when I look up a review, I don't want to see all caps-lock, "OH MY GOSH IT WAS THEBESTTHINGEVERRRRRRR." I am looking for someone who actually seemed to have their wits about them while they were reading, who can tell me something (but no spoilers) about the plot, the quality of the writing, and what I liked best. I love hearing what other people liked best...and if it happens to be something I'm inclined to like best, I'll probably end up buying the book.
#3: Start a blaze. Carefully. No, please don't burn our books. But if you tell your friends enough about the book (and buy a copy for them, maybe) then they'll read the book, and if they read the book and enjoy it, they'll tell their friends, and pretty soon you'll have started a wildfire which is extremely helpful for your favorite authors who are, in this way, fans of pyromaniacs.
#4: Give them a hand on Twitter, Facebook, and other social media. I can't tell you how much I love a few of my followers on Twitter who, no matter what sorts of links I share, will share them from me. And not just retweets, but an actual, "I went to the site and tweeted it myself" sort of thing, while still mentioning my name. Those people are valuable because they care enough about what you said today in a blog post, or what you recommend they read next, or whatever it is. They care enough about it to share it in their own words and ways. It's precious. (Also, liking a post on Facebook brings it up in other peoples' feed. That's actually how I've found several of my favorite pages to follow. It works on authors' feeds too! ;)
#5: Surprise them. Several times since my debut novel, readers have surprised me with an email in my inbox, writing about what they enjoyed in my book, or how they came to read it, or something else interesting. One reader emailed me an amazing drawing she'd done of the main character (I happen to already be a fan of this girl's art. It was good). Sometimes a reader will post on the page, or message you via Facebook or Twitter, or something else. It's uplifting to the author to get a message like that and not expect it. We don't need the reader to gush, but it is heartening to hear that, independent of your reach, a new reader got hold of your book and enjoyed it. We thrive on approval ratings.

Let's Choose Ignorance, M'kay?

This year, I have read more books than I have in the past three years (individually). I sit here trying to think what the difference is. My schedule has been far crazier than in previous years (I have been out of town for a collective 7 weeks), I am juggling several blogs, working more with Dad, I launched The Warren, and I'm teaching two different classes. So if my schedule hasn't changed for the easier, how is it that I'm racking up book after book on my Have Read list?

Quite simple: I shifted priorities.

People who say they "do not have time to read" don't mean that. We all have time to read. We all have time to do lots of things. There isn't a single man on earth who has more than 24 hours allotted to him. So when you say "I don't have time" what you really mean is, "I'm not making it a priority." Don't argue on this. Maybe you feel that you don't have time because you aren't the one in charge of your priorities. (i.e. your parents have you taking dance, theatre, and soccer twice a week, or you're in college and your professors have claimed every ounce of brain-matter in your body) But in these cases, we ought to say what we mean: "There are other things higher on the priorities list."

I used to say that about reading. There were other things higher on the priorities list: things like blogging so that I could keep connecting with readers and other writers; things like writing so I could legitimately keep up a writing blog. But after last year when I only remedied a scary, paltry book list by cramming in the last two or three months, I realized that the quality of my writing is directly related to the quantity of my reading. To state the case in perfect frankness: when I'm not reading, my writing suffers. It's that old problem of wearing out your brain in one channel; overusing your mind so that the activity wears a sore furrow in one place. Soon you'll find you're left with no inspiration, little wit, and small willingness or interest in moving along.

And I'm not talking about books that are related to writing or have something to do with the subject you are writing about. I'm talking about reading for reading's sake. I went to the library and picked up The Princes in the Tower by Alison Weir, which is a deep look at Richard III's (alleged) murder of his nephews and how they figure it is probably true. I'm not writing (or planning to write) a book about the Wars of the Roses; it was simply an interesting book that I wanted to read. And I enjoyed it in its fullness and returned it on time to the library. (*smirk*) I remember Jenny saying something a long while ago about making time to read, even if it was one chapter before bed; I agree entirely. Bring a book into the kitchen while you make dinner. Bring one in the car on the way to your dance lessons or theatre practice. Read instead of planning another blog post or checking Facebook once more, or scouring Pinterest for that perfect face for one of your characters. None of you want to surrender yourselves to self-chosen ignorance. Imagine 'fessing up to that one: "I'd rather play Wii than read because my mind needs a break." Okay, so maybe you could use to be "brisked round and brisked about" but reading is a break for your mind because it uses a different part of your brain than writing does. Most often when we complain that our brains are tired, what we mean in actuality is that we've worn a sore furrow in that one corridor and it's complaining loudly.

