Friday, December 30, 2016

To Wrap Up or Leave UnWrapped? Our Endings.

Having just finished
Hoffman's Faithful, I had a definite ending in place that was
not the ending of the book itself.
My ending finished 
one chapter earlier.
It was clean, hopeful, a nice wrap that left the reader to fill any gaps.
In reality, it went on for one more chapter.
Now I know a reader wants those nice ribbons tied up tightly,
and I know in life too
we need our ribbons and when we leave them
untied, well, it just drags on an on and on and you sure wished
it closed a few chapters earlier, maybe an entire book earlier.
So I don't know,
in my books I like a nice little snap and close.
I like my mind to travel to the details that would potentially come after
without actually knowing those details.
I think that was the only slight, slight, slight downfall to this particular story
that I loved, loved, loved,
and I believe there's a reason for it.
In Faithful,
the story of Helene was an imperative drive to the plot itself, but in actual fact Helene drifted so far into the background, we almost forgot she was ever there.
We know people came to her, thought more of her,
but we never "felt" that part of the story.
Don't think we needed to really. 
 Shelby was the focus,
and we understood what set Shelby's "change" in motion.
If we let Helene poke into that change too much, she would become the story,
and it would be an entirely different book.
Still, I wonder
 if the book didn't end for Hoffman in the same place
it ended for me.
I wonder where we really end things,
and where we let others end them for us.
Tying up loose ends
in plot.
Do we really need to?
Sometimes, yes.
Most times, not.

Thursday, December 29, 2016

Faith in Hoffman. Faithful.

This, that has occupied my mind,
and my time these last few days, and once again
Hoffman does not disappoint.
Yes, we all have with us our disappointments,
and we wonder and explore them as much as we explore and wonder about anything,
and in FAITHFUL,
we explore the concept of Faith.
This existence of Faith is in all of us by varying degrees.
and I can hear the tick of your minds turning to one thing,
The word, no doubt, has strength and conjures its image,
 but Faith is not just this immediately defined and secular place,
it's Faith in the unknown,
Faith in guidance,
Faith that the world is a joyous place,
Faith that a world that held you will hold you again,
Faith that the sunset will be there tomorrow,
Faith that love isn't always misplaced.
Faith that you are and will be,
Faith that the world turns in a day,
Faith that in darkness,
there is also a tiny sprout that follows light,
Faith that we are each of us that little sprout,
Faith to understand that there are those who can not,
Faith for those who try,
Faith in what it is to be.
Faith is in trust,
and in Hoffman's
we once again trust the forever in Faithful.
A girl is destroyed by her own blame.
She ceases to exist as she once did, but we join her in her evolution,
in this slow unravelling of change,
when we see someone else emerge, similar to that which once was,
but with better capacity of understanding,
better capability for loving,
for to accept is also to give.
The world that is us
and that which we change.

Monday, December 26, 2016

Going on a bear hunt!

We're going on a bear hunt ...  we're going to catch a big one...
Remember, remember, remember this??
How many bear hunts have you been on?
I was just reminded of one of my ALL TIME FAVORITES,
and by God do I ever want to go on another bear hunt ...
You can't go over it, you can't go under it,
you have to go through it.
Well, a little more poignant than I realized. 
That's a bear hunt for you. 
Walker Books, lead the way!

What's your LaLa?

