Laura Langston's Blog, page 39

Overheard This Week

                                     That’s the hard part over with.

The next time I do a writing workshop, I might use this sentence as a story prompt.  The possibilities are endless. It could be said by an exhausted cyclist cresting the top of a particularly gruelling hill. Or a gardener who has finally dug out the ground for a new pond. Or perhaps a set of parents serving birthday cake at a child’s birthday party after the games and gifts are over with.

Of course, if it’s fiction and it’s the story kick off, the expected cake walk won’t happen.  The cyclist will meet a swarm of bees on her downhill glide. The gardener will learn ponds were recently banned by his townhouse strata council.  The parents will face a dilemma when one child isn’t picked up after the party ends.

In other words, things won’t go as planned.   Maybe that’s why overhearing that phrase made me smile.

It was a sunny summer afternoon.  I was walking in the park. Ahead of me were two twenty-something girls, clearly having a good time. They were accompanied by a photographer.

“That’s the hard part over with,” said the just-married bride to her bridesmaid.

“No kidding”, the bridesmaid responded. “It’s a cake walk from here.”

I managed not to laugh. I hope the rest of that bride’s day was a ganache-filled fantasy and all her wishes came true. Because happily ever after is rarely a cake walk.  In fact, it’s probably safe to say she’ll have some hard work ahead.

In Case You Missed It

I’m heading into a retreat later this week. Between that and the fact that it’s release week and I’ve been touring other blogs lately, my time and attention are both short.

So for those who didn’t already see it on Facebook or Twitter, I leave you with a look at the book trailer Razorbill produced for The Art of Getting Stared At:

And a look at what I had to say on the Chapter by Chapter blog site:

http://www.chapter-by-chapter.com/blog-tour-the-art-of-getting-stared-at-by-laura-langston-review/

 

Have a good week everybody!

Imagination: Blessing or Curse?

One great thing about being a writer is my imagination is always on steroids.

One lousy thing about being a writer is my imagination is always on steroids.

Plus when you’re a writer and a mother, there is guilt. I’m not talking about the guilt of deadlines, or traveling when there’s an event at home, or being preoccupied with the book a little too much.

No, I’m talking about the guilt of having an imagination that’s always on steroids. Because if you have more than one child, chances are high you’ll pass that particular blessing on to at least one of them.  If so, my condolences. And a suggestion: get out the Tylenol. You will need it.

Case in point (actually two cases).  Case one: Several weeks ago, a friend left six chocolate covered strawberries on my doorstep. Delighted, I brought them inside, ate one, and put the rest on a high table for later.  When my back was turned, Luna, my Sheltie, jumped up, grabbed three and gobbled them down before I could pry her mouth apart (first time she has ever grabbed food from the table).   I spent the next twenty-four hours in one of three states: on my laptop trying to assess how much chocolate it takes to cover three strawberries and how toxic that would be to a 20 pound Sheltie; staring at her while I waited for the convulsions to start; and obsessing about how we would break the news to Teen Freud that one of the dogs died while he was in Morocco.

Case two: in Morocco, Teen Freud was having adventures of his own, including, but not limited to, getting a bad concussion after hitting his head so hard on a bathroom sink that part of it broke off.  Determined to avoid Moroccan hospitals (he was traveling with an Australian medical doctor who came equipped with her own IVs and syringes, among other things) he opted to wait until he got to the London leg of his trip before seeking medical attention. Unfortunately before he could do that, he bumped his head a second time which led him to immediately google second impact syndrome. He spent the next several days convinced he had it, waiting for the convulsions to start, and obsessing about dying so far away from home.

By the time we got wind of all this, Luna had recovered completely but Teen Freud was certain he was poised to die from a brain bleed.  I’m not minimizing brain bleeds. They’re serious, we all know that, and there’s no question Teen Freud had a bad concussion, which is nothing to mess with either.Two doctors told him so (one was, in Teen Freud’s words, ‘barely out of diapers’ and you haven’t lived until you’ve heard your baby child describe someone else as young enough to be in diapers).

