I'm not afraid of the personal uncharted territory I'm going to explore in my books, going further than the length of an essay in What If They Lived?, and never having written a novel before. I have an inkling of what I want to write in those two Vegas-centered novels, the time period, a few of the characters, but I have to wait until I'm living in Las Vegas to get a feeling for the city as it is today, and to have the resources to see what it was like in the late 1940s, more than the books I've read have provided me with so far. Being in transition right now, I don't yet feel the sense of security I need in order to begin. I know that security in life is impossible since everything changes, but I mean the security of knowing that I'm home, that I can look to my city for inspiration and know that I'll get it all the time. A little bit longer, then I'll have it. As we get ready to move, I'm sure I'll have more to write about.
In the meantime, I've been pouring my creative energy into my DVD reviews, to keep my writing limber. I've written nine reviews in the past two weeks. I'm comfortable with this because I have to work within a certain framework, that of the DVD I'm reviewing, and figure out what kind of review to write with what I have, whether I can get personal in a review based on the subject matter or just write about if I liked a movie or didn't like it. This set of reviews runs the gamut of all that:
Black Hand
The Devil Makes Three
Rings on Her Fingers
Claudia
Kidnapped (1938)
The Kent Chronicles
Garrow's Law: Series 3
Vega$: The Third Season, Volume Two
Megacities
Lake Effects
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
Sunday, July 29, 2012
The First Time for a Book is Only the Beginning of Pleasure
When I first read The Memory of Running by Ron McLarty, learning about the lifestyle of grossly overweight Smithy Ide, I tiptoed through those rows of words, slowly taking in what Smithy had to tell, about his parents dying not far apart after a car accident, about his next-door neighbor Norma, who, when she was nine years old, was hit by a Volkswagen and ended up in a wheelchair permanently, about learning that his troubled sister Bethany died of exposure in Los Angeles, about the bicycle trip he decides to take to Los Angeles from Rhode Island to retrieve her body.
I wasn't sure what Smithy would offer me, what I would pick out for myself from his story, what I would hold close to me. As I slowly reached page 75, then 100, then 135 and so on (as slow as a speed reader can), there was so much I wanted to hold close to me. I loved the burgeoning relationship between Smithy and Norma, who always loved him, even when she was a kid. Smithy always pushed her away when he was 11 and then in his teens, but she never pulled away from him, never wanted to, not even when the family didn't visit her much and then not at all after her accident. Yet she still looked out through the blinds in her house, watching the family. They considered her one of them, even to Smithy's chagrin at times.
I bought The Memory of Running in paperback, because I checked it out of the Valencia library a few years ago, but never read it, and was curious about it again. After I finished it, after traveling with Smithy in my imagination, I knew I had to keep it. This novel had affected me, made me also see the benefit of sticking, at least partially, to the diet Smithy made for himself of fruit, mainly bananas, and tuna. Good, as long as you keep moving, keep your body active. I couldn't do it to the extent that Smithy does, but it's the one trip he had to make, to discover what he was in those years of dealing with Bethany's voices and the subsequent visits to Bradley Hospital for it, and who he is now, the kind of person he can be. He's the only one left of his family and it's a sobering task to take on.
Despite the many books I could read before we move, and therefore have less to move with (it's not likely that I'll want to keep most of the books I read. In my Goodreads account, under "proudly owned," The Memory of Running was only the third book this year that I put in my permanent collection. Since then, there have been three others, including The Loop by Joe Coomer, which you must read. It's kind of, sort of like The Memory of Running, except instead of bicycling cross country, Lyman, an orphan who works as a courtesy patrolman on the highway of Dallas at night picking up tires and other debris on the roads, tries to figure out what the parrot that has just come into his life is trying to say, believing that it has answers to his life, his past, understanding that past. It's quirkier than that description for sure), I took The Memory of Running out of one of the boxes in which my permanent collection of books rests. I wanted to read it again, to see what it feels like to me now.
