Friday, August 10, 2012

50 Books to read before graduation

This past January I decided that I wanted to read fifty books this year. I sat down and made a list of books that met certain requirements I thought would work for me. They all had to be books I'd never read before; they couldn't be part of a series, have a prequel or sequel, or run any chance of me saying "I have to read book X so I can find out what happens next;" I really didn't want to repeat authors (although there were a couple cases where I did anyway); and they had to be of a wide variety, no sticking to one or two genres for me. It took me a few days, but I got one made up that met (most of) my criteria. I have an extensive to be read list running in my head that I plucked titles from, there were a few books mentioned on NPR that sounded too good to pass up, and there were some that were mentioned again and again in various writing books I'd been reading that I stuck in there as well.

Sadly, days after making the list (and before I could type it up), I misplaced it. I went from memory as much as I could, but I have never been known for my memory. Then the other day when I was cleaning out my desk, low and behold, I found the list! I'd managed to read eleven of the books on there (and a bunch others, though I'm no where near fifty), but that still leaves 39 books that I still haven't read.

While I'd like to say that I'll get most of them read before December 31, since I'm starting school in a few days, I highly doubt it. So I'm instead renaming my list. The previously named 50 Books of 2012 (or Epic List of Doom, depending on my mood), is now just 50 Books to Read Before Graduation (which should be the spring of 2015). The list is as follows, in no particular order:

So there's the original list, with the books I read crossed off. But here's the thing: because of those eleven books being crossed off, it's no longer a list of fifty books to be read by graduation, it's 39 books. Well, there's one way to fix that.

The eleven books I'll read in addition to the ones above to make fifty books by graduation:

Venus in Furs

Edit 5/28/14:
I've gone in and crossed off a few more books. Not looking like I'm going to make it by graduation, though.

Friday, August 3, 2012

Fifty Shades of...well...you know...

I have been stewing over this for quite a while. Ever since I first saw that the big studios were in talks about making the "hot new bestseller" into a movie and I realized exactly what they were talking about. I've ranted, I've raved, I've warned people not to go any where near this book; predictably, none of it has worked. It's still out there, selling a disgusting number of copies, and invariably raising my blood pressure every time I hear about it.

Most people around me don't understand. Sometimes I don't understand why I'm getting so upset myself. Scores of badly written books have topped the bestseller lists, and I couldn't have cared less. Hell, there are books I don't even like that do amazingly well, and while I might not understand why, I just shrug it off. Crappy books are made into crappy movies almost every day, and my world goes on turning. I have no problem with fan fiction being published, even when it does well. (Hello, Wicked and Scarlett are both, essentially, fic, and I loved both dearly.) Hell, when I first heard about Fifty, I thought it was a different piece of fic, and I was all but dancing in the streets I was so pleased. So what is my issue?

I'm sure much of it is my frustration with people not being able to see how terrible this book really is. Everything else aside, it's poorly written. That could be overlooked when it was being posted as fan fiction (hell, it's pretty much expected from fic), but once you send something out to a publisher, and that publisher sends it out into the world, a higher quality is expected. And the fact that it was picked up by Vintage, a publisher known for putting out literature (a word which makes me think of a higher quality of work than, say Fifty) just boggles my mind.

Honestly, I can't remember exactly what was wrong with it, as the last I read it it was still being written and posted on Twilighted. I just remember being distracted by all the editing I was having to do in my head. Which is probably part of why I kept reading as long as I did; I wasn't really doing much more than proof reading. I also remember spending a lot of my time reading with an arched eyebrow, trying to figure out why it was so popular. After the engagement, I just gave up, realizing that obviously there was something going on that everyone else saw but I didn't.

This would probably be a good time to mention that I have not read Fifty Shades of Grey, or any of the following installments. I only read it while it was still "Master of the Universe," but that was enough for me. I am basing my opinions of Fifty on MotU. Normally I would think of this as unfair, but I have heard from enough people who have read both that she changed little but the character's names. I've also seen some evidence supporting these claims, so I'm satisfied on that front.

