Alison DeLuca's Blog, page 26
August 2, 2012
A Furry Friend
Celebrating BlogFlash 2012 with Terri Long. This is Day 2.
Her name was Bim. She was the female of two kittens I got during a time of bad trouble. The male, Bo, was a large Maine Coone Cat, and he could fetch, like a dog.
When I had to get rid of Bo, Bim came into her own. For one thing, she never grew up. She stayed small, like a little "catlet," and she loved to drink from a running tap. She had false eyelashes; her markings around her eyes made her look like some sort of Disneyfied fish.
One night, while I was studying for my TESOL exams, I went to bed exhausted, forgetting that I had left a soft pretzel in the oven. Bim kept bugging me as I tried to sleep, and I, to my shame, kept shooting her with a water pistol because I wanted to sleep.
Finally I smelt the burning pretzel. She had been trying to tell me that I needed to get up and turn off the oven.
She used to sleep like a round, furry button right by my stomach. That kept me warm in my chilly apartment, when we couldn't afford the heat.
Bim was a good cat.
Her name was Bim. She was the female of two kittens I got during a time of bad trouble. The male, Bo, was a large Maine Coone Cat, and he could fetch, like a dog.

When I had to get rid of Bo, Bim came into her own. For one thing, she never grew up. She stayed small, like a little "catlet," and she loved to drink from a running tap. She had false eyelashes; her markings around her eyes made her look like some sort of Disneyfied fish.

One night, while I was studying for my TESOL exams, I went to bed exhausted, forgetting that I had left a soft pretzel in the oven. Bim kept bugging me as I tried to sleep, and I, to my shame, kept shooting her with a water pistol because I wanted to sleep.
Finally I smelt the burning pretzel. She had been trying to tell me that I needed to get up and turn off the oven.
She used to sleep like a round, furry button right by my stomach. That kept me warm in my chilly apartment, when we couldn't afford the heat.
Bim was a good cat.
Published on August 02, 2012 03:08
August 1, 2012
#BlogFlash - Day 1 - Thinking about Tara Cove
Today is Day 1 of Terri Long's blog challenge. We are responding to visual prompts each day. Here's the first one: Thinking:
I was thinking about the fun I used to have as a kid. When I was a girl, every summer I was invited to spend a week or two with my cousin. Her family had a chalet at Tara Cove, an Irish sea resort.
Tara Cove
For her and her brothers, the chalet got boring. There was no TV and one radio. Her father expected us to go to the sea and swim three times a day, rain or shine, in order to get his money's worth.
About that - the Irish Sea is COLD. If it hit 70 F it was a balmy summer. We went in, shivering, but after a few minutes we were leaping about as splashing each other as happily as the seals that sometimes joined us.
After the swim we'd run back to the chalet. By that point we were gasping for food. In order to feed such large crews, my aunt set out plain but nourishing meals - sardine sandwiches and oxtail soup were staples. It could have been cardboard and we'd have eaten it.
With no television, we had to improvise games. Monopoly was a staple (the Dublin edition) as well as Authors, but we also played Truth or Consequences and Battleship on endless pieces of paper.
[image error] Authors. Looks riotous, does it not?
Sometimes other members of the family would arrive. The kids were banished to a tent outside so the adults could sleep indoors. After swimming three times each day it didn't matter - we could sleep through anything.
We read and read and read, anything we could get our hands on. Once we finished our books we raided my uncle's library; that's how I got introduced to the Ian Fleming books.
Got to love these retro covers!
My uncle followed everyone around with his little cine camera. Once a year he'd have a showing of the films he took - of my cousins crawling around (he always called them "SmellyBot") to my mother performing a dance the day she borrowed my cousin's bikini. Pretty impressive that she could wear a 14 year old girl's suit! That particular movie was one of the faves.
Eat your hearts out, tech geeks!
Eventually we all moved on, went to college. The chalet was sold, and whoever owns it now - will they ever have as much fun as I did?

I was thinking about the fun I used to have as a kid. When I was a girl, every summer I was invited to spend a week or two with my cousin. Her family had a chalet at Tara Cove, an Irish sea resort.