Click out of your Word document. Close down the Facebook app or the Pinterest page. Shut the laptop completely (and who the heck wants a Kindle?) and take up one of your castaways. Crack the spine and crunch up a receipt for a bookmark, and remember the good old days when you "had time". Believe me, it's worth it.

Word-play vs. Wonder

We have talked about the voices of different authors--how the ink our each of our pens flows differently. How we naturally piece together words in our own styles. We long to write as another author does, but our ideas do not flow like theirs. Then the search is on  for our own voice. --We have covered these things thoroughly indeed and bemoaned the glorious burnishing of being slain by another's pen. But tonight I was thinking of the books I've read recently and noticing something about each author that is perhaps one layer deeper than voice...

There is a phenomenon in reading that I often come across: a book will wholly and entirely transport me so that I forget all time and schedules and am simply living vicariously through a character. I will finish the book and look back with one of two sentiments:

Either the author spun his tale and description so effortlessly that the story was conveyed to my mind almost as a film....as a strand of vivid pictures without burden of words remembered

-Or-

The sheer beauty of the word-play is a large part of what captivates one when reading that book.

I fall in love with each example in turn and marvel over the intricacies of that author's skill. Sometimes you will also find a good author who relies on a combination of both for her voice. My style is such a one. I have not yet mastered the art of completely making a person forget they are reading, but neither am I an astonishing master of word-craft entire. I am a happy medium between the two--perhaps not a protege, but a comfortable companion by the fireside on a chilly evening.
One book that I finished recently {With Every Letter by Sarah Sundin, [which I just did a review of over at my other blog] } took the first example. Her characters were so alive, her plot so strong, her story and setting so vivid that I hardly realized I was reading. Instead, I was living that book alongside the characters and when I was finished reading the text, my mind kept up the dance all night and into the next day. To be able to write in that manner! What a gift.
But previously (and currently) I've been on a Rosemary Sutcliff and Jenny Freitag jag. These are authors whose skill in word-play is a vast part of the charm of their work. You want to take the book slowly because each sentence is skillfully wrought in a way that might be overlooked if read too quickly.

One set possesses a vividry built of efficient, simple, perfect dynamo-sentences. The other paints with a careful, rich-hued brush, but both are distinct masters of their craft. We hybrids are a rarer--though still a magnificent--race who would do well to look sharp about them and study the techniques of these solid, rock-bottomed authors to learn how to wield both pens effectively and build up our own craft.

“It has been my experience, sir, that when one broods too much on imagination, he can begin to see the images of his fancies imprinted on the faces of perfect strangers.”

It is a simple question...a business proposition, actually.

I like surveys. I really do. I like hearing statistics and numbers and all that rot. Not that I'm any good and coming up with them on my own, mind you, but there is nothing like a good whump of facts to make me smile.

All that (andacertainlackof ***ahem***writinginthepastfewweeks) has lead to me asking you, dear readers, a question:

 What are you reading?

A simple little question but one that packs a lot of punch when one considers the speculation another could build about your character off of what sorts of books you read. ;) So leave a comment and tell me what literary adventures you've been reveling in or slogging through or otherwise consuming!

As for myself, I've been reading The Portrait of a Lady by Henry James and loving it so far! This could have a deal to do with the fact that I find I resemble Isabel Archer in every single point except that of physical characteristics! :D (So far--I do not know what the end of the book will bring to change that opinion. :)

Comment away! I want to hear all your news.  :D

And the winner is...

Well, the poll has closed and we have our final winner for the Heigh-Ho for a Husband Writing Contest! The public voted on their favorite of the three finalists and here we have her:

 Miss Elinor Dashwood

Miss Dashwood, please send me your mailing information and I will get your Authoress Hair-Flower out to you! Also, be sure to look out for Miss Dashwood's guest post.

On another topic entire, I was visiting my grandmother this past week and she took me to a "Friends of the Library" book-store. I know it sounds intolerably dull and stodgy and altogether horrid, but here's the deal: The library puts the books they no longer want into this little store and the store (located inside the library) sells them dirt-cheap! I came home with 5 books for 9 dollars. I'd say it was a success!

Here are the books that are added to my shelf...[it isn't safe to leave me in the presence of cheap books!]