What's your LaLa and where did it land you?
Image result for la la land
This thing that creates.
We think it comes from our intellect, our strategy, our acquisitions,
the solid and concrete,
but, it's a little more complex and even more simple than that.
It's from heart.
Nothing moves, beats, breathes,
without heart.
It's the coal in our fires, and that which moves dreams.
 LaLa is a nostalgic romp that asks if those dreams die before they begin?
So, what is your LaLa?
What's your heart's coal burning for?
Think about it,
and even if your LaLa isn't mine and mine isn't yours,
it's the inspiration of each other
that feeds the fire.
So go on, feed yours.
Image result for la la land
The back lots and back story of life in LA.
The gloss and glamour, 
the absolute shallow strip back of what it is to lose heart in song and dance.
I find it odd --
the "business."
I've seen it up close and know the thick skin one has to have in order to exist in that world,
and yet it is such a complete contradiction,
this want of honest portrayal.
They want spark.
They want that "something."
Yes, they want heart.
An odd dichotomy in a world so shallow and perversely self-serving,
 a place that has stopped feeling,
and yet, it is a place of stories, the hub to ours.
You see,
in that world, or any world of opposing force,
the things we need stem from what we do not have, have not experienced,
cannot attain.
So you create it on back lots and back dreams and wait for someone to come in
that makes you believe.
LaLa Land. LaLa world.
Tipping hot coal onto the snow and waiting for the melt.
There you go.

Friday, December 16, 2016

Virtue. All in Good Time.

Our virtues,
the discovery of such,
as we do and as we should.
Patience is a virtue, they do say, and it is patience
that allows us the necessary distance and time to 
ensure that everything is indeed in its place,
as we do, as we should.
It is our baseline, the distance required in the process of decision making, planning,
for seeing through what we do.
There are qualities we discover along our way,
and patience I discovered is one of mine.
It's the clock that quietly ticks along with a mind that clicks the same.
 a virtue they say.

The Power of Patience: How This Old-Fashioned Virtue Can Improve Your Life
So whilst patience may top my list,
what virtue tops yours?
Are you nobel? Worthy?
Tolerant? Prudent?
Do you possess hope, faith, charity?
Any trait we can bow our heads to in admiration?
You will know yourself,
where your virtue lies, and if not,
patience, my friend.
All in good time.

Thursday, December 15, 2016

What Light?

From Thirteen Reasons Why,
What Light.
A timely story,
for it reflects the spirit we are now in, 
and the lights that shine everywhere at this time of year.
What about your light?
Where's it been?
What Light
She has two lives in two places.
Come December, she picks up and leaves one behind and steps into another.
She's always missing something,
missing one life over another even if it's only for a brief time ...
until Caleb.
He's far from your perfect guy.
You could say he's got "history."
He made a huge mistake and he's been paying for it ever since.
She sees past that,
and determination sets in.
She will help him find forgiveness, even redemption,
and as misconceptions and suspicions swirl around them,
they discover the one thing that transcends all and everything ...
I'll leave that to each of you to work out.
Want a clue?
Find your light.

Wednesday, December 14, 2016

Against Empathy.

An interesting exploration,
Against Empathy.
We can indeed be a little too empathetic in life, in policy, 
and Bloom argues, 'empathy to be one of the leading motivators of inequality and immorality in society. Far from helping us to improve the lives of others, empathy is a capricious and irrational emotion that appeals to our narrow prejudices.
It muddles our judgment and, ironically, often leads to cruelty.
We are at our best when we are smart enough not to rely on it,
but to draw instead upon a more distanced compassion.'

Against Empathy: The Case for Rational Compassion

Empathy, by definition, 
is the ability to share the feelings of another.
You do not need all the facts as such,
you do not even need to have experienced the precise same thing,
but there is an awareness, a sensitivity,
a vicarious understanding.
Most would argue that being empathetic is a sound and virtuous quality,
but Bloom suggests that it muddles decisions, brings in a misplaced emotional landscape.
Without empathy, he states our decisions would indeed be clearer,
fairer and as a result more moral.
Limiting our impulse to empathy can lead to a more compassionate choice.
Against Empathy,
an argument of words.

Tuesday, December 13, 2016

The Art of Discomfort Taboos.

The Wheeler Centre
has brought to mind the attitude of "discovery"
when it comes to art
it's a talking point,
a talking through,
 the tackling of the unspeakable,
that's what we do,
haggle through the do's and don't's, the done's and won't's,
all the processes, the walks to and from and in-betweens,
the characters that make you wonder,
the situations you would and wouldn't,
the all in everything and the everything in all,
altruistic whispers, egocentrics, down right truths.
Art is how we
delve, dig and dive to
inner demons,
the pure and chaste,
the downward upward,
inside out turn.
People that are of that ilk
will see into that
or see through to it,
and then there are those that see nothing at all.
Of Arms and Artists: The American Revolution Through Painters' Eyes

Based on a true story.