For her and her brothers, the chalet got boring. There was no TV and one radio. Her father expected us to go to the sea and swim three times a day, rain or shine, in order to get his money's worth.
About that - the Irish Sea is COLD. If it hit 70 F it was a balmy summer. We went in, shivering, but after a few minutes we were leaping about as splashing each other as happily as the seals that sometimes joined us.
After the swim we'd run back to the chalet. By that point we were gasping for food. In order to feed such large crews, my aunt set out plain but nourishing meals - sardine sandwiches and oxtail soup were staples. It could have been cardboard and we'd have eaten it.
With no television, we had to improvise games. Monopoly was a staple (the Dublin edition) as well as Authors, but we also played Truth or Consequences and Battleship on endless pieces of paper.
[image error] Authors. Looks riotous, does it not?
Sometimes other members of the family would arrive. The kids were banished to a tent outside so the adults could sleep indoors. After swimming three times each day it didn't matter - we could sleep through anything.
We read and read and read, anything we could get our hands on. Once we finished our books we raided my uncle's library; that's how I got introduced to the Ian Fleming books.

My uncle followed everyone around with his little cine camera. Once a year he'd have a showing of the films he took - of my cousins crawling around (he always called them "SmellyBot") to my mother performing a dance the day she borrowed my cousin's bikini. Pretty impressive that she could wear a 14 year old girl's suit! That particular movie was one of the faves.

Eventually we all moved on, went to college. The chalet was sold, and whoever owns it now - will they ever have as much fun as I did?
Published on August 01, 2012 04:37
July 31, 2012
H2O - Just Add Kid
My daughter and I are a bit depressed, since we just reached the end of all three seasons of H2O - Just Add Water. If you have a kid and are looking for some entertainment, then you can't do better than this Aussie series about three girls who become mermaids.
This is with Bella, the new girl, not Emma - but, oh well.
It's won't win any prizes for poetic dialogue, and for that I blame the sitcom format. We streamed the shows on Netflix, and even though there were no commercials, I could tell where a plug for bread was supposed to go. That meant that the director had to insert a laugh or a "Hey I wonder what this all means" frown on a character's face.
Despite that, it was the characters that sucked us both in. Cleo, Rikki, and Emma, the three girls, were charming and realistic. Not only that, there was real character development over the course of the series.
My kid is 8, and she was fascinated. "Can we watch one more?" was the constant cry over the past few weeks. As a mom, I was really happy to see close friendship between girls. There was some boyfriend and girlfriend stuff, but it was all of the Disney channel variety, with an occasional kiss thrown in. And I'm happy to have kisses over backstabbing and violence any day.
The special effects were great. The mermaid tails were convincing, and the scenes where the girls find their powers and manipulate water were really well done.
SO want to do that.
I also loved the scenery, especially in the scenes filmed on "Mako Island," the magical place where the girls actually become mermaids.
As someone who loves paranormal elements and fantasy in general, it was great to see a series that wedded them with real life drama. Cleo in particular was convincing as she deals with her dad getting remarried and an annoying little sister.
My daughter and I were sad when we came to the end of the series. It's not often that you find a show that is imaginative and fascinating for the 7 and up crowd.

It's won't win any prizes for poetic dialogue, and for that I blame the sitcom format. We streamed the shows on Netflix, and even though there were no commercials, I could tell where a plug for bread was supposed to go. That meant that the director had to insert a laugh or a "Hey I wonder what this all means" frown on a character's face.
Despite that, it was the characters that sucked us both in. Cleo, Rikki, and Emma, the three girls, were charming and realistic. Not only that, there was real character development over the course of the series.
My kid is 8, and she was fascinated. "Can we watch one more?" was the constant cry over the past few weeks. As a mom, I was really happy to see close friendship between girls. There was some boyfriend and girlfriend stuff, but it was all of the Disney channel variety, with an occasional kiss thrown in. And I'm happy to have kisses over backstabbing and violence any day.
The special effects were great. The mermaid tails were convincing, and the scenes where the girls find their powers and manipulate water were really well done.

