Tag Archives: books

Coffee Shop Chronicles: The 5 Senses

Starbucks

Route 1, Princeton, NJ

September 2000

Why do we stop ourselves?

–5:42 PM–

There’s a woman here without socks on, sandals with toes sunning themselves as legs boldly thrust forward into the world. Chunky heels, a firm step, a heavy stomp. Somehow it makes them stronger. Women who wear pointy high heels, they teeter-totter and tip over. These are practical feet who want to walk.

My feet, also in sandals, while bare, they have an ankle strap. These are easier to walk in, but don’t look as free.

It’s a Frappuccino night despite the A/C making it downright frosty in here. I treasure my nights here, despite it being cold. Without socks on, my feet are cold. I definitely need a sweatshirt.

–6:25 PM—

A blonde haired mom and two kids walk in. The round boy and the girl in a blue dress squeal and play hide-n-seek between her legs. She says, “Hush!” when they yell.

I smile at her. “They’re cute.”

“It saves them from a lot,” the mom replies. “If they weren’t cute, they’d be in a lot more trouble.”

I flip through the book One Day My Soul Just Opened Up and it speaks of closure. Famous Kitty Carlisle says to her reflection every morning, “I forgive you for yesterday.”

Be compassionate; it’s as simple as that.

–7:35 PM—

A little brunette girl walks in behind her dad. She is all sunshine, excited about everything. She pushes her dad’s unshaven but fit legs away as he almost steps on an ant. The floor is dry. She moves the “Beware. Wet.” yellow cone by the counter. She is as free and expressive. as we all should be.

What prevents us from being our wonder-full selves?

Okay, I forgive myself for the pity party I threw myself on my previous journal pages. I allow myself to move beyond my distress and enjoy the happiness I’ve been given.

I will not always be happy and I am allowed to dwell on the negatives for moments in time. I forgive myself for being moody.

–8:50 PM—

I go up to the counter for my second venti Frappuccino and I smell flowers, like a shampoo or shower gel. The scent is not overly floral sweet but like bubble gum candy. It’s the woman behind me.

“What are you wearing?” I ask. “It’s delightful.”

“It’s cucumber melon antibacterial gel from Bath & Body Works,” she says. She wasn’t aware anyone else could smell it. I don’t know why.

Her male companion pipes in. “It’s a great smell, huh?”

“Do you use it?” I ask him.

He rubs his hands together. “Sometimes she gives me some.”

“A man who appreciates a good scent,” I say with a proud nod. The friendly couple smiles.

My second frapp is vanilla, but it doesn’t taste very vanilla-y. I don’t feel like going up to get another one.

–9:00 PM—

Two guys now sit across from me, reading. One of them takes notes on a yellow pad of paper. He asks his friend about “syllogisms.” I’ve heard of the word, and I wish I could interject with the answer, but they are both devastatingly cute.

They look older than your typical college student if that’s what they are. Who else would read in a coffee shop? Syllogism Guy has dark hair and a dark goatee. He’s wearing a black shirt, black shoes holding a yellow highlighter in his right hand. He reads from what looks like a library book.

It’s a quick glance I make because staring is too obvious. I pretend my gaze radiates throughout the store. Yep, I’m suave.

They discuss logic, both respectfully silent when the other one talks. The only sound between them is of the pages turning.

The other guy, I’m attracted to his voice. He argues respectfully with Syllogism Guy. He wears faded blue jeans, a grey T-shirt and has dark hair. His fit body is pleasing, too. Could I be worthy of such a guy?

Should I give him my phone number? The idea both thrills and scares me. Be safe? Or risk? Another glance. “Venti CM” is written on his cup. Does that stand for Caramel Macchiato? I could ask him.

His phone rings. He ignores it. He has sideburns.

Suddenly, Syllogism Guy closes his book. They stand and walk out. I was not courageous. I watch them through the window as they drive around in a circle. Rugged Voice left his coffee cup on the ground in the parking lot.

He’s too good not to be taken. If he’s here next week, I’ll talk to him and offer my phone number for sure. After all, what’s the harm in that?

He may have thought the same of me.

Story Starters, Part 3

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“Writing is a form of therapy; sometimes I wonder how all those who do not write, compose, or paint can manage to escape the madness, melancholia, the panic and fear which is inherent in a human situation.”–Graham Greene

Have you ever found yourself with the wrong friends? A fur hunter in the 1800s was severely injured after a bear attack. Because one of his hunting companions didn’t want to be burdened with continuing to drag the dying man through the brutally cold, uncharted wilderness, he buried the wounded man alive. Wrong companions, riveting adventure. The Revenant is based on a true story of perseverance.