They killed the child?
Even as I got to the very last page, I, like Nora, was still looking and waiting
 for the return of the child.
Image result for The good people
I did not know it was based on a true story,
and that knowledge bothers me.
Perhaps, it is that I simply expected a fictional exploration of folklore,
 its permeating permanence in people's lives during a certain place and time,
 and its incredible influence over their every day lives and views.
I suppose, I just thought it a tale of invention.
I was wrong.
It is entirely based on an article about one Nance Roche,
who was indeed tried for the death of a child and her dogged belief the child was
not ill, but a "Changling."
Image result for changeling fairy

She aimed to cure him,
or more to the point give back the fairy to his world and have the real child returned.
She killed him instead.
Of course, you had a sense what was developing,
but it was still a difficult portion to read how
the child tortured by those old belief's and a purely tyrannically tunnel visioned view that allowed not an inkling of another perception.
We all know that can be dangerous,
but what this book did delve into
is our almost common desire to believe in something,
to have that depth and strength to think and know with absolute conviction
that there is something greater than us, we, me, you,
that somehow we are only a minute part of such a larger scheme.
There are a great many who need that belief,
just as there are a great many who realize it can be nothing more than a crutch,
or roadblock to what need be further explored.
You see it is our intellect
that allows each and every avenue,
and each and every voice,
and in doing so,
we find some sort of truth in balance,
for we have understood more than just our own worlds.
Image result for fairy folk forest
Nance needed to see more,
and Nora needed to
work through her loss and grief without feeling the possibility of return.
With the pedaling of belief such as Nance possessed and offered,
it dangled a perpetual tease.
That is the danger of such
one-sided belief.
We never really see
the forest through the trees.

Monday, December 12, 2016

The window.

Standing at the window
looking out,
you watched,
and as our eyes met,
you saw.
The Hundred-Year-Old Man Who Climbed Out of the Window and Disappeared
The man behind the glass.
The one who let it be,
 until the gumption got him at the hundred year mark
and the window is opened.
He no longer watches but climbs out.
Escapades unfold along that getaway and
we begin to learn something of an earlier life.
Ah, there we have the life unseen, the key happenings and key events that come
to play behind the scenes.
The 100 Year Old Man Who Climbed Out the Window And Disappeared.
Now who hasn't wanted to do that one time or another.
After 100 years,
the question begs ....
why not?
A fun loving feel good romp. 

Saturday, December 10, 2016

Nance and the Good People.

Nance, poor Nance,
living at the forests edge with the Good People on her doorstep,
 close, but not seen.
There is an immediate sense of something amiss in this story,
 a certain simmering leading to disaster.
This is a story of folklore,
of belief's so deeply engrained they swirl their own fingerprints in the earth,
and it is the earth that supplies the answers.
Nance knows it so,
and the people believe in Nance, until the turn of the tongue and so the story unfolds
from a beautiful handcrafted fold to worn and tattered edges -- the darker sides of us.
The Good People
There is a child, hidden but known.
No one likes to talk about it, and yet they do.
Something is wrong with the child,
for he has been taken, one of "Them" left in its place.
The child's hands turn inward,
and he smiles and laughs at things he only seems to see.
He will bite your hand too,
if opportunity is given.
He lives in an alternate space of time and place,
and there is Nora who wants the return of the boy.
So she will beat what she can out of it,
poison it with bittersweet foxglove,
get the Changling to be gone.
This is the bittersweet in life,
when something is stolen from us and we fight to have some portion of it returned.
It's perception and the sway and turn of people.
Nora knows this after her loss,
left with a child that turns in on itself and the world she knows will shun,
as she has done the same.
She will have something back.
She must,
and so it twists her mind and her heart to do things she would not normally do,
which is anything,
anything at all.
And then there is Nance Roche,
who the town turns against on the whisper of one's words,
words that twist the truth with intention of harm or intention too of gaining what was lost.
You see Nance
believes in the world and its gifts and her magic to use those gifts.
She believes in the Good People that taught her those ways,
but when they turn on her
the target of the child becomes just that.
A target for her own aim
to prove herself.
This is a sad tale of what twists in us
when we want
what the world can not give us,
and what people can not bring themselves to believe in.
It's also a tale of what is given
when we need.
We only have to see.
The Good People.