I also loved the scenery, especially in the scenes filmed on "Mako Island," the magical place where the girls actually become mermaids.
As someone who loves paranormal elements and fantasy in general, it was great to see a series that wedded them with real life drama. Cleo in particular was convincing as she deals with her dad getting remarried and an annoying little sister.
My daughter and I were sad when we came to the end of the series. It's not often that you find a show that is imaginative and fascinating for the 7 and up crowd.
Published on July 31, 2012 05:29
July 27, 2012
Lily Tomlin and Pop Music
I read an article this morning about a computer study of pop music. Its conclusion : "Pop music has become louder and less original over the years." (source AFP)
[image error] The group must not have looked at the songs of Nicki Minaj, since they seem pretty original to me, but fair enough. I suppose there is a tendency to riff from older songs. Tell me Windows Down by Big Time Rush isn't the same concept as Song 2 by Blur, hmmm?Lily Tomlin once said, "I'm afraid drugs are making us more creative than we really are." As the music industry moves from garage bands fighting windmills and personal demons to industry-controlled "discoveries" from reality shows, perhaps music is becoming more similar and less creative. I'd still argue that Taylor Swift's songs expose personal corners of her heart that are breathtaking and simple at the same time. But is it Nights in White Satin? Is it Tales of Ulysses by Cream? Or Chantilly Lace?
I like the stuff my kid listens to on the radio, although I have to say there seems to be a certain similarity to the songs. They are either about glitter and dirt and the night after, or love (of course.) Thank you, Katy Perry, for bringing in the paranormal element, and Lady Gaga for confronting political demons. But where are the songs that are about a Russian Visionary? Euro disco in the 70's was talking about Ra Ra Rasputin.If you look back farther than the music industry, to the 40's or even the 20's, songs and music become even more different and strange: the lyrics of Stardust, Rhapsody in Blue, Corrine Corrina, and Valencia are like poetry. I'm not dissing modern music. Hey, I hum along. But do I think that someone who takes a chance, a leap outside the norm, such as Nicki or Katy, tend to stand out. When producers allow that flight of fancy, then beautiful things happen.
[image error] The group must not have looked at the songs of Nicki Minaj, since they seem pretty original to me, but fair enough. I suppose there is a tendency to riff from older songs. Tell me Windows Down by Big Time Rush isn't the same concept as Song 2 by Blur, hmmm?Lily Tomlin once said, "I'm afraid drugs are making us more creative than we really are." As the music industry moves from garage bands fighting windmills and personal demons to industry-controlled "discoveries" from reality shows, perhaps music is becoming more similar and less creative. I'd still argue that Taylor Swift's songs expose personal corners of her heart that are breathtaking and simple at the same time. But is it Nights in White Satin? Is it Tales of Ulysses by Cream? Or Chantilly Lace?

Published on July 27, 2012 04:59
July 26, 2012
What Shall I do Today? I know, I’ll Create My Own World!
Today's blog comes to us via David Brown, the author of A World Apart and Fezariu's Epiphany. I begged him for a post on world building, and he really came through for me. Thanks so much, David, for being a fun person to know and for writing such a fantastic post.
Don’t be misled by that title. I’d like to think my creation of the world of Elenchera began as just a spontaneous thought and all fell into place easily from there but it sadly wasn’t the case. Where shall I begin?I’d always been a fan of fantasy. In my childhood films such as Labyrinth and The Neverending Story were amongst my personal favourites. I always did okay when it came to creative writing and when I left secondary school my English teacher told me to stick with prose and poetry as he believed I had talent. That was 1998. In 1999 I created the world of Elenchera. I’m getting ahead of myself.In late 1998 when I was studying at college I discovered the RPG series Final Fantasy on Playstation and in playing instalments VII and VIII I not only found inspiration but also was led to Norse mythology and the Icelandic Sagas. All of those influences morphed into an insistent catalyst and I suddenly grabbed a large sheet of paper and drew the world of Elenchera. This was a poor drawing in pencil, traced over in pen and then coloured in with crayons so very basic stuff.Having a map already answered many questions for me about how the world history would develop. Settlements should be near a source of water for instance. If the land is mostly desert you’d want to live along the coast, right? The best advice I can think of with world building is to ask yourself as many questions as you can about every land, town, mountain range, ocean, river and forest etc. With a world map I could establish which lands would potentially trade with each other or even worse go to war in search of conquest and annexation. I know that might sound annoying but readers are not fools and will spot glaring errors.
From the world map I produced a map for each individual land and repeated this process for each age of history in Elenchera, known as Shards, of which there are twenty-five. At present I have 500+ maps which is a daunting figure but I’m sorry to say that is true. I once had a lot of time on my hands and the patience to go through all those maps which I’m not sure I could face doing now. Drawing maps is one thing but building that history is quite another. I’ve always loved history and tended to get good grades at school and my passion for the subject remains undiminished. To build Elenchera I turned to Cassell’s World History which chronicles all the important events in our history from the earliest fossils to the 21st century. It proved to be an invaluable resource for me.As I went through the book I jotted down all the events in history that interested me and adapted them into the Elencheran timelines. I began with Elenchera as a large landmass and in the First Shard devised a way for it to be broken up. From that devastation I decided if the oceans froze it would facilitate migrations throughout the world. Eventually the ice melts and with the rising water twenty-three lands are left which develop independently of one another.Having built that platform I spent ten years effectively developing twenty-three stories as the separate lands are fully settled and grow from small communities into thriving societies. There is cross-referencing as the lands interact with each other and in the Twelfth Shard things become very epic when lands in East Elenchera discover those in the west, giving rise to an age of discovery, imperialism and colonisation. If that sounds like Columbus discovering America in 1492 then it’s no coincidence! Keeping track of twenty-three lands and how they interact both internally and externally is far from straightforward. World building is hard work but the reason I spent more than ten years doing it is because I wanted a solid background for the Elencheran Chronicles novels. I did try writing novels in the early stages of the history but they didn’t have enough substance to give them any real credibility as fantasy novels in my opinion. With the history in place I can ask questions of lands and towns and have the answers at my disposal. It’s been a long journey getting there but having that resource to hand when writing now has made it all worth it.