But I'm upset over more than just some poorly written book selling millions of copies. I'm more than slightly miffed that it's outselling Potter, but whatever. I think what is getting me really upset is what this phenomenon is saying not only about the women of the world today, but what world our daughters are going to face.

This is what the women who love Fifty don't seem to understand: it's not some spicy, naughty tale about two people involved in a BDSM relationship. It's a story about a man who needs serious help (of the three sessions a week for several years with a licensed therapist variety) and the naive young woman he preys upon. It's not a romance; it's a tragedy. And the fact that women everywhere are emulating this book makes it even more so.

It seems like every week I read something new. Hardware stores are selling out of clothesline. Women's magazines are publishing tricks based on Fifty. People are sharing stories of their often funny, sometimes scary forays into the taboo. And I have to wonder if this is it, if this is the draw of the book that pushes people past the weak characters and poorly written sex scenes. People tend to look at BDSM as wrong and taboo, mostly because they don't understand it. All I can guess is that experiencing it, whether through experimentation or vicariously through a book, gives one the sense of being naughty. A little thrill to spice up an otherwise ordinary life.

But if you enter into something like BDSM without doing the research first, things can go very wrong very quickly. Sure, handcuffs and a gag might sound like fun, but how are you supposed to tell your partner if something's wrong? Might not sound like something you'd need to worry about, but I read a blog entry where something similar happened to a guy, and whether he was playing it up for comedic value or not, there was, at least for a moment, some fear he might asphyxiate.


Let me say here that I have no problem with BDSM. I'll admit, I don't know much about it, but it seems to me that when done safely, it's a form of sexual expression that many people rely upon. However, from what I've gathered during my nosing around the subject, there's plenty of discussion about likes and limits, and both parties are okay with what goes down. More "Let's talk about why you might be uncomfortable with x and how I can help to change that," and less "You'll learn to like it." (Can you guess which one is Fifty?)

What people decide to experiment with aside, if women are trying out things from the book in their bedrooms, what other areas of their lives is Fifty going to slip into? How many women who are already staying with a bad/abusive boyfriend for all the wrong reasons (he's attractive, he can support her, he's sometimes nice, the excuses are endless, and almost all of them are covered in Fifty), will now see another reason to stay: maybe he's just a hurt soul who can be healed if she just tries harder. Women who are already talking themselves into staying in this kind of situation are going to read this book and just see more validation for not only their partner's actions, but for their lack of it. And women who are finding (or will one day find) themselves in a similar situation will look back on Fifty and wonder.

We don't need any more books out there where the man overpowers the woman because he knows better. There were too many written during the era of bodice rippers (where men frequently raped women because they couldn't control their passion...and the women ended up enjoying it before the end). Being feminine doesn't mean letting a man walk all over you. You can give a man control in the bedroom without giving him control over your life; just remember, you're giving control, it can be yanked right back whenever needed. And a woman can have more than book smarts, she can have common sense too. Any man who doesn't realize, accept, and appreciate all this, is better off kicked to the curb. No matter what else he has going for him.

Tuesday, May 29, 2012

Coffee and cigarettes

My second semester of college I took a creative writing course. This was back before I had decided that going to school for creative writing was an option. The course was just fun, filler until I could get into the school I wanted and get on to the course work I would need for whatever major I had decided on at that moment. In three months I'll be back in school, and this time it will be for creative writing. Scary stuff, folks.


Between this and getting Remembrance ready to go out to the test readers, I've been thinking a lot about the things I've written in the past. Those stepping stones on my path to becoming an honest to goodness writer. Well, here's one of them.


One of our assignments in that creative writing course was to take a few elements, and use them in five different shorts. I think they had to be 250 words or less. In the fic world, we call them drabbles. I chose a girl (or woman), sitting alone in a coffee shop, smoking a cigarette. Here's what I ended up with.