Friday, December 9, 2016

The Double.

The two that is in everything.
Two sides of me,
two sides of you.
The doubles in life, the double life.
The white and black,
without any grey.
Look one way, and you see the other,
The DoubleThe DoubleThe Scapegoat
William WilsonThe Woman in WhiteThe Likeness (Dublin Murder Squad, #2)

Virginia Wolfe The Years.

Do you think
as we go through The Years that we actually change?
Certainly, we have and gain our experiences,
and through it knowledge and some semblance of understanding,
but the essence of who we are,
that very being,
does that change?
The Years
We are not so very different than the child that once was.
Those kernels are still there.
The same wants and desires,
still there.
I don't think the trueness of who we are alters,
nor that innate nugget of truth that claims and holds us.
We remain.
So when we know this, we can also understand so much more in
all that we do,
and decide to do,
and have done.
It is odd to see the perception of some, and whilst I will play along to
 hear what has been "alluded" to,
and how the real is somewhere in little broken pieces tucked between.
Not everything is shared,
and not everything can be,
with the passerby, the curious, or the general.
We have and keep those quiet things that live and remain inside.
That what we have and know must be kept so,
with the clock that ticks as it tocks.
Still, I peel back what stands in front of me,
and I look deep inside with wonder at how extremes can tilt in either way.
So when you read such an author as Virginia Wolfe,
and you examine the thoughts behind the words, the explorations
of time and years,
take a moment to use your wonder
and step inside the child you once were.
There the years do not lie.

Luiselli's The Story of My Teeth.

Another translation,
and yes,
another intrigue.
I've only just begun, but there is something interesting in this,
something unique that draws you in.
Yes, it is about the oddity of odd,
and the oddity of one Gustavo "Highway" Sanchez Sanchez
who with only four teeth himself collects those of the infamous,
like Plato, Petrarch, Virginia Woolf.
But are they really theirs, or pulled from his own mouth and auctioned
off convincingly.
He tells stories through these teeth, 
like a vessel of memories they hold.
This meant that the stories I would tell about the lots would all be based on facts that were, occasionally, exaggerated or, to put it another way, better illuminated.
This is a walk through the industrial suburbs
of Mexico City and the literary influences of the author himself,
and an "elegant surpassing of the truth."
Words of elegance, indeed.
Unique and odd,
a juice factory squeeze,
it's lovely to see anything that transcends boundaries and goes into new territory.
The Story of My Teeth,
promises exactly that.
 The Story of My TeethThe Story of My Teeth
There is in all men a natural propensity to magnify or extenuate 
what comes before them, 
and no one is contented with the exact truth.

Thursday, December 8, 2016

Our ghosts.

We all love our ghosts,
but when those ghosts float into our world
and change it,
watch out.
This is the exploration of death, grief, the powers of good and evil,
and perhaps a deep exploration of the
possibilities in life.
Do you believe in ghosts?
Do you believe people come back to help us on our way?
Believe in possibility.
Believe in all things possible.
The hauntings in our lives.
The ghosts.

Wednesday, December 7, 2016

What's in it? In the Light of What We See.