Don’t be misled by that title. I’d like to think my creation of the world of Elenchera began as just a spontaneous thought and all fell into place easily from there but it sadly wasn’t the case. Where shall I begin?I’d always been a fan of fantasy. In my childhood films such as Labyrinth and The Neverending Story were amongst my personal favourites. I always did okay when it came to creative writing and when I left secondary school my English teacher told me to stick with prose and poetry as he believed I had talent. That was 1998. In 1999 I created the world of Elenchera. I’m getting ahead of myself.In late 1998 when I was studying at college I discovered the RPG series Final Fantasy on Playstation and in playing instalments VII and VIII I not only found inspiration but also was led to Norse mythology and the Icelandic Sagas. All of those influences morphed into an insistent catalyst and I suddenly grabbed a large sheet of paper and drew the world of Elenchera. This was a poor drawing in pencil, traced over in pen and then coloured in with crayons so very basic stuff.Having a map already answered many questions for me about how the world history would develop. Settlements should be near a source of water for instance. If the land is mostly desert you’d want to live along the coast, right? The best advice I can think of with world building is to ask yourself as many questions as you can about every land, town, mountain range, ocean, river and forest etc. With a world map I could establish which lands would potentially trade with each other or even worse go to war in search of conquest and annexation. I know that might sound annoying but readers are not fools and will spot glaring errors.

Published on July 26, 2012 06:00
July 25, 2012
Ouch, My Feet!
I just came from Heidi Klum's fun blog, where she features 50 Wacky Shoes today. There are heelless boots, flame stilettoes, Pikachu sandals ... (really.)
Here's the thing. I'm all for creativity, but suffering for fashion, not so much. Flip through the 50 pairs of wackiness, and just take a look at the poor toes. Some of them are already misshapen from years of mistreatment, and I can, through synthesis, just see the pain.
They are screaming OUCH, people!
Here is another portrait of foot torture in process. Now, I think Jennifer Lopez is adorable, and she is a real beauty. I'm all about J Lo, and she looked great in this crystal dress when she wore it to Some Awards Or Another.
But look at the toe on her left foot! It's as though the poor thing has tried to crawl away from the shoe and hide from the agony.
Just tell me, TELL ME, that when she got into her limo she didn't drag those heels off with a loud sigh of relief.
I won't appall you with pictures of the indignities foisted on feet in the name of fashion. Do take a look at some of these things that designers have had the gall to actually try and sell, though:
and
and
Actually, those last ones are sort of amazing. I can think of a few people who could do with a swift kick in their seat of the trousers with those guys.
If you are into high, uncomfortable shoes, I don't judge you. I'll admire your gorgeous outfit and footwear from afar, as I slouch by in my old, extremely comfortable Target flip flops.
Here's the thing. I'm all for creativity, but suffering for fashion, not so much. Flip through the 50 pairs of wackiness, and just take a look at the poor toes. Some of them are already misshapen from years of mistreatment, and I can, through synthesis, just see the pain.
They are screaming OUCH, people!
Here is another portrait of foot torture in process. Now, I think Jennifer Lopez is adorable, and she is a real beauty. I'm all about J Lo, and she looked great in this crystal dress when she wore it to Some Awards Or Another.

