Liz Michalski's Blog, page 23

A Trying Day

 

The slavering beast's work

 

Yesterday was a trying sort of day.  I kept trying to write, but kept getting distracted.  The slavering beast kept trying to remove the gutters from the house.  (He succeeded, too, despite his bleeding gums.)  My son kept trying to launch rockets onto inappropriate places, such as the top of the media cabinet, at the ceiling fan, and into the gaping maw of the slavering beast. (Still bleeding.)

Later that day, my daughter, exhausted from a full day of school and ballet class, kept trying to avoid her homework.  And at the very end, alerted by pathetic cheeping noises, we found a chipmunk trying to escape the now bashed in gutters.

I hate trying days. They try my patience, which, everyone knows, is in limited enough supply on a good day.  As a child (oh heck, let's admit it — until five or six years ago, even) I had no use for the serenity prayer.  You know the one: "Lord, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change…." I HATED that prayer.  I tend, when confronted with an obstacle, to keep bashing my head against said obstacle until one of us collapses.  Sheer stubbornness has gotten me through many a difficult situation.

But a few years ago, one of those internet memes was going around.  A friend forwarded it to me, and in the say 'something nice about this person' section, they'd written "I admire how she never stops trying to make the world the way she wants it to be."

On the surface, it sounds lovely, and the glow from that kind commented stayed with me for a day or two.  But this person has called me a stubborn #$@#@ more than once. Or twice, even. And eventually I realized that they were saying the exact same thing, only in nicer words.  And for some reason — perhaps the timing — I took it to heart.

The thing is, you can't outstubborn a small child.  Or you can, but it's ugly, and it usually ends with both of you in tears.  And what exactly are you trying to do, anyways? Change the world to fit your specifications? As if you're the only one living in it? As if you are the only one trying to accomplish something?

 

Worn out from destroying the house

 

So yesterday, I kept trying. Trying not to lose my patience. Trying to model the type of behavior I wanted. (Minus the gutters.)  Trying to recognize that just because I wasn't accomplishing my goals didn't mean that others weren't meeting theirs.  Trying to remind myself that, even on the most trying days, I can still try tomorrow to get it right.

(Prize winner is Teresa — she gets a copy of Turtle Moon and a very cute Evenfall mini-bookmark!)

I'll Show You Mine ..

It has been pointed out to me that asking what your favorite book is without sharing my own isn't quite fair.  So, here goes:

I don't have one.

If you've been following along, you'll have noticed that in my last post I mentioned I have an entire bookcase filled with favorites.  So how can I possibly pick just one?  Ahh, you say, but that's exactly what you asked us to do.  Play along now.

Okay.  I do have favorites, but they change according to season and whim.  Every year — or at least every other year — I try to reread The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings series.  Nothing I've read has every come close to it, and I don't think anything ever will.

Now that I have a daughter who loves to read, I'm revisiting CS Lewis, too.  Then there's Amy Bloom, particularly A Blind Man Could See How Much I Love You. Perfect word placement in every single sentence, and characters to die for. Practical Magic, Turtle Moon, Second Nature, and Illumination Night by Alice Hoffman. Fairy tales for grown ups. Diane Gabaldon's Outlander series. The Time Traveler's Wife. The first 10 books or so by Robert Parker.  Alas, Babylon, by Pat Frank. (Not exactly soothing in times of world crisis, but at least I'll know how to cook an armadillo if necessary.)

 

The Little Mermaid by Jiri Trnka

 

I could go on and on, but let me add just one more.  As a child, I collected fairy tales, and I still have a few around the house that I like to page through.  I read everything I could get my hands on back then.  As an adult, I still loved to read, but I didn't get the thrill that comes with discovering a new world until one particular book: Mama Day by Gloria Naylor.  I fell in love with it, and still go back to it regularly when I'm stuck on my own writing. It's gorgeous and complicated and funny and sad, all at once.  And it made me realize that magical worlds don't have to be just for kids, that adults can have — and sometimes need — an escape like that too. Perhaps we need it even more, because we are the grown ups.

