Nook? Kindle? Bookstore?

My local Barnes and Noble, my home away from home because (a) the B&N Café serves amazing chai latttes (b) wonderful, talented people work in that store and (c) the atmosphere can be perfect for writing. When I’m hit broadside with a mega case of cabin fever and need to get out of my office because I’m about to suffocate or implode, I often trot off to my fave B&N (okay, I don’t trot, but you get the idea).

Today “my” Barnes and Noble is putting Nook demos on display. This going to be very dangerous. Hello temptation. If you don’t know what a Nook is, it’s an e-book reader. A new competitor up against the Amazon Kindle and the Sony Reader. I don’t own a Nook or Kindle or Sony Reader. I’m still carrying around mauled paperbacks, boxy hardcovers, and magazines permanently curled into periscope-like shapes. I buy books at any and all bookstores (not just “my” B&N), I borrow books from libraries and I swap novels with friends.

These days, though, the temptation to drop many greenbacks on an e-reader, each with it’s own bells and whistles, is growing. How cool would it be to download a book the moment you felt inclined to read it? How convenient to be able to slide an ultra thin e-book into a bag or case and tote it everywhere, stealing moments here and there to read. As I said: temptation.

I’ve also been told that manuscripts can be downloaded on these e-reader puppies. Whoa. Imagine being able to write and revise without papers flying in every direction. How much work could get done while in a waiting room, in a line, or on a bus? The possibilities of places to bust out the e-book seem endless. As if this isn’t fabulous enough, apparently most e-book readers can read a story to you, say while you are cooking or driving. Maybe in upgraded versions, the e-books will read aloud while actually doing the cooking or the driving or whatever. Imagine.

But I wonder if I’d miss the feel of a real book in my hands. And what about the joy of overcrowded bookshelves? The comfort of titles on spines of old, middle-aged, and new books staring out, calling to be read or read again. The delight of passing along books to others? And would I have to give up my routine of going to bookstores to peruse titles and book jackets? Or, would I still eyeball them, only to download titles on my e-book reader? So many questions.

Tell me, what are your thoughts on the e-book readers? I’m curious.

Lessons From Kindergarten

The holiday hustle and bustle seems to have shifted into third gear, at least in my world. Yesterday, I took a break from writing to venture into a mega mall (apparently I’d had too much caffeine and was feeling brave). The crowds were dense and lots of people were pushing and sometimes shoving. The scene reminded me of something my sister had shared after a chaotic day with a class of kindergarteners. She’d said: “Working with a large group of five-year-olds is like herding cats. Each and every one has a mind of its own and an intent of its own.” That’s when the thought hit me that holiday shoppers (yes, I include myself in this) are kind of like kindergarteners. Or cats.

Minutes later, as I waited for a salesperson to return from retrieving an item I needed, I watched a woman in a festive Christmas sweater and a man in a crisp suit circling a salesperson already engaged with a customer. Ms. Christmas Sweater and Mr. Suit reminded me of a hungry cheetah and a famished lion sizing up a lone antelope. Big cats stalking, salivating, competing. The pounces promised to be cutthroat and anything but pretty. I pitied the antelope.

As I drove home, anxious to get back to the peace and tranquility of my writing, I thought about this great book that I read years ago: All I Really Need To Know I Learned In Kindergarten, by Robert Fulghum. And it occurred to me that at this time of year, as the stresses of the holiday season rain down on many of us like December snow on the North Pole, it might be warming, dare I say comforting, to remember some of the lessons of kindergarten. Because, really, wouldn’t the world (or at least the mega malls) be more pleasant if everyone took turns, played nicely, shared with others, said sorry when necessary, refrained from hitting, and remembered to be fair? And maybe the world would be even better if we all took time for cookies and milk and an afternoon nap. Maybe.

The Breakup

Dear Novel,

I am afraid that we can no longer see each other. There, I said it. I am putting you down. Phew. That wasn’t easy. Breaking up is awkward. Uncomfortable. I am sorry that I have to do this, but you left me no choice.

Please don’t take this separation personally. It’s not you. Well, okay, maybe it is you. But I take responsibility, too. We are just not right for each other. Yes, I had high hopes when we first got together. Perhaps too high. You were so handsome on that shelf, with your flashy cover art. And the text on your book jacket really pulled me in. At that first meeting I was filled with enthusiasm and anticipation. I talked to my friends about my high hopes for you. And really, you are fine in your own way. But to be honest, after one hundred pages, well, I find you to be a little wordy. I could probably deal with this if you weren’t so slow. This is a bad combo for me. And where is the tension? Sure, I felt it at the beginning, during our first chapter together. But after that, the chemistry evaporated. Again, this is probably just me. I’m sure your slow pace and low tension would be fine for lots of other readers. Really.

Is another novel involved? Um, well, to be honest, yes. Actually, there are many novels. Please don’t think badly of me. Frankly, there are not enough hours in the day. Which is part of the reason why I have to let you go. Of course I feel guilty about putting you down. I made a commitment and now I’m backing out of it. But life is short. Please know that I’ve given this decision a lot of thought. There are many other readers out there who will probably appreciate you more than I have.

So this is goodbye. Good luck to you. I hope there are no hard feelings. No, I won’t trash you on Goodreads.com or on Twitter. I do respect you, even if we’re not right for each other.

Very truly yours,

Cynthia

Gift List Time

Hello, Black Friday, the day after Thanksgiving when the traditional holiday shopping season kicks off. For the next month, parking will be my version of The Nightmare Before Christmas. The “be of good cheer” holiday music will not be reflected on the faces of the typical stressed-out shoppers. Ironic? I think so.

Although I will NOT be going out to shop on this Black Friday, I am starting to consider gift ideas.