But look at the toe on her left foot! It's as though the poor thing has tried to crawl away from the shoe and hide from the agony.
Just tell me, TELL ME, that when she got into her limo she didn't drag those heels off with a loud sigh of relief.
I won't appall you with pictures of the indignities foisted on feet in the name of fashion. Do take a look at some of these things that designers have had the gall to actually try and sell, though:



If you are into high, uncomfortable shoes, I don't judge you. I'll admire your gorgeous outfit and footwear from afar, as I slouch by in my old, extremely comfortable Target flip flops.
Published on July 25, 2012 07:02
July 24, 2012
American Girl

My kid wants an American Girl Doll. Have you seen ho much those things cost? She has saved up the money herself, so I can't say No.
But I know that the doll is what Nancy Mitford called The Thin End of the Wedge. It will open a floodgate of new things to want - clothes of course, doll furniture, accessories, pets for the doll - heck, those things even have horses, braces, and entire kitchens.
Here's where I have to stop and admit that she already has TWO American Girl Dolls. I went to Ebay, since I thought, lots of girls will want to get rid of their AGD's when they go to college, I bet. (That's how long my kid will hang onto hers, at a price like that. She doesn't know it yet, but it's true.)
However, I hadn't counted on the adult AGD collectors. There are people out there who buy these things, and for what purpose I wonder? Just to HAVE? Or do these women (and men too, maybe, who knows) wait until everyone goes to bed and then play with their doll collection? "Here comes Abigail, on her way to the party, doo da doo da doo..."

The point is, I didn't get such a big price break as I thought I would. In fact, I had to learn to game the system to win anything at all.
Kid is into those movies, too. Kitt Kittredge, A Girl of the Depression, Molly in the Second World War ... yeah, I eat that stuff up. The films are squeaky clean, have good messages, and guess what - the stories are good! And exciting! My kid was totally totally into the McKenna special that ran on TV a few weeks back. And we own Kitt's story, which is my personal favorite.
Sure, these movies present history through a misty, rosy lens, but here's the thing - They PRESENT HISTORY. Genna is now aware of the Depression, and she knows about World War II and how it affected everyone in the States.
So, those dolls are crazy, wicked expensive, but - I get the point. At least I think I do.
Published on July 24, 2012 04:33
July 23, 2012
The Sixth Dimension
There are some writers who can make things come alive in their books. Their style has a compelling quality, a gravitational pull that keeps the reader glued to the book past her bedtime. "Just one more chapter," she thinks, turning the page and ignoring the clock.
One thing that makes that style fascinating is an awareness of the sixth dimension. The worlds those writers create aren't just filled with exciting action and adventure and romance. Those little, spinning planets have color and depth. They are alive.
My go-to book as an example of this is Jane Eyre. The settings in the book: Gateshead, Lowood, Moor House, and of course, Thornefield are real places. I can picture the Red Room, the attics, and the sick room where Helen Burns died.
But more than that, I can taste the burnt porridge, smell the smoke from the fire in the night, feel the worn flagstones under my feet, hear that eerie Ha Ha! from the madwoman in the attic.
Mervyn Peake is another writer who makes his books come alive, almost too much so. His Gormenghast is filled with color and amazement, as in the Flint Tower, the red, close set eyes of Steerpike, and the sullen, ugly-beautiful Fuschia.
[image error] Gormenghast Castle
It is vital, then, to create a world for readers that has color, smell, taste, touch, and sound. Slice the apple, hear the thump of the knife in the cutting board, smell the white flesh, taste the tart fruit.
And there is another element. Those sights and sounds must support a central story, whether it is romance or adventure or both. The velvet under our fingers, the woodsmoke in our hair, the train whistle disappearing in the distance, all must advance the sixth sense - that what was not real before is now alive.
One thing that makes that style fascinating is an awareness of the sixth dimension. The worlds those writers create aren't just filled with exciting action and adventure and romance. Those little, spinning planets have color and depth. They are alive.
My go-to book as an example of this is Jane Eyre. The settings in the book: Gateshead, Lowood, Moor House, and of course, Thornefield are real places. I can picture the Red Room, the attics, and the sick room where Helen Burns died.
But more than that, I can taste the burnt porridge, smell the smoke from the fire in the night, feel the worn flagstones under my feet, hear that eerie Ha Ha! from the madwoman in the attic.