I'm not really going to edit these, so I apologize ahead of time if there are spelling or grammatical errors. Part of this is so I can show (and see for myself) just how far I've come.


Just to forewarn ya'll, while most of these won't offend anyone, there is one that deals with a girl considering a very controversial subject matter. I'll mark it, but just so you can't bitch at me for springing it on you, you've been warned.


Drabble 1:


Emily pulled four things from her purse: a notepad, a personalized ball point pen that her mother gave her for Christmas the year after she graduated from college, a pack of Virginia Slims Menthol Lights 120s, and a book of matches.  She set her notepad and pen on the table, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it, exhaling the sweet nicotine with a flourish of neck and wrist.  She had started smoking to look styled, sophisticated, and now, wouldn’t you know it, smoking was out and she was addicted.  Didn’t matter to her much; she felt it made her look every bit the high end journalist that she would one day be.  This interviewing of animal rights activists and local business owners would one day be behind her and she would be on to bigger and better things: award winning actors, civil rights leaders, the President.  One day she would move up from the dinky “In Your Area” column and into the vast department of “In the World Today.”  Until then she would continue interviewing the Lindsay Ann, high school science fair winners of the world, arching her eyebrows conspiratorially as she asked the questions she wanted to know.  At least if she had to write these stories, she’d do so with a flourish. 


Drabble 2:


Ashley puffed on her Misty Ultra Light as she fingered the worn copy of Sense and Sensibility that was sitting in front of her.  Lord only knew what made her sign on to that stupid dating site in the first place, not to mention actually accepting a date with one of the fools who use said sites.  Well, she thought to herself, I guess I’m one of those fools now, as well. She casually flipped through the Austen novel sitting in front of her, the only relic she kept from her horrific three year relationship with John.  In a way, John was the whole reason why Ashley was sitting in this run down coffee shop, fingering a run down book in the first place.  If he had been able to keep his zipper closed and his hands off any female being that wiggled, Ashley would still be engaged, and well on the way to living out the rest of her life exactly the way she had planned it out with her Barbies when she was younger.  Instead, she turned to the world wide web to look for what she could not find in real life, beginning with Ebay, but quickly moving to E-Harmony.  It was there that she met Ralf, the down to Earth father of two who recently lost his wife to cancer and also enjoyed a good Jane Austen novel.


Ashley looked at her watch and, noting that Ralf (what kind of name is that anyway?) was ten minutes late, picked up her book and was about to leave when a tall, well groomed man walked into the coffee shop, carrying a well worn copy of Sense and Sensibility.  


Drabble 3:


Victoria sat in the high class coffee shop, smoking her high class cigarette, musing over her life’s accomplishments.  She had managed to lure a total of now two dozen men from their wives, a talent she discovered in high school.  Mr. Gibbons was a terrible teacher–actually, he was terrible at many things–but he was all too willing to give out extra credit to girls willing to do certain after school activities.  Vicki applied this same concept in college, earning herself a diploma without doing an ounce of homework for her male professors, of whom there were many.  She now owned a girly bar, where married men flocked to cheat on their wives without actually ever touching another woman. 


Her newest conquest was Willard, a broker with a beautiful wife, a beautiful house, and three beautiful children; Vicki had seen pictures of them all.  She sipped champagne, still nude under her Egyptian sheets, as Willard dressed, about to return to the office.  Before leaving, he turned to her and asked, “Do you ever tire of being the mistress?  Wouldn’t you ever want to be the missus?”  Vicki thought about this as she took another drag off her cigarette and stirred the nonfat latte the waitress just brought her.  No, she decided. I never would want to worry about my husband meeting a woman like me.


Drabble 4:

Candice looked over her list one last time and took out the pack of cigarettes she had hiding in her pocketbook.  She had tried quitting hundreds of times, but this wedding was just putting too much stress on her, and she needed the relief, so she bought the pack for “just in case.”  Well, if this didn’t qualify as “just in case,” she wasn’t sure what would.  She inhaled and was calmed, but only marginally.  There was still so much to do.  She still had to pick up the bride’s maids dresses, confirm the cake style, tell the live band that she had decided to go with the DJ, and send in the newest version of the RSVP list in to the caterer.  That wasn’t even mentioning going over flower arrangements, picking up her own dress, and the whole of the rehearsal dinner.  All in just over a week.