You also haven’t lived until the offspring with the imagination on steroids sustains a (potentially serious) injury 7500 kilometres away from home and you are forced to read between the lines. To separate the rhetoric from the meaningful. The facts from the paranoia.  Until you are forced to remind yourself that he carries your genes, your imagination, and your touch for drama along with a dose of hypochondria that clearly came from the other side of the family.

One great thing about children who travel is they always come home. And there’s nothing lousy about that.  However, Teen Freud is now convinced he has post-concussion syndrome.

We’re beating back our collective imaginations and monitoring the situation. Stay tuned.

Mark These Dates . . .

It’s shameless self-promotion time. I’m doing a blog tour over the next two weeks to coincide with the release of The Art of Getting Stared At.  I’ll be popping into the following blogs either to answer questions or to do a short guest post, or the blog hosts will be reviewing the book. Feel free to stop by!

September 1st:  Razorbill.ca   http://razorbill.ca/

September 2nd: More Than Just Magic http://morethanjustmagic.org/

September 3rd: Xpresso Reads    http://www.xpressoreads.com/

September 4th Chapter by Chapter   http://www.chapter-by-chapter.com/

September 5th Mostly YA Lit     http://mostlyyalit.blogspot.ca/

September 6  Padfoot’s Library   http://padfootslibrary.blogspot.ca/

September 7th Maji Bookshelf     http://majibookshelf.blogspot.ca/

September 8th Pop! Goes the Reader    http://www.popgoesthereader.com/

September 9th Emilie’s Book World   http://www.emiliebookworld.com/

September 10th Cherry Blossoms & Maple Syrup  http://innocencewalker.wordpress.com/

September 11th Conversations of a Reading Addict   http://conversationsofareadingaddict.blogspot.ca/

September 12th   Addie’s Book Blog   http://bookybelleaddie.blogspot.ca/

 

 

 

 

 

Reading Preferences Showed Early

Over the last week, I’ve been writing material for a series of guest blogs that will upload to various sites throughout the month of September, coinciding with the release of The Art of Getting Stared At. (I’m grateful to the bloggers for hosting me and when I get blog dates, I’ll share them.)   A number of questions focused on the book itself but others were more general.  Several people wanted to know my favorite book as a child.

That was a tough question to answer.  I read early and voraciously, and my tastes changed as rapidly as I grew. I didn’t have just one favorite book. I had a series of favorites.  But as I gave the question some thought, it occurred to me that my natural inclinations were obvious early on.

For the most part, even as a kid I gravitated to two types of books:  contemporary stories that dealt with serious issues or over-the-top glamor romps. A close third was mysteries. I was a loyal Nancy Drew fan.

By the time I was 11, I’d fallen in love with a series of Sue Barton nurse books. She had red hair (how glamorous) and helped save lives (how meaningful).  Though it was toned down somewhat, there was gritty realism in those books.  There was also realism in With Love From Karen about a young girl with cerebral palsy, and in a novel called Mrs. Mike about a 16-year-old Boston girl who moves to the Canadian wilderness, falls in love with a Mountie and copes with extreme hardship. At the same time, I escaped with a series of books about Donna Parker who visited relatives in Hollywood, traveled overseas, and talked a lot about clothes.

The serious/light split continued into my teens as I went through an Ann Rand phase, took up with depressing Russian novelists (Anna Karenina was a favorite) and scared myself silly with Sybil.  At the same time, I devoured the rags to riches story of A Woman of Substance by Barbara Taylor Bradford, Once is Not Enough by Jacqueline Susann and any Sidney Sheldon book I could find.

Maybe that’s why when people ask me to name a favorite book or favorite author I’m as likely to say Jodi Picoult as I am Jennifer Crusie. Or maybe Jojo Moyes or Kristan Higgins. It depends on the day. It depends on my mood. It just . . .  well . . . depends.

And don’t ask me to name my favorite food either. That’s another impossibility. 