Rufus M. by Eleanor Estes

Ginger Pye by Eleanore Estes

A Portrait of a Lady by Henry James

Moby Dick by Herman Melville

Pudd'nhead Wilson by Mark Twain

I can't wait till I'm done with Les Miserables (a fifth of the way through that six-inch book now!) so that I can bury my nose into these new books!

"I deserve neither such praise, nor such censure."

 As a passionate writer, it can be hard to realize that there are other pursuits I enjoy just as well...

"I deserve neither such praise nor such censure. I am not a great reader, and I enjoy many things."

I had not realized that I was neglecting my love for reading until I picked up Jan Karon's Home to Holly Springs and revelled in another author's writing like a man parched for water in a desert. My writing was suffering slightly from what I cannot explain as anything but over-working. Trying to be a fountain of inspiration when I'm dry as a bone. Just as in life one cannot pour love into another person with an empty cup, neither can an author pour life into her writing if she is not filling her mind with words other than her own.

Our minds are not so original we can thrive entirely on its own wanderings. We must feed it and cultivate it and then make it work. So this Christmas break I decided that I would not push myself to write anything unless it "came" to me. I will not work on the Gypsy Song or think about Puddleby Lane or anything else. I will instead read and read and read. It's a luxury I have not been allowing myself, but oh the joys of it! I have already been privileged to bury my nose in Louisa May Alcott's Eight Cousins, the aforementioned Home to Holly Springs, Elisabeth Elliot's A Chance to Die, and I plan to simply live in them for a little while, filling my mind with things other than my usual trails of thought.

It seems silly to say that I've forgotten my love for reading--I never quite did that, but I did forget how beneficial, how vital it is as an author to read nearly as much as you write. Otherwise your reader will detect a hint of staleness in your words that is the death-blow to any book. We want our writing to be alive, kicking, breathing, pulsing, nearly made of flesh and blood--not the skeleton of a good story hanging up in chains. :D

You have no idea how marvelous it felt to read Eight Cousins again. Louisa May Alcott and I, as far as writing goes, are soul-mates. I love her books--they hold a place in my heart that will never be effaced--and to once again wander the pages of those dear tales was as relaxing to me as a vacation, almost.

So here's to a week of reading other people's writing, and here's to renewed inspiration when I return! :)

A Dose of Jane

Jane Austen never ceases to amaze me. I had forgotten just how much I enjoyed Northanger Abbey until I opened my copy last week and happened across this treasure trove: 

"I will not adopt that ungenerous and impolitic custom so common with novel-writers, of degrading by their contemptuous censure the very performances, to the number of which they are themselves adding--joining with their greatest enemies in bestowing the harshest epithets on such works, and scarcely ever permitting them to be read by their own heroine, who, if she accidentally take up a novel, is sure to turn over its insipid pages with disgust. Alas! If the heroine of one novel be not patronized by the heroine of another, from whom can she expect protection and regard? I cannot approve of it. Let us leave it to the reviewers to abuse such effusions of fancy at their leisure, and over every new novel to talk in threadbare strains of the trash with which the press now groans. Let us not desert one another; we are an injured body. Although our productions have afforded more extensive and unaffected pleasure than those of any other literary corporation in the world, no species of composition has been so much decried. From pride, ignorance, or fashion, our foes are almost as many as our readers. And while the abilities of the nine-hundredth abridger of the History of England, or of the man who collects and publishes in a volume some dozen lines of Milton, Pope, and Prior, with a paper from the Spectator, and a chapter from Sterne, are eulogized by a thousand pens--there seems almost a general wish of decrying the capacity and undervaluing the labour of the novelist, and of slighting the performances which have only genius, wit, and taste to recommend them. "I am no novel-reader--I seldom look into novels--Do not imagine that I often read novels--It is really very well for a novel." Such is the common cant. "And what are you reading, Miss--?" "Oh! It is only a novel!" replies the young lady, while she lays down her book with affected indifference, or momentary shame. "It is only Cecilia, or Camilla, or Belinda"; or, in short, only some work in which the greatest powers of the mind are displayed, in which the most thorough knowledge of human nature, the happiest delineation of its varieties, the liveliest effusions of wit and humour, are conveyed to the world in the best-chosen language. Now, had the same young lady been engaged with a volume of the Spectator, instead of such a work, how proudly would she have produced the book, and told its name; though the chances must be against her being occupied by any part of that voluminous publication, of which either the matter or manner would not disgust a young person of taste: the substance of its papers so often consisting in the statement of improbable circumstances, unnatural characters, and topics of conversation which no longer concern anyone living; and their language, too, frequently so coarse as to give no very favourable idea of the age that could endure it.

