reading roundup

August was yet another low-volume reading month. Writing, planning school, doing school, looking after my brood and occasionally doing a load of laundry and sweeping a floor or two should leave me hours and hours to devote to pleasure reading, right? Right?

Ha.

Okay, so I did read three books. Ta-da! Here they are:

Ship of Magic by Robin Hobb: I tore through most of this in a day or two, then lost interest in it for a while. I think I immerse myself in a book for far too long, and need to come up for air and get some distance before diving back in. I get like this over movies and such, too, *cough*BSG*cough*.

This book, like the Assassin trilogy, has the detailed worldbuilding  I’ve come to associate with Robin Hobb. Her settings, which include a lot of cultural, historical and political detail, feel very real to me. Unlike the Assassin trilogy, this book follows the storylines of four or five characters as they intersect and weave in with each other. The plot follows the fortunes of the Vestrit family, as their newly-wakened liveship Vivacia is taken from Althea Vestrit, who expected to inherit it, and given over to Kyle Haven, Althea’s brother-in-law. While Kyle coerces his son Wintrow to stay on board as a blood member of Vivacia’s family, Althea works to win back the ship. On land, Althea’s mother and sister try to keep the family afloat while reining in Malta, Kyle’s headstrong daughter. And the pirate Kennit cruises the waters in search of a liveship to capture and call his own…

The plot is nice and twisty and I liked the characters, even though there were times I wanted to shake them by the shoulders. It ended on a cliffhanger (of course!), so I need to head to the library to pick up Mad Ship.

Blood and Iron by Elizabeth Bear: Oh, this is the book that was giving me an inferiority complex a while ago *grin*. Gorgeous writing and intriguing premise, but I felt like I was viewing the story from behind a thick glass window. All this  emotional intense drama happened, but it came at me as if from underwater, all muffled and robbed of impact. I felt the same way about All the Windwracked Stars but I cannot resist Bear’s writing. I’ll be back for Whiskey and Water.

Reclaiming Childhood by William Crain: A timely reminder to enjoy children for who they are instead of pushing them to learn adult skills, and always looking forward to the next (parent-determined) developmental leap. It’s a call to meet children’s needs where they are right now, and to trust them to know what skills they’re ready to practise. He paints a rather rosy picture of childhood though. For instance, in his “Child as Naturalist” chapter, he talks about how their experience in nature makes children connected to the earth, and desire to protect and nurture and live peaceably with it. He obviously hasn’t seen my children –both whom love being outside–”kill” a maple sapling by whacking it with the largest sticks they could find. :P

What books did you read in August?

a day in the life

What? I need a reason?

At the outlet mall yesterday:

Me: And after the kitchen store, we can hit the bookstore!

D: *eyes suspiciously* Do you NEED anything from the bookstore?

Me: Noooooo

D: Then why go in?

Me: Because it’s there, of course! (Silly!)

D: Not buying that. Get thee to a clothing store and buy yourself some jeans.

So, like a good little girl, I trotted off to the clothing stores. It only took me ten or so tries to find a pair of jeans that were neither too loose nor too long.

D.  thinks I should shop in the Juniors section. I told him that, as an almost-thirty-year-old woman with three kids, I have a moral opposition to doing that.

However, the next day…

I went to Borders with a 40% off coupon, and went on a book-buying binge. Ha!

Developmental Milestones, the Trampoline Version

The Baron: *butt-scoots over to the trampoline* *pulls up on it*

Me: Awww, good going, baby!

Baron: *clambers on to the trampoline” *sits there, bouncing gently*

Me: Erm… Not quite what I expected you to do.

Baron: *scoots across the trampoline to the window* *pulls up on sill* *stands there, peering over the sill, bouncing gently* I’m King of the World!

Me: All right, Your Majesty. Your moment of living dangerously ends now.

The Little Dictator

D: *does something Baron doesn’t like*

Baron: *FUSS fussfussFUSS*

D: *stops doing whatever it was that Baron doesn’t like*

Sir I: Baron rules Daddy with an iron fist.

No, really. The almost-five-year-old actually said that. And no, I don’t know where he came up with it.

The Difference Between Boys and Girls

When Sir I. was a preschooler, he would build towers and knock them down, have his dinosaur do things like, “Stomp, stomp! Eat people!”, and send his lego planes zooming and crashing all over the place.

When Miss M. builds lego planes, she builds a Daddy Plane, a Mommy Plane and a Baby Plane. Baby Plane gets a ride on Mommy Plane because “he can’t not know how to fly yet”.

and, bad practice techniques

I, um, did something to my right arm by playing too much piano. It had limited movement all day yesterday, but the twinges are almost gone now. Lesson learned. Check for proper posture and position *before* playing for a long time.

How’s your weekend?

about writing

Yes, I know this is a boring title, but it’s hard to come up with something witty and pithy for a serious subject. I’d like to point you to Glenda Larke’s post on what defines a successful writer, which came on the heels of a long dry season in my writing life. This drought lasted all summer, maybe even stretched back to the beginning of the year. I’ve had some uplifting writing moments so far this year–I wrote a short story I really liked, submitted to places that gave me reassuring rejections, even saw two stories published. But those were small oases that I had to leave, and the water they supplied me with did not last long enough (yeah, I’m really stretching that desert analogy here!).

What it all came down to was this: my twin desires to write and to be published were at war with one another. The drive to achieve one was strangling my love for the other. I pored over magazine and agent’s guidelines, and forced myself to work on projects that were the most marketable or near-enough complete so I could get them out faster (hint to self: don’t do that again. It doesn’t work. Any love you have for that project will fizzle out under such pressure).

At about the same time I persuaded D. that we should get a piano–for the kids! It took me a while to get someone out to tune it, but once it was in playable condition no one in my family could keep their mitts off of it. We even had minor arguments about who could play it when. I got a piano book (because that’s the kind of linear, orderly, rule-oriented person I am) and started working my way through it. Hit a brick wall and decided to find a piano teacher. Sir I. went along to that first lesson and was game to learn the piano, so now we’re both playing. And enjoying it.

When I play the piano, I play it for me. For my pleasure, not the pleasure of my family, my piano teacher, or my neighbors. I have no need to perform for others. It’s enough for me that I can train my fingers to move over the keys–confident, assured–and create music. Wow.

Totally different from how I’ve felt about writing.

It’s taken me time away, freewriting, mindmapping, angsting and conversation with a good writing buddy, to come back to the point where I can say, yet again, that writing is important to me. That creating compelling characters, twisty plots, gorgeous prose and bizarre worlds is what I enjoy doing. That I still love writing stories even if I’m not getting published often enough and fast to suit me. The desire for publication is still there, but it’s been put in its place as subordinate to the desire to just write for its own sake–for my own sake.

I ditched the marketable projects–abandoned a short story and a quarter-done novel revision–to work on the story that was really tugging at my heartstrings. I’m building up my writing muscles, aiming for 500 words a night, five times a week. And no beating myself up if I skip a night.

Writing is fun. And that’s how I want to keep it.