What if you felt that you were born in the wrong body? In the early 20th century, artist Einar Wegener was married to Gerda when he began to realize that he was a woman in a man’s body. With the love and encouragement of his wife, he eventually sought gender re-identification surgery to become Lili Elbe. Wrong body, passionate love story. The movie, The Danish Girl, is loosely based on a true story.

Have you ever found yourself in the wrong place at the wrong time? The nine year old son of a Nazi commandant living near a Jewish internment camp approaches the camp’s wire fence and befriends an imprisoned boy his age. Eventually the Nazi’s naive son crawls under the fence to join his new friend in finding the boy’s lost mother. Wrong place, wrong time, heartbreaking fictional story. The first draft of The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas was written by John Boyne in two and a half days.

What would you do if you felt an attraction to someone of your same gender? Carol, an older, soon-to-be divorced mother of one daughter, is attracted to Therese, a young salesclerk and aspiring photographer. A developing romance between the two women in the early 1950s showed the harsh consequences of their love affair. Wrong time, strained relationship. The movie, Carol, is a story based on the novel, The Price of Salt by Patricia Highsmith.

Have you ever questioned the word of authorities? A Nigerian forensic pathologist’s research on severe brain injuries or chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE) causes an uproar in the world of American football. The National Football League questions his findings as Dr. Bennet Omalu questions the NFL’s lack of concern for its players’ wellbeing. Wrong concerns, on-going controversy. The movie, Concussion, is a true story based on the research of Dr. Bennet Omalu.

Consider now what you see as the wrong company, physique, location, relationship, focus, or any other wrong that you see in the human condition. As a writer, you can analyze, portray, or correct what you see as wrong. Don’t just think about it. Write about it. Are you game?

Reflections on Resolutions and Writing

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‘Tis the season.

What does your season look like?

It’s December, and I’m running around with holiday madness. I don’t have the time to remember my gift list let alone what I did or didn’t accomplish this year. In fact, if hadn’t written them down, I’d have forgotten I even had thoughts to change my world.

I don’t believe in resolutions. Too often they’re wishes without a specific plan for success. That’s why I embraced my writers’ group commitment to three Non-Resolutions for 2015. The challenge was to identify the “specific and concrete” steps to “improve yourself as a writer.” I did this thinking it a simple challenge something specific and easy it’s the end of the year, tis the season to look ahead while looking back. so I share my successes and failures in life, the universe and everything else.

How did I do? Let’s just say I take ownership of my actions and my non-actions. These were my commitments:

1.(A) Find an editor and (B) publish my memoir before June 2015.

Nope. Nope, nope, nope. Not even close. Every time I sat down to edit, thinking the book just needed some tweaking, I found a jumble of sentence fragments and missplelled words instead. I suspected that organizing the non-chronological series of vignettes was the problem. I came up with creative ways to procrastination. I read blog posts by fiction and nonfiction writers to learn how they handled organization. I read a memoir to see how it was organized. I found checklists to follow, but still my story didn’t flow.

That got me thinking about format and tools to ease my struggles. I purchased Scrivener, a software program has a “corkboard” to organize my thoughts and scenes so I can rearrange as often as needed with a swift swipe of my mouse. This is a useful procrastination, I told myself. I spent two weeks slugging through the detailed tutorial and then hit a snag with the program. I set it aside in frustration to continue after November’s NaNoWriMo. It’s December and is still untouched.

2.Explore at least one new book/genre and revisit an old favorite.

This was a flop. Aside from reading that one memoir early in the year, I didn’t finish another book.

I started what I presumed was “an old favorite” but it wasn’t as interesting as I remembered. I found a sci-fi book that both Mom and I read. I committed to read it at night, maybe not every night, but I put it and a spare pair of reading glasses on my nightstand for convenience. The only space available was at the edge, so the book is too far to reach, and my clumsy, ill-fitting dollar store glasses are awkward to wear. I have made reading more complicated than it should be.

3.Set aside time to journal at least once a month.

I accomplished this! I may have skipped weeks at a time, but I wrote more, that I know. That I feel. I mingled my thoughts with blog posts and ideas, sprinkled between to-do lists and notes from writers’ conferences and meetings. I rediscovered that I write more fluidly by hand, so I spent more time journaling just for the fun and love of writing on paper. Writing by hand is organic to me, so I will keep journaling.