Bwahaha! You cannot help up laugh at the caricature, especially if you are familiar with some of the ideas of novels held in the old classic books. Even I am guilty of saying, with an abashed expression on my face, "Oh, it's only such-and-such a one."

What is it that brings up such feelings of bashfulness? First off, I must explain that the general concept of a "novel" in most classic books of fiction refer to a thriller-novel. The blood and gore, scandal and intrigue that peppered the sensational books of the day. The sort of the book Jo March of Little Women tried her hand at and the sort Proff. Bhaer disapproved of. They were generally what I call "fluffery"...the equivalent of those horrid 25-cent romances you can (but hopefully never will) buy at the thrift store. The kind that are written in mass droves and you'd be ashamed to be caught dead in the middle of.
Now moving on, the type of book Jane Austen was referring to was obviously the right sort of novel...like her own. :) Books that shape and mold you for good. I appreciate this quote:
It is what you read when you don't have to that determines what you will be when you can't help it.  ~Oscar Wilde
It is entirely true. The books you turn to in your free time really are the books that will effect you. That's why it's so important that we take Benjamin Franklin's advice and "write things worth reading and read things worth writing." To a writer it's all connected. The things we read influence our writing which is something someone else will read that may influence their writing and so on.
It's rather a grave responsibility, if you want to get philosophical about it. :) But that is why I feel that my first task as a writer is to pledge to write and read only the best of literature. The world has enough fluffery, enough sensationalism, enough dime novels...it is hungering for something worthwhile.
My goal is, and has long been, to write good literature that reflects the beauty of Christ and points others to Him. I am determined to be one author that stands above the sea of other scribblers because I have, with God's grace written: "Some work in which the greatest powers of the mind are displayed, in which the most thorough knowledge of human nature, the happiest delineation of its varieties, the liveliest effusions of wit and humour, are conveyed to the world in the best-chosen language."
  I have not arrived at that point yet, I know. I cannot by any means claim that I have achieved my goal, but hopefully, in good time, I will be nearer it. :) I hope you enjoyed this post, or at least that it challenged you to think on the topic of good vs. best.
                                                   ~Rachel

To Read, or Not to Read? That *is* the Question

I have a question to pose to my dear readers. And that is this:

"When it comes to book-to-movie- adaptations, what is your policy?
Watch the movie first, or read the book?"

It is a question that comes up often in our house, since some of the younger girls want to watch movies that they haven't read the book to.
So how would you answer that question? For me, it is an easy answer:

Read the book first.

I think it is important to experience the story the way the author meant it to be experienced. Many movie adaptations, while wonderful, veer a bit away from the original manuscript, and therefore some part of the author's purpose could be damaged. Let me think of a situation where this came in....okay. Well, it's a little thing, but I always thought, per Louisa May Alcott's description, that Meg would look like this:

(This is Polly Milton, but if you gave her a hoopskirt, she'd be a perfect Meg! :)

(Ahh...yes. The one in the red dress is Meg :)

But when I watched the 1992 version of Little Women, I found they had cast the beautiful Trini Alvarado as Meg. She did a great job, and I grew accustomed to her, but I'm not sure she was just what Alcott would have pictured.

The way the characters look per their description in the book (or per their portrayal in the movie) is something that can bother me. :) It's a little thing, but something that I like to be careful with, because I've had it work the opposite way where I watched a movie, loved it, and then came to read the book and felt the whole time that the author had messed the character up, rather than the other way round!

There is one not-so-great thing about reading the book first vs. watching the movie first. And that is, that often I would finish the moving with a disgruntling feeling that they had not been faithful at all. I begrudgingly admit I liked the movie, and I know I would have loved it, had I not already fallen in love with the original book.

That is the main argument my sisters bring up. "But then you *never* like the movie as well!" But that is not necessarily true. I have some book-to-movie adaptations that I love just as much as the book! :) I just tend to be a little pickier.

It can be hard to keep this standard up, and I *don't* always succeed. But sometimes I have made it a point not to watch the movie till I've read the book, among these, Charles Dickens's Bleak House and Little Dorrit. And I'm glad I disciplined myself to do it this way, because with such long books, once I know the story-line (as in having watched the movie) I'd be less likely to spend 900 pages finding it out. :)

But of course everyone is different. Some people who are not such fast readers, don't like reading especially, etc. might never read a classic book unless they had grown to love the movie. And for them? I say bravo for sticking it through! :)

I am only saying that if you are able to, I feel reading the book first is the superior way. :) Your thoughts? ~Rachel

What I Decided....