Candice looked at the diamond sitting on her left ring finger, and remembered how Michael had proposed, right at the very table she was now sitting at.  He had done it in a very Michael fashion, tossing her the ring box when she returned from the bathroom and waggling his eyebrows at her.  She tossed the box right back to him, and told him that she would not marry him until he asked properly.  So, of course, he called the attention of the entire coffee shop, got down on one knee with a grand flourish, and gave a very corny proposal speech.  Candice smiled as she thought that if any man was worth the hassle of a wedding, it was Michael.  She decided, somewhat sarcastically, that if she ever were to marry again, however, she would elope.          

Drabble 5 (the one that you might want to skip if you're sensitive):

Liza’s hands shook as she tried to light her Gold Coast Red with her purple Bic lighter.  She finally got it lit and inhaled sharply, thanking the waitress who brought her coffee with a puff of smoke.  She loaded the inky liquid down with sugar and creamer, changing its color from rich black to creamy brown.  She took a sip and closed her eyes.  Pregnant.  Ten weeks, according to the doctor.  That gave her three weeks to decide what she was going to do.  Or rather, three weeks to convince Ron that it was the right choice and to give her the four hundred dollars for the abortion.  Four hundred dollars, that sure as hell was a lot of money, especially when she was out of work.  She looked at the cigarette in her hand and almost laughed.  Theoretically, she shouldn’t be smoking in her condition, but since she wasn’t about to keep the being growing inside of her, she didn’t see the sense in quitting now.  


She thought back on the diagram the nurse had shown her in the clinic.  Her baby looked about like a baby chicken right now.  Actually, it looked like every other baby animal at that approximate stage.  It helped her conscious to know that if put in a lineup, she wouldn’t be able to tell her baby from one of another species.  Liza shook her head.  She didn’t like the idea of “her baby,” she wanted to find a more removed term.  What was it the nurse called it?  The embryo, that’s right.  Liza took another drag off her cigarette and another sip of coffee as she contemplated the future of her embryo and herself.

Well, there you have it; five shorts written by yours truly over seven years ago. 

Tuesday, May 1, 2012

My how time does fly

My my my, it has been a long time. I'd say the delay hasn't been my fault, that my laptop had spoiled me with it's cushy blogging feature, so when I got said laptop back and that feature was gone I couldn't stand to go on without it. But that would be only a partial truth. I'm just a flaky person. Oh well.

Remembrance is going well. I decided to put off writing much of Mouse's portion of the story until I'd gotten a better hold on what Sam's portion of the story was about. I finished my first edit of the first draft the other day, and have started on the more detailed second edit. To give everyone an idea of what I'm dealing with, I did most of my first edit at work. Fifteen minute break, thirty minute lunch, and I could get through around 25 pages a night. The other day I worked on the manuscript for two hours. And got through four pages. Out of 200. I now understand why some authors take seven years to put out a book, and I have no fricking clue how authors like Stephen King and Nora Roberts can be so prolific.

Anywho, to celebrate the momentous occasion of me actually finishing something, I figured I would share the story's (exceptionally short) prologue. So, ladies and gents, here we have it, the opening words of Remembrance:

Before the dreams and memories that weren't mine started, I was a fairly normal girl. Did well in school, liked to spend time with my friends, couldn't wait to get to college and away from the mother I couldn't stand. There were things that made my life different from most teenagers'--my parents and the life they wanted for me for one--but I still felt normal, even if it sometimes seemed like the people around me weren't.

Before the dreams I had a future. Hopes and dreams of my own. Goals and expectations for my life. But after they started, that was all gone. My future paled next to another's past. And there was always the same question. Why?