It's the first time I've read the same book twice in one year. The Remains of the Day merits a once-a-year reading, but if I like my permanent collection that much, then I should dig into it as often as I feel necessary. Never mind that there are so many other books I want to read. Never mind that I could very well end up reading Angelina's Bachelors by Brian O'Reilly for the second, third, and fourth time this year (I read it again a few days ago and loved it even more). Never mind that I want to read Greyhound by Steffan Piper again and Taft 2012 by Jason Heller again after I finish The Memory of Running. These books, and all the others in my permanent collection, are meant to be read. They make up my mental sanctuary for myself and for my writing. I am excited about reading the beginning of the Nero Wolfe series of novels again, intending to read the series all the way through now, but I'm even more psyched to read Greyhound again, to travel on those Greyhound buses with young Sebastian Raines and relive his bus-ride friendship with Marcus, to read that moment again when Sebastian discovers Hall & Oates, and plays a few of their songs over and over.
I don't know why I haven't read my favorite books more than once a year, if at all. Today, I also learned that Erica Bauermeister's next novel, The Lost Art of Mixing, is a sequel to her The School of Essential Ingredients. I also proudly own The School of Essential Ingredients, and I want to read it again to prepare for a wonderful way to start the new year, since The Lost Art of Mixing is coming out on January 24. I have that much faith in Bauermeister to have written another gently emotional, involving, deeply descriptive novel.
And, scrolling through the second page of my "proudly owned" list, I noticed This Book Will Save Your Life by A.M. Homes, the only novel that captures completely what modern-day Los Angeles feels like. It's going with me, of course, but I should read it again, before we move. Another way to say goodbye to such a perplexing region.
It won't take me long to read these novels again, anyway. Not that I want to rush them. I want to spend more time on that Greyhound bus, to be in that nighttime cooking class headed by Lillian at her restaurant in The School of Essential Ingredients. But right now, I'm on page 154 of The Memory of Running after speeding through the beginning and what followed, faster than when I first read it. That first time, I was discovering what it contained. This time, I know what happens, but I want to experience it again, to feel all those emotions, to be touched by Smithy and Norma gradually connecting again, albeit by phone while Smithy's on the road. It feels just as strong as if they were together.
These books are mine. They're what I know through 26 years of reading so far. I should use them to counter the dry spells I sometimes have in my reading, when I'm not connecting with book after book. It sometimes happens. One of my eventual goals for my collection is to have every single Andy Capp book ever published. He's my favorite comic strip character, and he's still just as funny as he was at the beginning. I've also ordered all three of Sam Shepard's short story collections. He's one of my heroes, for writing that truly captures the feeling of desert living, but not Vegas desert living. Vast emptiness, which is beautiful and unsettling at the same time, before becoming overwhelmingly beautiful. I've met a few of the people he writes about, and he's got them down perfectly. You don't go into the desert without Sam Shepard. He helps make sense of the desert and makes you want to see more, to feel more of it, to stare in awe at what's out there. I wish there had been a Sam Shepard when my family and I moved to the Santa Clarita Valley. That would have made things a lot easier, just in understanding all this.
Yep, I'm going to do this. The last book I wore out from reading so much was Coldfire by Dean Koontz, which, now that I think of it, I want to read again. I bought another copy last year. My favorite books should be just as worn out. There's so much to enjoy in them again and again. And just like that, I also have a yen to read The Loop again, no matter that I only just read it for the first time last month. I know that just like The Memory of Running, I'll be reading it faster because I know what happens and want to feel its power all over again.
I wasn't sure what Smithy would offer me, what I would pick out for myself from his story, what I would hold close to me. As I slowly reached page 75, then 100, then 135 and so on (as slow as a speed reader can), there was so much I wanted to hold close to me. I loved the burgeoning relationship between Smithy and Norma, who always loved him, even when she was a kid. Smithy always pushed her away when he was 11 and then in his teens, but she never pulled away from him, never wanted to, not even when the family didn't visit her much and then not at all after her accident. Yet she still looked out through the blinds in her house, watching the family. They considered her one of them, even to Smithy's chagrin at times.