So last post I was asking you guys what you thought I ought to read next. My opinion was swayed toward Les Miserables, hoping I would find it less miserable (pardon the bad pun) than the first two times I tried it. :D But there are two problems with my copy of Les Mis.

Number One: It's over 800 pages long. (I've read many a Dickens book longer than that, so that's not the main problem)

Number Two: It's abridged.

And that's where it loses my good opinion. Abridged books are contrary to every fiber in my book-lover's body. Chopping up a perfectly good novel simply because some reader are too lazy to read through it all? It cheapens a story. It *ruins* a story.

A friend told me that she read the abridged version of A Tale of Two Cities. You can read how much I adored that book here. But she told me that in the very end they cut out all of Sydney Carton's conversion! The book only mentioned that he chose the heroic deed out of good moral courage. Please. Spare me the disgust! :P

So back to Les Miserables. I cracked it open, thinking that 800 pages is quite long enough for any book, not to mention an abridged one, and set to reading. But t

hen I received a special blessing. :) An old family friend who cannot make it to my graduation on July 16th sent me a $50 Amazon.com gift card!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Bliss!

So I was delivered from the looming prospect of Les Miserables by ordering Lorna Doone, (which I've read)

The Count of Monte Cristo, (which I haven't read but have heard great reviews on)

the 1995 Pride and Prejudice movie starring Colin Firth and Jennifer Ehle, :) and a book on how to achieve over 35 different authentic Victorian hairstyles! *jumps up and down*

I never get any packages, (unless they are parts for Dad or seeds for Mama) and certainly never any packages of such amazing stuff all for myself!

So in short, I have decided to save my loyalty for my new books when they come, and wait till I feel a bit braver to try reading Les Miserables. Think it's the right decision? ;) -Rachel

What Should I Read Next?

I am missing being able to upload pictures on Blogger. It's been sketchy for the past few days and won't let me do anything fancy. Not even italic. (Like I discussed last post :P)So this a lull after the storm of the Thousand Words Story Contest. I can no longer thunder at you about entering or flash warnings like lightening about how long you have left. ;)
I had forgotten how much I love burying my nose in the thick of a book and forgetting about the outside world for an hour or so. Because until recently, the garden has literally kept me so busy I haven't had time for reading! Not a whit! :(

*Lets that thought soak in and is a little astonished, it is so unlike her*

I just finished one of George MacDonald's Scottish novels, The Minister's Restoration, and greatly enjoyed it. I can't say I quite agree on all his theological statements, but then again, I could hardly understand some of them. But all in all it was a great book with a great message about God's redeeming love and power, and how he can restore the worst of sinners.
I know this sounds like an exaggeration, but I have read pretty nearly every book in my house, and my cousin's house, and so to read a book I didn't already know the storyline to was bliss. :) Especially when it turned out well and everyone married who they should and didn't marry who they shouldn't. (And yes, there is a difference. :D)
So I need help deciding something...It's on the topic of what I ought to read next. I have several books, actually, that either need to be read or re-read. Here are the choices! Leave a comment and tell me which to do!
Les Miserables by Victor Hugo (tried twice already...third time's the charm?)
Tortured for Christ by Richard Wurmbrand (recently finished his "In God's Underground")
Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen (already have read, but want a refresher course)
Wives and Daughters by Elizabeth Gaskell (have read but want to refresh)
The Pickwick Papers by Charles Dickens (same story here--hilarious, by the way)

Oh! And have any of you read Lorna Doone by R.D. Blackmore? I absolutely adored it! It is different than the movie, (meaning way better) because John Ridd was far more a gentleman, and there weren't all those unnecessary kisses. :P I highly, highly recommend the book for guys or girls. My brother, Daniel, read it and loved it as much as I!
Till Next Time, When I Hope Blogger Has Recovered,
Rachel

Reading Aloud: Refreshing The Lost Art

All right everyone! So sorry about this little mix-up, but I accidently posted the post I had written for this blog on our family blog, and since you can't copy/paste in blogger (argh!) and it was a rather long post, I'll just have to link you there. Just remember, it was written for you fellow scribblers, so you'll simply have to go read it! ;) Thanks all you girls who have recently joined this blog! It is a blessing to know that so many of you love writing and reading as well! :)
So here you go! Just click here: Enjoy it! :) I suppose it would be too much trouble for ya'll to come back over here and leave a comment, but I'd love it if you would! :P -Rachel