Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Thank goodness that my reader's block went away! I thought I was seriously broken!
You ever wonder about the one that got away? Honestly, if you say no, everyone knows that you're lying, unless you married your first love and you are one of thooooose people ;)
The first book I read by Harriet Evans was Hopeless Romantic. Her writing style was similar to that of Sophie Kinsella's and it was one of those books that gives you that extra spring in your step because it reminds you that love is possible and waiting at the turn of every corner.
The Love of Her Life was exactly the kind of book that I needed to get me back in the reading ring. It was full of love, mix-ups, self-deprecation and secret trysts. Yes, I know these books are predictable and some may say shallow. But don't you remember the days when you would day dream about fairy tales and really think that prince charming was going to come and sweep you off your feet? So, why not bring a little of that magic back into your adult life? I know I'm tired of the cynicism that comes with age regarding love.
Being 20-something, we're bombarded with new ideals on how love should be, how we should meet, how we should act, how we should live, etc. Why can't we stop texting and emailing and facebooking and barhopping long enough to jolt a little romantic magic into our lives? Even if it is through fiction. I am not saying we should stop everything, hole up into our reading nooks and never come out because we'll never meet anyone like the guys in the books. All I'm saying is that sometimes I feel like romance is low on the list of thing we look for nowadays.
Maybe I'm wrong, and should listen to my sister when she tells me that I won't find the guy of my dreams by bumping into him in a bookstore or spilling coffee on him at a Starbucks. Maybe I should just suck it up, buy a slutty Halloween costume, pay the $25-$50 cover charge and prowl Manhattan on Oct. 31st like the rest of my co-eds.
Am I expecting too much or too little?
Monday, October 26, 2009
When I was younger, I had two favorite spots. In the winter, it was my laundry room and in the summer it was my hammock.
Summer called for a different atmosphere. A light breeze, wind giggling through the leaves and a lazy lullaby slightly creaking in the background. Attached to two perfectly spaced trees, my hammock swayed me to another world. The smell of grass and suntan lotion always perfuming the air. It was the perfect place to imagine the adventures I was gobbling up with every turn of the page.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
I have not been able to pick up a book since I finished The Glamorous (Double) Life of Isabel Bookbinder by Holly McQueen. This has happened to me once before this past year. It was after I read The Reader by Bernard Shaw.
Sometimes it happens because the book was too good, sad or thought provoking so my brain will go on strike, as if saying, "I will not let you cheat on this book and throw away the perfect relationship you've created." OR it will happen because the book was so bad that my brain will go on strike, as if saying, "Really? You think I'm going to trust you to pick out another monstrosity to read? I don't think so."
And it's not for lack of material, either. I have piles of books in my apartment, just waiting to be thumbed through, turned, folded and loved by me, but my mind is not having it!
What can I do???
I am carrying around How to Buy a Love of Reading by Tanya Egan Gibson (an ironic joke played on me by the Fates, I'm sure) hoping that at some point the words will just begin to melt away the barricade.
Wish me luck!
Thursday, October 8, 2009
I will miss the new friends I have met, but I am confident that this is not the end but only the beginning!
Now, it is time to PARTY!!!!!!
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
"YES! THIS IS MY CHANCE!"*
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
For some reason, I tend to shy away from (read "avoid like the plague") short stories. I don't really know why; could it be residual from my high school English classes, where A Story and Its Writer was a runner-up to the Bible? Who knows?!
All I know is that up until now, an overwhelming feeling of dread overcame me every time I saw the words, "compilation" or "collection" paired with any title.
However, the short stories in Love Begins in Winter rid me of my aversion and satisfied my unknown need for an unique definition of everyday "love".
Things I liked (excuse my over analysis since, I was an English major):
1. Each story is a love story between strangers
2. Since the title is "love begins in winter", it is fitting that the stories are not typical girl meets boy (boy meets boy; girl meets girl), fall in love and live happily ever after. Spring is the time for rebirth, new life, new love. It makes sense when a pair falls in love with the flowers in bloom and the birds chirping. But winter is different. Winter is cold and dark. The sun does not come out to remind you that love is in the air or that your day is full of possibilities. Van Booy broke that stereotype and made love happen when there was nothing but the minimum nourishing it.
3. In their brief encounters, these strangers find connections with one another through personal experiences and memories.
4. The stories were authentic; the perfect mixture of jade and happiness.
Maybe I liked it because it was realistic. I mean, don't all relationships start off this way? You meet a stranger and then as time passes you become acquaintances and then friends.
I know; So perceptive and deep. It surprises me too sometimes.