My August Reads

August is usually quiet. I figured this year would be no exception. I’d anticipated time off to catch up on reading, daydreaming, ice cream eating.  Instead, life threw us a curveball in the form of helping my mother downsize and move. She’d been on a waiting list, the opportunity presented itself, and it was one of those ‘if you say no, you may have to wait another two years’ kind of thing.  So she jumped on it.  And it’s all good except free time has been at a premium. I haven’t even gotten out on my bike yet this summer. I’m hoping things will slow down towards the end of the month so I can get out for a ride or two and read a few extra books. In the meantime, here’s what I’m reading right now:

Beside the Bed: Keep Quiet by Lisa Scottoline

On the Kindle: Newbie Nick by Lisa McManus

At the Gym: The Firebird by Susanna Kearsley

Books read to date 2014: 50

 

The Dog Days of Summer

I think of the dog days of summer as being in August – that period of time when life seems to slow down. People are either away on holidays or they leave work early. Meals are simpler (popsicles for lunch anyone?), clothing is lighter, worries seem to recede.

Well, guess what? Depending on who you want to believe, the dog days of summer may end next week (I’m not impressed: that reminds me of fall and I’m not ready for sweaters and slippers).

In ancient times, the Romans associated the dog days with the Dog Star, Sirius, which happens to be the brightest star in the night sky.  It’s so bright the Romans thought the earth received heat from it. In the summer, Sirius rises and sets with the sun and at one point in July, actually conjuncts the sun.  Considered a particularly potent time, the Roman’s deemed the 20 days before this conjunction and the 20 days after as ‘the dog days of summer.’  That meant the dog days could run anywhere from late July to late August, and that’s still the belief in many European cultures today.

However, nothing stays the same, including the constellations in our sky. Given the precession of the equinoxes (basically the drift of our nighttime constellations) the conjunction of Sirius to our sun takes place earlier.  So these days the Farmer’s Almanac lists the dog days as beginning July 3rd and ending August 11th.

Personally, I’m backing the Romans. Mind you, they also thought this period was an evil time when “the sea boiled, the wine turned sour, dogs grew mad and men were plagued with hysteria.”  They were so fearful they generally sacrificed a dog to appease the Gods.

There’s no need for that around here. In my little world, the sea is calm, the wine is sweet and Team Sheltie is happy. Sure, I’m a little hysterical, but that’s nothing new.

And it’s got nothing to do with the dog days of summer.

Hitting the Road

I was up before dawn this morning to drive Teen Freud to the airport. He and his friend, Molly, are off on a grand adventure to Morocco and England.  This is a Very Big Deal for him. While he has travelled with us as a family and went to Quebec City as an exchange student in high school, he hasn’t traveled on his own. At least no trips of this scope or one this far away from home.   I watched them walk through security with a mix of excitement, envy and trepidation.  It’s a mom/writer thing. My mind is a constant and fertile ground of ‘what-ifs.’  I had to take a step back and remind myself that, at his age, I’d gone off with his father on a four month road trip through Europe and Russia. Not only had we survived, we’d thrived. It broadened our minds, strengthened our bonds and we’re still telling some of our stories.

We’re counting on Teen Freud to bring home wonderful pictures and stories of his own. Until then, we’re sitting on the patio with Team Sheltie at our feet and a gin and tonic in hand, and doing a little armchair traveling.  Here are some summer picks to quench your wanderlust:

 The Wind in My Wheels – Travel Tales from the Saddle by Josie Dew      I love biking adventures and Josie Dew is the queen of cycling travel. This collection of stories about her cycling trips through parts of Europe, the British Isles and Morocco is a funny, fascinating and inspiring read.

A Bike Ride: 12,000 Miles Around the World by Anne Mustoe    This was the first biking adventure book I ever read and it left a powerful mark. At the age of 55, Anne Mustoe gave up her life as a headmistress and decided to cycle around the world. To say she was naïve (she couldn’t even mend a tire when she started) is an understatement. History lessons interspersed with adventure.