Books are always great presents, right? It’s almost hard to believe that there is not a book out there for every person on a gift list. Someone doesn’t like to read novels much? What about a tabletop book filled with gorgeous photos? Or a travel book, cookbook, or volume of poems. Shoot, even a blank book is great for note taking, journal writing, addresses and lists of things to remember and to do. Truly I would love to spend my shopping time in stores picking out the perfect book for each person on my list.

Book lights are wonderful inventions, I think. Ingenious, really. Want to read while others are sleeping? Or dive into a novel while others are watching some lame movie (with the lights out)? A book light is the answer.

Fun writing pens are the best. I really hope that I’m not the only one who thinks so, but, writing, editing, and revising is ten times more fun with a really cool pen or (best of all) set of pens. I'm guessing this not just a writer thing.

Fun paper such as sticky notes in all shapes and sizes, playful pads, pages in wild colors, or (my personal favorite) graph paper. Pair funky paper with some great pens for a fabulous gift for the right person.

Write on, wipe of mugs are, in my opinion, a must have. What could be better than being able to scribble lists, reminders, notes to self, and the like onto a big, fat mug holding coffee, tea, hot chocolate or some other needed sustenance?

Okay, that's all I've got so far. Feel free to add to this list. ‘Tis the time of year!

Thanksgiving



The year has turned its circle,

The seasons come and go.


The harvest all is gathered in


And chilly north winds blow.


Orchards have shared their treasures,


The fields, their yellow grain,


So open wide the doorway~


Thanksgiving comes again! 


~Old Rhyme

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

Pies and the Power of Story

The other afternoon I was in the grocery store to pick up pecans, pie crusts, and all the sugary stuff I needed to bake a pecan pie for Thanksgiving Day. I have to be honest: my head was not filled with visions of roasting turkeys, fruity and nutty pies, Thanksgiving Day parades, or football. No, ideas for my latest novel in progress were swirling inside my cranium. I had just been reading about the power of story and this notion had its hooks in me. I kept muttering to myself: “In what ways is my latest story powerful?”

So, I suppose I got what I deserved when a white-haired woman twice my age and half my size hip-checked me out of her way in order to grab the last bag of pecan halves. Frankly, I’m surprised she didn’t taunt me with “You snooze, you lose, sucker,” as she took off. Because I deserved this. Grocery shopping around the holidays should never be taken lightly. I should have known better.

But now what? No pecans meant no pecan pie. So, I eyed the shelves for inspiration (also keeping a lookout for any of pecan lady’s friends). That’s when my eyes found the jars of mincemeat pie filling. I instantly recalled the story of how one Thanksgiving many years ago, when my mom’s mother was preparing pies for Thanksgiving Day, my five-year-old mother inquired about the filling of mincemeat pies. She loved them, so this was a reasonable question. For those of you not in the know, mincemeat is a preserve typically made up of small pieces of apple, raisons, other dried fruits, and spices. It is dark brown and lumpy. Anyway, before my grandmother could deliver the right explanation, my grandfather stepped in. Always the prankster, he told my mother that minces were furry little animals that lived along riverbanks. Every year, people caught these minces to chop them up for the mincemeat pies. Okay, this sounds pretty ghastly, but if you knew my grandfather, you’d know he delivered this with a twinkle in his eyes and a playful expression.

Still…

My mother didn’t eat mincemeat pies for a good twenty plus years. Even after she was assured again and again that her dad was teasing her and that mincemeat is made of dried fruits and spices.

“Now, that’s the power of story,” I muttered to myself as I pulled my hand back from a jar of mincemeat pie filling.

And as I climbed back into my car to go searching for pecan halves at another grocery store, I was indeed picturing cute little furry critters--minces--scampering about on the bank of a river.

Yes, the power of story.

Sweet Distractions

My dictionary defines distraction as "...that which divides the attention, or prevents concentration." Today, I'm defining it as three adorable Siamese cats, a gorgeous and unseasonably warm day, and a thirteen-year-old dog who honestly thinks that he is still a puppy (and as a result might give himself--or me--a heart attack).

I say this as I am sitting at my desk trying to write, while our newest Siamese addition, Sake, playfully leaps and throws himself around my office and the hallway. Why? He has a mouse--a pumpkin-orange mouse with a velvet tail and ears. It is, I'm pretty sure, based on his acrobatics, the greatest mouse ever. Much, much better than anything that lives outside and actually has legs. He has tossed it at me four times already. Probably on purpose since I pick it up and throw it for him. How could I resist when he grabs it and brings it back to me? I mean, really, this is too cute to be ignored. If you don't believe me, I can only assume that you have not met Sake. He is pure adorable in a Siamese suit.

It doesn't take long before his antics entice his best buddy, Chai, to join in the mouse fun. This quickly transforms into freestyle wrestling--under and over my feet. Which leads to chasing, which gets even the oldest Siamese involved. I now have what sounds like a herd of elephants racing through the house, slamming into furniture and banging through doorways.

All this chaos wakes up the dog. Given the beautiful day, he decides to pester

the only one with opposable thumbs--convenient for opening a door to the outside world. Never mind that I should be using these thumbs to type.

Sure enough, as soon as dog-face steps outside, he finds his tennis ball, picks it up and turns to me with an expression that pleads. Of course I give in to a few rounds of throw the ball. Here's the problem, though: J.D. (said dog) is a Snoodle-that's a schnauzer crossed with a poodle. There is nothing even close to a retriever in J's biological makeup, which is painfully apparent when someone throws a ball for him. He takes forever to find it. And once he does, he runs laps around the house with it clamped between his teeth. I think this is a Snoodle victory dance.

So, maybe distraction is better defined as that which isirresistible and divides the attention, or prevents concentration. Or, maybe I need to learn to shut my office door when I am writing.