I bought The Memory of Running in paperback, because I checked it out of the Valencia library a few years ago, but never read it, and was curious about it again. After I finished it, after traveling with Smithy in my imagination, I knew I had to keep it. This novel had affected me, made me also see the benefit of sticking, at least partially, to the diet Smithy made for himself of fruit, mainly bananas, and tuna. Good, as long as you keep moving, keep your body active. I couldn't do it to the extent that Smithy does, but it's the one trip he had to make, to discover what he was in those years of dealing with Bethany's voices and the subsequent visits to Bradley Hospital for it, and who he is now, the kind of person he can be. He's the only one left of his family and it's a sobering task to take on.
Despite the many books I could read before we move, and therefore have less to move with (it's not likely that I'll want to keep most of the books I read. In my Goodreads account, under "proudly owned," The Memory of Running was only the third book this year that I put in my permanent collection. Since then, there have been three others, including The Loop by Joe Coomer, which you must read. It's kind of, sort of like The Memory of Running, except instead of bicycling cross country, Lyman, an orphan who works as a courtesy patrolman on the highway of Dallas at night picking up tires and other debris on the roads, tries to figure out what the parrot that has just come into his life is trying to say, believing that it has answers to his life, his past, understanding that past. It's quirkier than that description for sure), I took The Memory of Running out of one of the boxes in which my permanent collection of books rests. I wanted to read it again, to see what it feels like to me now.
It's the first time I've read the same book twice in one year. The Remains of the Day merits a once-a-year reading, but if I like my permanent collection that much, then I should dig into it as often as I feel necessary. Never mind that there are so many other books I want to read. Never mind that I could very well end up reading Angelina's Bachelors by Brian O'Reilly for the second, third, and fourth time this year (I read it again a few days ago and loved it even more). Never mind that I want to read Greyhound by Steffan Piper again and Taft 2012 by Jason Heller again after I finish The Memory of Running. These books, and all the others in my permanent collection, are meant to be read. They make up my mental sanctuary for myself and for my writing. I am excited about reading the beginning of the Nero Wolfe series of novels again, intending to read the series all the way through now, but I'm even more psyched to read Greyhound again, to travel on those Greyhound buses with young Sebastian Raines and relive his bus-ride friendship with Marcus, to read that moment again when Sebastian discovers Hall & Oates, and plays a few of their songs over and over.
I don't know why I haven't read my favorite books more than once a year, if at all. Today, I also learned that Erica Bauermeister's next novel, The Lost Art of Mixing, is a sequel to her The School of Essential Ingredients. I also proudly own The School of Essential Ingredients, and I want to read it again to prepare for a wonderful way to start the new year, since The Lost Art of Mixing is coming out on January 24. I have that much faith in Bauermeister to have written another gently emotional, involving, deeply descriptive novel.
And, scrolling through the second page of my "proudly owned" list, I noticed This Book Will Save Your Life by A.M. Homes, the only novel that captures completely what modern-day Los Angeles feels like. It's going with me, of course, but I should read it again, before we move. Another way to say goodbye to such a perplexing region.
It won't take me long to read these novels again, anyway. Not that I want to rush them. I want to spend more time on that Greyhound bus, to be in that nighttime cooking class headed by Lillian at her restaurant in The School of Essential Ingredients. But right now, I'm on page 154 of The Memory of Running after speeding through the beginning and what followed, faster than when I first read it. That first time, I was discovering what it contained. This time, I know what happens, but I want to experience it again, to feel all those emotions, to be touched by Smithy and Norma gradually connecting again, albeit by phone while Smithy's on the road. It feels just as strong as if they were together.