Would you like to know?
Really know?
Do you think you would?
In the Light of What We See
Would you like to know what's inside that which streaks the sky?
Would you really like to know?
Would you be able to see it as it is,
know it enough to see it straight?
Would you?
Would you really like to know?
Would you like to turn someone inside out and
see it right there,
all that we are, all that lives in the deepest of places in our minds,
our hearts, our souls?
Would you believe it when you saw it?
Would you even recognize it?
Would you like to know?
Really know?
Would you be able to see the
light and dark,
the shades in between,
all and everything we are and be?
Would you accept the complexity of all that?
The love of all that?
Go on then,
we know the secrets of what is,
we know the secrets of what's not,
we know
what stops us
we know
what starts.
We know the back of our own hands.
We know the truth of nothing,
and the truth of something.
We know the meaning of what we say.
Go on then,
Fly baby, fly.
I'm calling you out this day.
What We See When We Read

Stranger Game.

You can disappear in all sorts of ways.
You can be right under someone's nose and still not be there.
is an unusual occupation to take,
and sometimes it's something that's out of hands and taken.
So, what happens when you're gone, 
and returned after years away?
What's the scene you face?
After four years, Sarah is found,
but what happened on that fateful day?
What really happened?
The dark details continue to haunt,
and it becomes clear that more than one person knows the true
story of what happened,
to Sarah,
and what and who returned.

In my cards.

In my cards,
I saw two kings,
the same two kings that started the whole thing.
Heads stuck together, still stuck.
In and from my heart,
good luck.
King's Cage (Red Queen, #3)
The Legacy of Kings.
A world divided by blood,
and one against her own heart.
This is a series that has done incredibly well,
king against king,
power to power.

Catch 22.

Catch-22 was released in the early sixties.
I'm not quite sure how it was perceived back then, only what it has become --
a must read quick turned
catch phrase.
It had that much impact, that much guts to it,
 it transcended the pages into our every day life.
But, what if you caught more than 22?
What if that more led right back to one,
or right back to you?
There's the catch.
Right there.
the cat that caught its tail.

Tuesday, December 6, 2016

A Child of Books.

I love Walker's new one,
A Child of Books.
This is Oliver Jeffers,
a lyrical tale about the world of stories and how this child upon her imagination, floats,
and so we join her,
as we wish to do ...
across a sea of words,
we are taken to begin.

Monday, December 5, 2016

I want you to know, something.

I want you to know,
I want you to read it on the page,
and I want you to read it in me.
I want you to know,
what now,
what then,
what it was like.
I want you to know,
so you might see,
so you might feel,
and so you might be.
I want you to know,
that which can and that which can't.
I want you to climb inside my dreams,
and then climb inside yours.
I want you to know,
the words that run up and down walls,
and tease the spaces in mind,
in yours.
I want you to know what I remember,
and what I hold.
I want to remember,
and then I want to forget.
I want to find those words written to say.
I want that time forward and gone, history and future intertwined.
I want you to know, something,
before it is gone.
The Forgetting
What isn't written, isn't remembered.
The Forgetting, is a day of no remorse,
when each person's memory of life, love, parents, children, and self,
are lost --- unless it is written.
So what would you write, in your story of been and to be,
what words would be yours?
What pages would turn into fiction,
and what would turn to non?
What to forget to remember,
and remember to forget?
Not him,
but if he isn't quick enough and she isn't fast enough,
they will both be lost,
to each other,
and to the memories that will solve the mystery
of the forgotten,
in all time.

The Victorian Fiction Short-List

Are we celebrating?
I think perhaps it is well enough to say we should.
Here they are.
A nice selection of this year's "in it to win it" picks.
Looking over the titles,
and you will know I am a title girl as much as a cover girl -- no not that kind of cover girl --
I find myself immediately intrigued, some certainly grabbing more so than others.
The entries come by way of the writers themselves, publishers, and perhaps agents as well.
If you are agented, by one or more agents, depending on what mix of genre you participate in,
there sometimes is appropriate to also mix agents for such needs.
Pseudonyms too will suit depending on where you are flipping direction to.
Are there any here?
Regardless, we will find the winner end of January,
but I believe they are all winners indeed.
I have placed my reservations.
Now, go and place yours,
and we shall see.
Between a Wolf and a DogThe Healing PartyWood Green
WaitingThe Rules of Backyard CricketThe Love of a Bad Man

Sunday, December 4, 2016

The story in between.