Of Turtles and Tales and Prize Number 2

So.  Here's a secret.  I have a lot of books.

There are books on the coffee table, books next to the bed, books by the bathtub, and a few left in random places like on the cellar stairs or on top of the puppy's crate.

But they are just the tip of the iceberg — decoys, as it were. Our old house in Connecticut, while big on lots of important things, such as acreage and horses, was deficient in other, equally important assets, such as charm and storage.  I was able to make this latter issue work to my advantage in at least one aspect– my book addiction.  Since we didn't have any real place to display books, I had them all over the place — in the one nice bookcase we owned, in tubs under the bed, on the coffee table, in my office, even in the barn.  (Nothing like reading in a horse stall on a rainy evening.)

When we moved to our new house, my husband had a surprise for me — a gorgeous, double-doored bookcase.   "Now," he said proudly, "You can have all your books in one place!"

Um.

I'd apparently hidden my addiction all too well, because only of a fraction of the books could fit. But the bookcase (that's how it's referred to — THE bookcase, as opposed to the children's bookcases (3) my office bookcases (2) the basement bookcase (1) and the old bookcase) does have an important role. It holds my favorite books, filed in alphabetical order.  These are the books I reread time and time again.  Some because I love the story so much I can't bear to have it end. Some because I am blown away by how real the characters are. Some because I'm amazed by the technical mastery, the way the writer creates a world out of nothing, and I read the story over and over to learn how to make my own writing better.

 

THE bookcase

 

This week, I'm giving away a book that does all of these things — Turtle Moon, by Alice Hoffman.  It is one of my favorites, and it has it all — an addictive storyline, a magical setting, and characters so heartbreakingly real you wish you could sit them down over coffee and straighten their lives out.  It's the kind of book I buy whenever I see in second-hand stores, to loan out to friends so my own copy never has to leave the house.

To win a brand-new copy, all you have to do is leave a comment by Wednesday telling me what your own favorite book is, and why.  (Bonus points if you include a story about it.) Ready? Go!

That Sinking Feeling

"Would Columbus have discovered America if he'd said 'What if I sink on the way over? What if I meet pirates? What if I never come back?' He wouldn't even have started."

Willy Wonka, Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator

I am, in the words of my best beloved, an Eyore.  Give me good news, and I'll somehow manage to find the down side in it.  If you manage to land an agent, for example, I'll be terrifically happy for you and offer to take you out for drinks.  If I find an agent, it has to have been a mistake, and it doesn't really matter anyhow, because my book will never sell, publishing will go kablooey if it does, and if, by some sheer miracle of luck said book does happen to manage to make it into the bookstores, a hurricane and a wildfire will burst out simultaneously, not only keeping anyone from buying the damn thing but burning down all bookstores in the process.

Think I'm kidding?  Not so much. I happen to have a lovely vintage bottle of Mumm's DVX champagne sitting in my refrigerator.  It's about 10 years old, and I've been saving it for 'when I sell a book.'  Did I pop that cork when I landed my fabulous agent?  Nope.  Did I pop it when he sold my book in record time to my fabulous editor?  Still  no.  What about when I received my ARC?  Negative.

That bottle still sits, perfectly chilled, labeled, and untouched.  (Although to be fair, my husband has gone out and bought me a less expensive bottle of bubbly at most of these steps, intoning "Shut up and drink the damn thing, will you?" as he stood over me.)

So what exactly am I waiting for? What event or milestone is 'worthy' enough to pop the top? I don't know, but I suspect it will be as close to the end of the process as possible — probably when I walk into my local bookstore and see it for sale on the shelves.  Only then will it seem 'real' — and only then will I stop worrying that something could go wrong. (The title is Evenfall, if you are interested, and it comes out in February.  Feel free to prove me wrong by preordering a copy.)