These books are mine. They're what I know through 26 years of reading so far. I should use them to counter the dry spells I sometimes have in my reading, when I'm not connecting with book after book. It sometimes happens. One of my eventual goals for my collection is to have every single Andy Capp book ever published. He's my favorite comic strip character, and he's still just as funny as he was at the beginning. I've also ordered all three of Sam Shepard's short story collections. He's one of my heroes, for writing that truly captures the feeling of desert living, but not Vegas desert living. Vast emptiness, which is beautiful and unsettling at the same time, before becoming overwhelmingly beautiful. I've met a few of the people he writes about, and he's got them down perfectly. You don't go into the desert without Sam Shepard. He helps make sense of the desert and makes you want to see more, to feel more of it, to stare in awe at what's out there. I wish there had been a Sam Shepard when my family and I moved to the Santa Clarita Valley. That would have made things a lot easier, just in understanding all this.
Yep, I'm going to do this. The last book I wore out from reading so much was Coldfire by Dean Koontz, which, now that I think of it, I want to read again. I bought another copy last year. My favorite books should be just as worn out. There's so much to enjoy in them again and again. And just like that, I also have a yen to read The Loop again, no matter that I only just read it for the first time last month. I know that just like The Memory of Running, I'll be reading it faster because I know what happens and want to feel its power all over again.
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
Walken Will Be Walken
I'm reading For My Eyes Only, John Glen's memoir about his career and especially as director of all the '80s Bond movies, and I love this piece about Christopher Walken ("A View to a Kill"):
"The only problem I had working with Christopher was his habit of wandering off while we were on location. I'd turn my back for a moment, only to discover that he'd gone for a walk somewhere. I ended up giving one of the junior assistant directors the sole responsibility of keeping an eye on Christopher and making sure he was around when I needed him for a shot. This became something of a game for Christopher and as soon as this guy was distracted for a second, he'd nip off in the other direction."
"The only problem I had working with Christopher was his habit of wandering off while we were on location. I'd turn my back for a moment, only to discover that he'd gone for a walk somewhere. I ended up giving one of the junior assistant directors the sole responsibility of keeping an eye on Christopher and making sure he was around when I needed him for a shot. This became something of a game for Christopher and as soon as this guy was distracted for a second, he'd nip off in the other direction."
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
New DVD Reviews
These five new DVD reviews sparked little passion in me, although I liked George Gently for its approach to mysteries, especially being set in late 1960s Northern England. An actual period piece for mysteries, striving to be accurate. I'm psyched about the series set for Mighty Morphin Power Rangers which spans the Original Series to Lost Galaxy. That may be where my passion lies, examining my childhood from my current perspective. I'm expecting that one soon.
Fortunately, it's the search for what gets me excited about DVDs that keeps me going, as well as interest in what I review, and all these DVDs were interesting, especially the camerawork in Foreign Parts:
Patriocracy
Joe + Belle
The Story of the Costume Drama
George Gently: Series 4
Fixation
Washington: Behind Closed Doors
Foreign Parts
Genetic Chile
Mr. Belvedere Rings the Bell
Fortunately, it's the search for what gets me excited about DVDs that keeps me going, as well as interest in what I review, and all these DVDs were interesting, especially the camerawork in Foreign Parts:
Patriocracy
Joe + Belle
The Story of the Costume Drama
George Gently: Series 4
Fixation
Washington: Behind Closed Doors
Foreign Parts
Genetic Chile
Mr. Belvedere Rings the Bell
As It Was Before It Goes to Someone Else
The carpet next to and behind my TV turned from white, with all that accumulated dust, to green yesterday. My makeshift box bookshelves are no longer bookshelves, but rather boxes with books in them, boxes that are still surprisingly sturdy after eight years. 20+ bags filled with books, stuffed animals, and other things are sitting outside at our front door walkway, waiting to be picked up by Vietnam Veterans of America, which has a local branch here. They said they'd pick up as much as we have, and so not only is it the best way to clear all this out, but we're doing a mitzvah at the same time.
This place is looking like it was when we moved in, before someone else buys it. It's surprising to see my room so organized now, but I didn't bother until now because I never cared about this place. In Las Vegas, I'll care enough about our new home to keep my room organized, because I know I'll be home.