Nothing is truly a failure. These commitments did not need to be complete, nor did they need to be completed for me to succeed. I learned about myself and gained some valuable perspectives and insights into my actions.

What did I learn?

I need to break my writing and editing tasks into smaller snippets and set a timer. Tell myself “Tuesday morning, research editors” and allot 27 minutes only. I’ll know at the end of the timer I’ll either need a break or feel inspired to keep working. It’s how I survived and won NaNoWriMo.

In 23, 27 or 33 minute segments, I wrote 50,721 words in the last 20 days of the months. I started on November 11, so this equaled 2500 words/day which for me was about 1 1/2 hours per day. That means I can find the time to write because I have the time when I’m not distracted by Major Crimes on TV or Angry Birds on my phone. I remind myself of this daily because not only is it motivating but because in the madness of the month, I discovered a 25,000-word story, a complete one that I can actually work with and interests me. I consider the purchase a distraction and a success. I can use Scrivener to organize this book as I edit to publish by the end of 2015, a swift spellbinding sequel to my initial Jimmy the Burglar book.

Getting back to my roots of handwriting gave me the opportunity to see what I was thinking. Words on paper, written by my hand, helped me focus on what I want to do with my writing. I will change the focus of my blog to include more writing, insights, interviews and inspiration. Posts on Deadwood Writers Voices may change. I want to entertain my readers, offer them something worthwhile, while writing topics that excite my passion and enthusiasm. I’m exploring what those topics may be.

As for reading books, I will purchase a better pair of reading glasses.

Books and Death

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I recently read a blogpost reflecting on the death of author Terry Pratchett. Terry Pratchett…why did that name sound familiar to me?

The reflective blogger lived in the UK and noted that Pratchett was a best-selling English author of fantasy novels. I guess that’s why I hadn’t heard the news. He must be a bigger deal there than here across the pond. But that name still tugged at me. Did I ever read his books?

Of course I did. I’m embarrassed to admit that. I didn’t make the connection until I did an Internet search. He wrote the Discworld series, a satirical set of stories that ties together dragons, witches, politicians, gods, cats and centaurs that live in a flat world. During high school, I dove into book series like this as well as the Myth series by Robert Aspirin and the Xanth series by Piers Anthony.

The Color of Magic was Discworld Book 1, a tale about our hero wizard, Rincewind, who travels from his home city of Ankh-Morpork to the edge of the Disc, a journey that is actually a chess game played by gods. Suddenly nostalgic, wanting to feel a part of it all and properly mourn the death of a fine writer, I searched my stash for his book.

My bookshelf boasts blank journals and an eclectic combination of my read-or-to-be-read-again books. Many of my sentimental favorites are in boxes in the basement, callously but deliberately misplaced from my reach, so I wasn’t sure I’d find anything upstairs, but that was the easiest place to start. I was surprised when I saw right there on the second shelf, third book down on the overflow sideways stack, was the book Reaper Man by Terry Pratchett.

This wasn’t the first book in the series, yet I know I bought this one for a reason. Why?

Two things caught my attention. One, the front cover blurb reads, “It’s no vacation when Death takes a holiday.” That’s what must have caught my eye because cover art does nothing for me. This version showed the Grim Reaper with scythe inside a snow globe. Charming, I suppose, but titles and taglines grab my valuable reading attention.

The second thing was the back cover. The price tag was from Borders, a bookstore chain that died almost exactly 4 years ago. Based on the book’s placement on my bookshelf, I must have bought it from the custom-built-from-scratch store that opened 8 months after I moved to Michigan. This new store was less than 3 miles from my house, freshly built for me I liked to think, but that store became the default hangout spot for my husband and me. I wandered the aisles and often took a magazine or my journal to the upstairs café before he joined me.

The store chain closed in July 2011, displacing us shortly after I became Foursquare Mayor of that location, and an appliance store snuck into those walls.

This one book brought back so many memories. It was Death in so many forms.

In December 2014, I committed one New Year’s non-Resolution to revisit an old favorite book. At the time, I had one particular book in mind, using this as an excuse to read that book for the third or fourth time. But now I think this is the one to revive and explore. Who knows? Maybe I’ll write a review about it to remember reading it this time.

Read Books, Review Books, Remember Books

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On this blog, I’ve written about journal writing. I’ve written about reading books. There was a time when I did both: I read books and journaled about them. Go figure.

After last month’s journal expedition, I wandered through my bookshelf and discovered a journal wherein I reviewed books for myself as a reminder of what I read and what I thought. I forgot I had done that.