For those who come here,
with some aim to know ...
I will tell you all I can in its whimsical in's and out's and to's and fro's,
and this thing called life, and the books that stack from ceiling to floor.
For this is what holds us,
our stories, our words,
those that breathe breath to the world.
The Secret of a Heart Note
There are times I do laugh at what people think,
what their views will be looking in from out and out from in.
I find it amusing 
at what stabbed straight through.
For them to say, to know,
to think they do?
The words I have heard,
I shake my head at, and you will know that I love words.
I love the way they open up and
leave you to poke a finger in and stir them into what you want to hear,
what you wish they were.
These words,
are little bits and pieces of us,
so it will make me laugh,
it will indeed,
to think of those who can not read,
and no I am not at all being literal here.
So many, have read a story in-between what is.
They have written words in the spaces between.
None of them belonged in the gaps and spaces.
It wasn't the right story to write.
Fill your gaps
with your words and stories and let them be
the words you wish to poke
your own finger into.
Your own story in-between.
And there my friend,
is your other half,
the one that is your heart.
The story in-between.
Something in Between

Cloudwish passes the gauntlet.

Fiona Wood seemed to start this roll,
with great success I might add.
Stories that talk about refugees, immigration, illegal or otherwise,
stories of what it feels like to be under that radar.
With the gauntlet passed, 
2017 promises an interesting year of stories that delve into what it is
to be an outsider in your new society.
From the heart 
to yours,
stories of belonging,
and if you have a story to share,
Let us unite in this one thing,
our stories in words.

Saturday, December 3, 2016

The one thing two.

There was one thing forgotten.
That is what holds me.
That is what breaks.
And you do not know,
and you do not see this--
One thing.
The One Thing
It's the code they can not read, and can not break,
and yet it was already broken.
And they do not see that.
And they do not understand,
for they too have lost that sense
that there is
that one thing
 to give.
One Thing Stolen
One who knows.
One who does.
One thing.

One thing.

We all do it.
Forget. Sort of remember, then forget.
Our forgetting can be inconvenient, convenient,
it can be the matter of that --
"One Thing."
Now what exactly is that one thing? Is it the something you didn't do,
didn't complete, said you would then didn't,
our little and big broken promises?
 Or, is it something you wish to do,
have yet to do,
will inevitably do,
a most exciting twist?
If memory serves, we will each come up with our "one thing" quick enough.
So, what is your One Thing?
I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours.
Go on.
Tug those strings.
The One Thing: The Surprisingly Simple Truth Behind Extraordinary Results
The book of "One Thing,"
with its six lies that block success,
and the seven thieves that steal time.
Purpose. Priority. Productivity.
The "don't lose it" result driven drive.
I'm in.
The One Thing.
Take that dive.

The Double Standard In Us.

I have said this before ...
we are all stories, 
retold over and over again through time with minute variations.
That is why I am astounded by
what people will either look past or look toward
when indeed it would seem
we live as cliches.
How is it still that through this time and evolution
in the role of women and the role of men
that adulterous love affairs bear the same letter "A" to be worn
only by women.
Oh go on then, poor chap and a slap on the back weird.
This leaves my mind in a quagmire,
this sad and comical portrayal of our societies teetering preciously on the edge of our rather insane human qualities.
I sit, watch and observe on the fringe with wonder and some amusement
at the predictable nature of some.
To listen,
and of course I realize I should not be listening,
to hear the questions they ask of each other,
is to sit back with amusement
with a story as old as the ground we walk.
I will admit some components rare,
 and I'm not saying I condone it, or accept it, or should even want such a thing,
but it does happen.
Falling inexplicably and inconveniently in love does indeed happen,
and I can assure you
one could say it's as rare as hens teeth.
And so I sit and watch these poor people and the poor men who do enlist in such a club,
I find little change in each story but for the surrounding cast.
That's where the intrigue lies.
I think back on the Scarlet Letter.
You realize of course, it was never worn by anyone but a woman.
The double standard of double time,
and the cliched stories of us.