Besides all this, and still more cleaning to do by the end of the week, I'm motivated to finish reading all the issues of Henderson Press up to the latest. I still have the print edition my parents brought back from their recent trip, but I'll read the rest online. Looking at the website, I have 26 issues left. It's grown to 24 pages, but still good for many quick reads.
And a few days ago, Dad had a question that I was quick to answer: If I could go anywhere in Southern California once more before we move, where would I want to go? I answered, "The Buena Park Downtown mall and Downtown Disney in Anaheim." Those were two of the only cities that truly felt like cities to me in this region, full of personality and never ignoring their own history. I want to go to both once more, also because Buena Park Downtown will be a research trip for me since I want to get a feel for the atmosphere again, as a few scenes in one of my future novels takes place there.
That's been it. Still lots to do to get to where I know I'll write more than I ever have.
This place is looking like it was when we moved in, before someone else buys it. It's surprising to see my room so organized now, but I didn't bother until now because I never cared about this place. In Las Vegas, I'll care enough about our new home to keep my room organized, because I know I'll be home.
Besides all this, and still more cleaning to do by the end of the week, I'm motivated to finish reading all the issues of Henderson Press up to the latest. I still have the print edition my parents brought back from their recent trip, but I'll read the rest online. Looking at the website, I have 26 issues left. It's grown to 24 pages, but still good for many quick reads.
And a few days ago, Dad had a question that I was quick to answer: If I could go anywhere in Southern California once more before we move, where would I want to go? I answered, "The Buena Park Downtown mall and Downtown Disney in Anaheim." Those were two of the only cities that truly felt like cities to me in this region, full of personality and never ignoring their own history. I want to go to both once more, also because Buena Park Downtown will be a research trip for me since I want to get a feel for the atmosphere again, as a few scenes in one of my future novels takes place there.
That's been it. Still lots to do to get to where I know I'll write more than I ever have.
Friday, July 20, 2012
A Comfy Goodreads Account Leads to Questions about Personal Space in My Life
Since 10th grade at Valencia High in 2005, Meridith has filled a quarter of a notebook with titles of books she wants to read. Most of them she crossed out because she wasn't interested in them anymore, but she's always added to it and checked off those she already read.
In our progress toward moving, which now includes cleaning out this place to make it look palace-like so one of our two realtors can come back next week to take photos to post online, Meridith was looking through her notebook, seeing which titles she read lately, which ones she's still interested in, and which ones she wanted to cross out. Watching her do this for a moment, I had an idea: How about a Goodreads account? I've had one since 2007 and it's served me well all this time, given that my to-read list on the site now holds over 4,000 titles, which would be impossible to write down in a notebook, though that's not the reason I signed up for an account five years ago. I wanted to keep steady track of my books and I know that I read a lot in a given week, so here was a site in which I could look up all the books I have, put them in my account, make different shelves of different names, and figure out what I want to read next based on what's in my to-read list and what Goodreads recommends through its mostly-stagnant recommendation program, which perhaps doesn't work for me now because I've read and rated 640 books, and perhaps Goodreads thinks I've got a handle on this now and don't need the recommendation program anymore. Perhaps I don't, but it's still fun to look through.
Meridith agreed to the idea and I helped her sign up for an account and gave her a tour of what the site offers and how she can organize her books. She rated a great number of Meg Cabot's books, made sure she became a fan of her and Hilary Duff on the site (their pages include blog entries linked from their official websites, so Meridith will also see that in her feed when she logs in), and put the books she wants to read into her to-read list. After she was done, her account showed that she had rated 107 books, she's currently reading The Last Chinese Chef by Nicole Mones (one of my favorite novels which is part of my permanent collection), and has 175 books in her to-read list, along with 26 in her "my favorite books so far" list and 26 in her "owned list." Only one book, Sundays at Tiffanys by James Patterson, is not part of her "owned" list but is in her "my favorite books so far" list.