A Culinary Traveler in Tuscany: Exploring and Eating off the Beaten Track by Beth Elon              Yes, I’ve been known to read cookbooks for relaxation. Combining a cookbook with a travelogue is a sure way to grab me. This gem of a book features ten off-the-beaten-track itineraries, describing towns, restaurants and sights. Maps and recipes are provided too. And the recipes are very user friendly. Get out the risotto pot!

 A Month of Sundays – Villa Life in the South of France by Ira & Barbara Spector     A light, fast read about an American couple who rent a villa on the French Riviera near St. Tropez for a month. Alternating chapters from a his/her point of view, they tell the tale of adjusting to life in France.

Riding the Bus with my Sister by Rachel Simon    Not technically a travel book but Rachel Simon’s account of spending a year riding the city bus in with her intellectually disabled sister, Beth, is a good reminder that we don’t have to go far to gain new perspectives and see the world differently.  I loved this book. An updated edition came out last year detailing the changes in the lives of Simon and her sister since the book was first written. I’m looking forward to reading it.

 

 

Success – What Does it Mean to You?

According to author Alain de Botton, it’s easier than ever to make a living, but getting harder and harder to enjoy our success. In this inspiring 15 minute Ted Talk, de Botton suggests we might want to examine our attitudes to success and make sure they are truly our own.

 

http://www.ted.com/talks/alain_de_botton_a_kinder_gentler_philosophy_of_success

 

Kindness Can Be a Kick in the Butt

I generally start each day with a few minutes of random reading. I have a number of books I find particularly inspirational all within grabbing distance of my closet. At some point after I get dressed but before I head downstairs to write, I pick one up, open it, and read whatever paragraph I happen to see.

It’s either my message for the day or my kick in the butt, depending on my mood.

The other morning I picked up Entering the Castle by Caroline Myss and I read a passage about kindness. Her point was that it’s easy to be kind when people are pleasant or fun to be with, but it’s more difficult and actually more meaningful to be kind to those who most try our patience.

That morning I happened to be going to the lab for blood work after fasting the night before. No breakfast, no coffee. Just a quick shower, a few minutes with the book and I left. It used to be that you showed up at the lab and waited until your number came up.  Things have changed in the last year and now you can make appointments on line. I’d scheduled my appointment several weeks earlier and was happy to know I’d be in, out, and home to coffee and scrambled eggs within fifteen minutes.

Other than the two employees behind the desk, the lab was empty when I arrived. I had a number of requisitions from two different doctors, and one required some explanation. I spent a few minutes going over things, and sat down to wait. After a minute, I saw the sign: Please inform us at check in if you have an appointment.  It was taped midway down the side of the counter where a preschooler (or someone sitting down) could see it. Since it was out of my line of sight when I’d walked in the door, and since I was preoccupied with my requisitions at the time, I’d missed it.

I quickly informed the fellow behind the counter that I had an appointment.

Well. Apparently my failure to inform him of this two minutes earlier created a serious problem for him as well as a horrendously difficult situation for this still-empty lab. I offered a sincere apology, and then defaulted to humor. That made things worse. Much, much worse.  He berated me with a particular viciousness that left me feeling like the preschooler for which the sign was placed.

I shut my mouth, mutely followed him into the cubicle, let him poke me with his nasty needle and I got out of there as soon as I could.

Irritation isn’t good on an empty stomach. It feeds on itself. By the time I got home ten minutes later, I was indignant (read royally pissed off).  As I poured a cup of coffee, I went back over the conversation (that old he said/I said/I should have said loop), told myself the guy was power tripping and way out of line.  I told Mr. Petrol Head that I was going to write a letter and file a formal complaint.

Then I remembered what I’d read only half an hour earlier.  That passage about kindness had been my message for the day.  Now it was my kick in the butt.

I decided to let the whole thing go. All of it. But the next time I go to the lab, I think I’ll try another location. And I’ll tell them I have an appointment the minute I walk through the door.