My inspiration came from those funky “record your recollections” books found in your bookstore’s gift section. The fun titles and decorative covers invite you to review wines, where you drank them and save the wine labels. You could write about the places you traveled and significant snippets of the journey. Journal titles encouraged memories of meals and restaurants, favorite songs, meaningful quotes, garden plantings, lists and more. Since my two main interests were books and movies, I decided I would chronicle my impressions of each.

Rather than pay for a fancy-schmancy, pretentious book with pages too small for a proper review, I could make my own book better than any preprinted book. Besides, I found a pair of regal spiral bound notebooks, elegant in their 8″x10″ stature. The simple black hardcover was perfect for a funky, relevant, inspirational postcard. I clipped identical, important-looking blue gel pens in the rings. I was set to write whether at home or on-the-go.

I recorded each book in the same look, manner, and design: “The Title” by Author; Month and year I finished reading, and my review.

It was the prehistoric equivalent of modern day Goodreads.

I tabbed four sections. The front main pages were reviews of the books I read. The second tabbed section I reserved for books recommended to me or that I wanted to read. The last section has some pencil scribblings on the first page; it looks like I planned a “books I borrowed or loaned.” I didn’t know enough people who read books. There is a third section tabbed off but with nothing written on those pages I have no clue what I intended.

I reviewed books from July 1999 through September 2002. My first reviewed book will remain nameless because it is so horrible. I wrote: “College life…here was my chance to see how someone else does it. I’ve learned how not to do it. I have no idea what any of the characters look like. Everyone swore, drank and got drunk. C’mon, a keg at your final? A torture to read but I had to finish it for story’s sake. I forgot that there had been a framing structure at the beginning. Events just end and everything is summed up neatly, compactly, and smoothly like the end of the stereotypical sitcom. Now writing about it, I can put it out of my mind.”

That book was my first exposure to self-published books, often called vanity press back then. This book had to be good. After all, it was a hardback book, with a colorful cover, I discovered at an independent book fair in New York City. That gave it validation. Ever since I read it, this is the book I refer to anytime I need an example of poor writing and the desperate need for an editor.

The General’s Daughter by Nelson DeMille. July 1999

“Print from this ‘old style’ trade paperback dirties my fingers. I like the movie better than the book. Narrator often sounded like the author, not the character.” The ending was given away too soon. Very few ‘he said’ in text and was often confused by who was speaking. Movie was more coherent, flowed better.”

The House of Seven Gables by Nathaniel Hawthorne. November 5, 1999

“Never was I so glad to finish a book!”

I developed a fascination about writing the true story of a real person. I moved away from fiction and desperately sought solid nonfiction. I read a series of disappointing memoirs after that. One review included my insightful comment: “In the last two memoirs, the struggle is established at the beginning but then the readers never reap the benefits of success.”

Good advice to remember as I finish my memoir.

Tuesdays with Morrie by Mitch Albom. November 25, 1999

“This book made me uncomfy [uncomfortable]. That was wonderful! I want to read it again.” In January 2000, I did just that. “The second reading as powerful as the first. Real writing, honest and true yet not sappy. There’s a reason this has been on the best seller list for over 100 weeks.”

Falling Leaves by Adeline Yen Mah. Saturday, March 4, 2000

“A tragic memoir wonderfully told. Her words: simple, and I got so caught up in her storytelling I didn’t notice.”

The Joy Luck Club by Amy Tan. June 2000

“Good example of a story told through many smaller, seemingly unrelated stories. I’d like to see how the movie translated this fine book.”

As of this writing, I have not yet seen the movie.

The Girl’s Guide to Hunting and Fishing by Melissa Bank. August 13, 2000

“What a quick read! Recommended by Jane, I echo her thoughts: I wish I’d written this book.”

Memoirs of a Geisha by Arthur Golden. March 2001

“It has been so long since a book snagged me so completely. I was up nights swallowing every word until way past my practical bedtime.”

I wrote about the Harry Potter series from December 1999 to 2002. Interesting how my opinion has changed since those initial readings.

My last entry is Diary of a Mad Bride by Laura Wolf. September 2002

“B-day gift from Dawn, I read it in about one week. Funny, and a lot more truth in there than any bride would care to admit. Written in short journal entries, it’s easy to read. I must read this closer to my wedding 🙂 again!”

I never did read that book again, but maybe I will now, especially since I am married. One part of my New Year’s Non-Resolutions is to revisit and reread an old favorite book. I’m faced with a dilemma: which one do I choose?

Do you have any recommendations of good books to read, or ones to avoid?