After we finished setting up her account at 1:30 this morning, I told Meridith how much I envy her. I've had my account for five years, have added a monsterload of books, and last year, I turned my regular account into a Goodreads Author Profile, owing to my first book, What If They Lived?. I can't turn back to the sheer simplicity of Meridith's new account. I want whatever publicity I can get for my first book and for myself and my writing as I work on my next books and hopefully have them published in the years to come. My account is an endless rock concert of books, whereas Meridith's is a small shelf in the corner of a comfy room, with a recliner in front of it, and a tableside lamp or a bigger lamp next to it. Sometimes I wish I could have her account, but I need it the way it is. I've read a lot since I was two years old, and I'm happy to finally be the full-time voracious reader I've always wanted to be, but the utter peace of Meridith's Goodreads account gives me pause, makes me think about what I want in my life.
I think back to that visit to Legoland in Carlsbad, after which we drove to Hash House a Go Go on 5th Avenue in San Diego, and parked in a nearly empty lot a few blocks away, putting a few dollars into the slot that corresponded to our space in the bank of slots next to the sidewalk. Walking to Hash House a Go Go, the blinds of a window in a bungalow were open and I saw this tight little room with bookshelves full up, a tall lamp in one corner of the room, and a puffed-up large red leather easy chair in front of it. I wanted to live in that room right then and there. I wanted a room like that and I wanted it to feel as comfortable as that one looked.
Now I have that chance. Mom told me and Meridith that we need a bullhorn and GPS to find our way in our new home. It's half bigger than this place, with four bedrooms and two bathrooms. Since where we're living is all rentals, the cost is obviously much lower, and the plan to have Meridith and I share a room if it had been an apartment has been chucked aside. We'll have our own rooms, and this is where deep consideration comes in for me. I want bookshelves, real bookshelves, not the boxes I've had to use as bookshelves for the past eight years. So I'll see what's available in Las Vegas. I'll also finally be able to hang up my pictures, including prints of two Chris Consani paintings: Classic Interlude and Java Dreams.
I still have to research what kind of bed I want in my room, since we're not moving with the mattress I have on the floor, and I don't want to end up sleeping on the floor for a few days, as it will have to be on the first night. I want to make sure, though, that the overall feeling of my room is just like Meridith's Goodreads account, just as peaceful, and which can also double as gentle writing space. Depending on how big my room is, I may get a recliner later on, but not right away since I need to earn some money first. Bills will not be a problem since they're going to be split between the four of us, as has been arranged even years before this move.
Looking at photos of our new home that were sent to us by the manager of this property, there's a small backyard area that I can't wait to use. I can put a lawn chair out there and read for hours on the weekend if I want. I will devour everything that Las Vegas offers, but I want to live my life with as much peace as possible each day. I think any stress that might horn in will just roll off me because I'm battle-hardened from my nine years here, from writing for the former Canyon Call newspaper at College of the Canyons, from writing for The Signal, from all the times before that we've moved. Las Vegas will be my home, and I will treat it accordingly. A small, reserved life ironically lived large. I like the thought of that.
In our progress toward moving, which now includes cleaning out this place to make it look palace-like so one of our two realtors can come back next week to take photos to post online, Meridith was looking through her notebook, seeing which titles she read lately, which ones she's still interested in, and which ones she wanted to cross out. Watching her do this for a moment, I had an idea: How about a Goodreads account? I've had one since 2007 and it's served me well all this time, given that my to-read list on the site now holds over 4,000 titles, which would be impossible to write down in a notebook, though that's not the reason I signed up for an account five years ago. I wanted to keep steady track of my books and I know that I read a lot in a given week, so here was a site in which I could look up all the books I have, put them in my account, make different shelves of different names, and figure out what I want to read next based on what's in my to-read list and what Goodreads recommends through its mostly-stagnant recommendation program, which perhaps doesn't work for me now because I've read and rated 640 books, and perhaps Goodreads thinks I've got a handle on this now and don't need the recommendation program anymore. Perhaps I don't, but it's still fun to look through.