Mervyn Peake is another writer who makes his books come alive, almost too much so. His Gormenghast is filled with color and amazement, as in the Flint Tower, the red, close set eyes of Steerpike, and the sullen, ugly-beautiful Fuschia.
[image error] Gormenghast Castle
It is vital, then, to create a world for readers that has color, smell, taste, touch, and sound. Slice the apple, hear the thump of the knife in the cutting board, smell the white flesh, taste the tart fruit.
And there is another element. Those sights and sounds must support a central story, whether it is romance or adventure or both. The velvet under our fingers, the woodsmoke in our hair, the train whistle disappearing in the distance, all must advance the sixth sense - that what was not real before is now alive.
Published on July 23, 2012 06:00
July 19, 2012
Punk Rock Days
July, 1977. I was in London visiting relatives, and I was seventeen. My sister and I were following a crowd of friends as they negotiated the Tube, when I spotted a crew of - I didn't know what they were. The boys sported huge mohawks , and the girls! They were exotic, with bright blue and red hair, see-through plastic jeans, and safety pins through their earlobes.
[image error]
"It's a group of punks," one of our English friends hissed. "They hang out on Kings' Road all the time." We were hurried away. Still, the image had burned itself into my mind - the bright colors and dark stares of that group.
Fast forward to September. Back at school. Another friend, this one from my hometown, introduced me to the music of Iggy Pop. It was fast and furious, with a killer drumbeat that wouldn't let go. "We could go to see him, you know," she said. "He's playing The Tower."
I had never been to a concert before. I had no idea what clothes to wear, nor any money to go shopping. I made a star out of tin foil and glued it to my face. I put on old jeans and older boots.
Every seat in The Tower was a great seat. We were so close to the stage that we could see every face of the guys in the opening band, a new group called The Ramones. Joey stood in his classic stance, one foot forward, one back, and sang about little Ramona and Gabba Gabba Hey and the Blitzkrieg Bop.
My friend and I jumped around and screamed and sang. It was awesome.
Iggy Pop was carried onto the stage in a trashcan. He had a smile that completely changed his face and made his eyes sparkle and crackle in the dark. My heart flipped over.
He sang Lust for Life, Tonight, and The Passenger. We screamed and jumped and danced some more.
Out in the cool autumn night, I realized my star was gone. Our ears rang in the sudden silence. We climbed into my friend's tiny VW and put-putted home.
I am a passenger
And I ride and I ride
I ride through the city's backside
I see the stars come out of the sky
Yeah, they're bright in a hollow sky
"It's a group of punks," one of our English friends hissed. "They hang out on Kings' Road all the time." We were hurried away. Still, the image had burned itself into my mind - the bright colors and dark stares of that group.
Fast forward to September. Back at school. Another friend, this one from my hometown, introduced me to the music of Iggy Pop. It was fast and furious, with a killer drumbeat that wouldn't let go. "We could go to see him, you know," she said. "He's playing The Tower."
I had never been to a concert before. I had no idea what clothes to wear, nor any money to go shopping. I made a star out of tin foil and glued it to my face. I put on old jeans and older boots.

Every seat in The Tower was a great seat. We were so close to the stage that we could see every face of the guys in the opening band, a new group called The Ramones. Joey stood in his classic stance, one foot forward, one back, and sang about little Ramona and Gabba Gabba Hey and the Blitzkrieg Bop.
My friend and I jumped around and screamed and sang. It was awesome.
Iggy Pop was carried onto the stage in a trashcan. He had a smile that completely changed his face and made his eyes sparkle and crackle in the dark. My heart flipped over.