I bring this up only because this mental habit of assuming the worst is something I'm trying to change.  My daughter turned nine this week, and she's as lovely and wonderful as a dream.  She's unlike me in many ways — she's graceful, for example, and already so kind I find myself trying to model her behavior when I'm frustrated.  But in one way, at least, she's starting to take after me — I can see her turning happy events over in her head and worrying how they can go wrong. The quote at the start of this post is from one of our favorite books.  And while we cackle like hyenas whenever it is read (get the audio version by Eric Idle of Monty Python fame — it's hysterical) I hate to say that at least one of us recognizes the truth of it.

Is this trait genetic or environmental?  I don't know, but I suspect a bit of both.  Can I do anything to change it?  Again, I don't know, but I think I have to try. And if that involves popping open and drinking vintage champagne in the next few weeks, you can count me in …. probably.

Speaking of celebrating, we have a winner! Barb, A Devil in the Details belongs to you. If you didn't win, stick around — I'm doing a contest a week till my new website is up, and there will be another chance for another book in a few days.

Howling Hounds, Slavering Beasts and Prize Pick

My son and my dog are kindred spirits, separated mainly by species.  They delight in causing chaos, and have a devil-may-care glint in their eyes at the most inappropriate moments.  Like this:  I'm frantically trying to get dressed in the 30 seconds allotted on the morning schedule when my son comes whipping into the bathroom.

"I let the dog in the house because it's raining."

"Okay."

"He had a mouse.  In his mouth."

"Where's the dog now?"

"In the house."

"Where's the mouse?"

"In his mouth."

It's like a demented version of Cat in the Hat. I give up on getting dressed and fly through the house half-clothed, attempting to corral the dog, who of course runs away with the mouse's tail hanging out from his massive jaws.  Clearly, this is some kind of fabulous new game. When I finally get him to spit the carcass out in exchange for a piece of cheese, I realize something it would have been nice to know ten minutes earlier.

"Alex?" (Insert Ominous Mom Voice here.)

"Yeah.  I forgot to tell you, it wasn't a real mouse.  Just a mouse puppet."

Shrieking ensues.

There are little demons and hounds in this week's giveaway book, too.  (Notice that smooth transition? And I bet you'd forgotten about the giveaway.)  It's called A Devil in the Details, by K.A. Stewart, and the winner will be chosen at random and announced on Wednesday.  All you have to do to be entered is leave a comment between now and then.

A Devil in the Details is a fun, fast read, and the main character reminds me a bit of Buffy the Vampire slayer, if Buffy were a man who used an ancient sword instead of her keen vampire slaying skills.  (And yes, for those of you who have known me a long time, I am still lamenting the loss of Buffy on prime time television.  I'm predictable that way.) There's a kind of watcher, and snappy dialog, and a demon who may or may not be a force for good…and the aforementioned slavering hell hounds.  But no small pajama-clad demon carrying mouse puppets.  This one?  He belongs to me.

Devil in sports pajamas

A Post With Prizes!

So, I'm a bit new to the blogging scene.  It's a little intimidating, to be honest, and if we were at a real party, I'd probably be hanging out by the buffet or helping out in the kitchen, trying to distract myself from a bad case of nerves by eating chocolate cupcakes or offering to wash the dishes.

But, this is a virtual party,  and while virtual cupcakes have no calories, they also have no taste. (Up side — did I mention no calories?  And no dirty dishes.)  I still have something real to celebrate, though  – a brand spanking new website coming in four weeks, followed by my debut novel Evenfall in February.

So how about some virtual distractions, followed by real prizes?  Here's how it works.  Once a week, for the next four weeks, I'll ask you a question.  Answer in the comments, and I'll randomly choose one winner for that week's prize.  (Prizes will be book related — not cupcake related.)

Small children and dog not included in prize package unless it has been a particularly trying day.

This week's question — what's your favorite website or blog?  My favorites are over on the right, under the heading "People I Read Who Don't Post Enough.*" Check them out, let me know what you think, and let me know what your favorite sites are — which ones do you visit every day?

*These blogs do not reflect the opinions of the management. Except, damn it, they do.