Meridith agreed to the idea and I helped her sign up for an account and gave her a tour of what the site offers and how she can organize her books. She rated a great number of Meg Cabot's books, made sure she became a fan of her and Hilary Duff on the site (their pages include blog entries linked from their official websites, so Meridith will also see that in her feed when she logs in), and put the books she wants to read into her to-read list. After she was done, her account showed that she had rated 107 books, she's currently reading The Last Chinese Chef by Nicole Mones (one of my favorite novels which is part of my permanent collection), and has 175 books in her to-read list, along with 26 in her "my favorite books so far" list and 26 in her "owned list." Only one book, Sundays at Tiffanys by James Patterson, is not part of her "owned" list but is in her "my favorite books so far" list.
After we finished setting up her account at 1:30 this morning, I told Meridith how much I envy her. I've had my account for five years, have added a monsterload of books, and last year, I turned my regular account into a Goodreads Author Profile, owing to my first book, What If They Lived?. I can't turn back to the sheer simplicity of Meridith's new account. I want whatever publicity I can get for my first book and for myself and my writing as I work on my next books and hopefully have them published in the years to come. My account is an endless rock concert of books, whereas Meridith's is a small shelf in the corner of a comfy room, with a recliner in front of it, and a tableside lamp or a bigger lamp next to it. Sometimes I wish I could have her account, but I need it the way it is. I've read a lot since I was two years old, and I'm happy to finally be the full-time voracious reader I've always wanted to be, but the utter peace of Meridith's Goodreads account gives me pause, makes me think about what I want in my life.
I think back to that visit to Legoland in Carlsbad, after which we drove to Hash House a Go Go on 5th Avenue in San Diego, and parked in a nearly empty lot a few blocks away, putting a few dollars into the slot that corresponded to our space in the bank of slots next to the sidewalk. Walking to Hash House a Go Go, the blinds of a window in a bungalow were open and I saw this tight little room with bookshelves full up, a tall lamp in one corner of the room, and a puffed-up large red leather easy chair in front of it. I wanted to live in that room right then and there. I wanted a room like that and I wanted it to feel as comfortable as that one looked.
Now I have that chance. Mom told me and Meridith that we need a bullhorn and GPS to find our way in our new home. It's half bigger than this place, with four bedrooms and two bathrooms. Since where we're living is all rentals, the cost is obviously much lower, and the plan to have Meridith and I share a room if it had been an apartment has been chucked aside. We'll have our own rooms, and this is where deep consideration comes in for me. I want bookshelves, real bookshelves, not the boxes I've had to use as bookshelves for the past eight years. So I'll see what's available in Las Vegas. I'll also finally be able to hang up my pictures, including prints of two Chris Consani paintings: Classic Interlude and Java Dreams.
I still have to research what kind of bed I want in my room, since we're not moving with the mattress I have on the floor, and I don't want to end up sleeping on the floor for a few days, as it will have to be on the first night. I want to make sure, though, that the overall feeling of my room is just like Meridith's Goodreads account, just as peaceful, and which can also double as gentle writing space. Depending on how big my room is, I may get a recliner later on, but not right away since I need to earn some money first. Bills will not be a problem since they're going to be split between the four of us, as has been arranged even years before this move.
Looking at photos of our new home that were sent to us by the manager of this property, there's a small backyard area that I can't wait to use. I can put a lawn chair out there and read for hours on the weekend if I want. I will devour everything that Las Vegas offers, but I want to live my life with as much peace as possible each day. I think any stress that might horn in will just roll off me because I'm battle-hardened from my nine years here, from writing for the former Canyon Call newspaper at College of the Canyons, from writing for The Signal, from all the times before that we've moved. Las Vegas will be my home, and I will treat it accordingly. A small, reserved life ironically lived large. I like the thought of that.