He sang Lust for Life, Tonight, and The Passenger. We screamed and jumped and danced some more.
Out in the cool autumn night, I realized my star was gone. Our ears rang in the sudden silence. We climbed into my friend's tiny VW and put-putted home.
I am a passenger
And I ride and I ride
I ride through the city's backside
I see the stars come out of the sky
Yeah, they're bright in a hollow sky
Published on July 19, 2012 04:19
July 18, 2012
Breaking Up with Robbins
It hurts to fall out of love. Of course, it is very painful to be the one fallen out of love with, but I've found that breaking up with someone is a very difficult thing to do. You have to work up the nerve to break it to a person that you no longer want them in your life, and that is tough.
As a reader, it hurts to fall out of love with authors. I loved certain books when I was at different stages of my life. Later, when I went to reread those books, it was with a shock that I no longer Got It.
The main example (and please don't yell at me, fans of his) is Tom Robbins. I adored Another Roadside Attraction and Even Cowgirls Get the Blues in college. Those books made perfect sense to me. Sissy Hankshaw, with her lovely face and huge thumbs, hitchhiked her way right into my heart and stayed there for years.
The images in the books, like the huge hot dog in Another Roadside Attraction, caught me. Robbins's writing was electric, colorful, psychedelic, and - naughty. It gave me ideas about religion and politics that I had never entertained before.
And women - the way he celebrated women was exuberant. I had never encountered anything like it.
I was in love.
College ended. I stopped hanging out in rooms filled with the smell of cigarette smoke, patchouli, and oil paint. Suits replaced the bright satin harem pants in my closet. I went to work.
Still Life with Woodpecker came out a few years later, and my friends and I excitedly rushed to buy it. I can still remember the feeling as I opened that book about a redheaded princess and a pack of Camels.
"HUH???"
It was deflating to realize that I no longer got it. "Yes, but how do they buy groceries?" was my thought. My head had shifted to an entirely different place.
Even Cowgirls seemed gimmicky. And Roadside, as beautiful and trippy as it was, had become naive in my new take on the world. Plus, I saw that it wasn't ok to create characters and ignore them for long sections of the book, and throw in a paragraph near the end saying, "Sorry I ignored this character for so long, but I'm going to keep doing it." Cough, Baby Thor, cough.
I was breaking up with Robbins.
I still like the thought of Tom Robbins and his books. You can tell the man loves words and adores creating his long, looped sentences.
And somewhere, there is a girl in bright harem pants, chuckling over the description of the Cowgirls's stampede against feminine products. She just isn't me, any longer.

As a reader, it hurts to fall out of love with authors. I loved certain books when I was at different stages of my life. Later, when I went to reread those books, it was with a shock that I no longer Got It.
The main example (and please don't yell at me, fans of his) is Tom Robbins. I adored Another Roadside Attraction and Even Cowgirls Get the Blues in college. Those books made perfect sense to me. Sissy Hankshaw, with her lovely face and huge thumbs, hitchhiked her way right into my heart and stayed there for years.
The images in the books, like the huge hot dog in Another Roadside Attraction, caught me. Robbins's writing was electric, colorful, psychedelic, and - naughty. It gave me ideas about religion and politics that I had never entertained before.

And women - the way he celebrated women was exuberant. I had never encountered anything like it.
I was in love.
College ended. I stopped hanging out in rooms filled with the smell of cigarette smoke, patchouli, and oil paint. Suits replaced the bright satin harem pants in my closet. I went to work.
Still Life with Woodpecker came out a few years later, and my friends and I excitedly rushed to buy it. I can still remember the feeling as I opened that book about a redheaded princess and a pack of Camels.
"HUH???"
It was deflating to realize that I no longer got it. "Yes, but how do they buy groceries?" was my thought. My head had shifted to an entirely different place.
Even Cowgirls seemed gimmicky. And Roadside, as beautiful and trippy as it was, had become naive in my new take on the world. Plus, I saw that it wasn't ok to create characters and ignore them for long sections of the book, and throw in a paragraph near the end saying, "Sorry I ignored this character for so long, but I'm going to keep doing it." Cough, Baby Thor, cough.
I was breaking up with Robbins.
I still like the thought of Tom Robbins and his books. You can tell the man loves words and adores creating his long, looped sentences.
And somewhere, there is a girl in bright harem pants, chuckling over the description of the Cowgirls's stampede against feminine products. She just isn't me, any longer.

Published on July 18, 2012 04:11