Monday, July 16, 2012
Loving Words
I love words. I love what they can do. I love that through a vast collection of them totaling anywhere from 100 to 200 or more pages, I can visit the Supreme Court, I can spend time in New Mexico, I can learn about various rooms in the White House, I can learn about the men who occupied those rooms. I love the comfort and stability words bring, as important to me as how walking through the College of the Canyons campus in my two years every late Friday afternoon helped me maintain my stability in my confusion about what Santa Clarita was, what it all meant, some inkling about what it was supposed to be. I love that through words, I have learned more and more about the history of Las Vegas, my future home city, seeing in my mind those streets that I'll soon drive, discovering what they were long before they were those streets, what was on them, what they replaced over time.
I love how I can sit on the couch for just an afternoon, read an entire novel, and felt that I've been somewhere entirely different, living a life I'll never live myself, but which I want to know. I love how with words I feel a kinship with writers who inspire me, writers that I want to emulate and yet establish my own style, and writers whose books make me want to do the best I can as I set out to write my own. I love that through words, I have learned more about the Airport series than Universal ever offered through its two-disc DVD set in 2004, a set I still proudly own. I love that I've learned so much about Jennings Lang, executive producer on the three sequels, just from reading old articles in family scrapbooks. I know that if it was possible to meet him (he died in 1996), I would have really liked him, since we both push for what we want, and both talk a mile a minute. My co-author can attest to that, after meeting him two weeks ago (more on that in a forthcoming entry).
I love that yesterday, I finished reading Supreme Conflict: The Inside Story of the Struggle for Control of the United States Supreme Court by Jan Crawford Greenburg, and it made me think of the biography I have of retired justice David Hackett Souter by Tinsley E. Yarbrough that I've tried reading many times before, but never made it through. It's not that it's bad (Souter is one of my favorite justices, mainly because of his quiet personal life, which included having to move a new, more expansive home after he found that his family's farmhouse (owned by his late parents) could not structurally support his book collection), but just that it was never the right time to get into it. Reading more about Souter in Supreme Conflict and figuring that those details are in this biography since Greenburg mentions it at the beginning of her notes section in the back, I want to see what else this biography holds for me to learn.
I love that because of words, I'm telling you all this right here. There are so many of them to use, and I chose all these. And after this, I'm going to go back to that Souter biography, probably finish it today, and see what I want to read next. There's so many choices, and I'm never intimidated by that. I love it. All because of words.
I love how I can sit on the couch for just an afternoon, read an entire novel, and felt that I've been somewhere entirely different, living a life I'll never live myself, but which I want to know. I love how with words I feel a kinship with writers who inspire me, writers that I want to emulate and yet establish my own style, and writers whose books make me want to do the best I can as I set out to write my own. I love that through words, I have learned more about the Airport series than Universal ever offered through its two-disc DVD set in 2004, a set I still proudly own. I love that I've learned so much about Jennings Lang, executive producer on the three sequels, just from reading old articles in family scrapbooks. I know that if it was possible to meet him (he died in 1996), I would have really liked him, since we both push for what we want, and both talk a mile a minute. My co-author can attest to that, after meeting him two weeks ago (more on that in a forthcoming entry).
I love that yesterday, I finished reading Supreme Conflict: The Inside Story of the Struggle for Control of the United States Supreme Court by Jan Crawford Greenburg, and it made me think of the biography I have of retired justice David Hackett Souter by Tinsley E. Yarbrough that I've tried reading many times before, but never made it through. It's not that it's bad (Souter is one of my favorite justices, mainly because of his quiet personal life, which included having to move a new, more expansive home after he found that his family's farmhouse (owned by his late parents) could not structurally support his book collection), but just that it was never the right time to get into it. Reading more about Souter in Supreme Conflict and figuring that those details are in this biography since Greenburg mentions it at the beginning of her notes section in the back, I want to see what else this biography holds for me to learn.
I love that because of words, I'm telling you all this right here. There are so many of them to use, and I chose all these. And after this, I'm going to go back to that Souter biography, probably finish it today, and see what I want to read next. There's so many choices, and I'm never intimidated by that. I love it. All because of words.
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