"When you hit a wall, just kick in it."

[Warning :::::: I wrote this late at night, and it gets a little too self-reflective, so bear with me :::::: Warning]

To be an artist.
I have always revered the life of an artist. Maybe not the being starved, penniless part - but the part where you are able to create things, and comment on society or mankind or whatever - that is what I covet. To be different, to make a difference, to touch people with your gift.

These lofty proclamations that I make to myself (and sometimes to you) like writing everyday or picking up a paintbrush again or just being someone who can think outside the box - these promises exhilarate and stifle me. My creative soul is at odds with my Type-A personality. I am practical and safe but I wish to be spontaneous.

I like art because it gives me the opportunity to let go. When I took art classes in college I would get paint everywhere and I didn't stress over every detail. This person who made non-stop lists all day long - short of scheduling bathroom breaks - could not be the same person as the one dancing to her iPod in the dimly lit studio at 1 a.m., splashing paint all over the place, could she? Can she?

Just Kids by Patti Smith unearthed all these queries and brought them to the forefront of my mind again. And it validated my persistent want for a creative partner. It's funny because, just the other day I was talking to my friends about wanting someone to help me stay on top of my writing. Someone I could send drafts back and forth to, commenting on each others' work. An accomplice to constructively criticize and praise. I was just thinking that if I did so well and was motivated by accountability with the gym maybe I could transfer that helpfulness to my writing. Yes - I have you guys to keep my accountable - but unless you badger me and give me that "We have to do this! We will feel greatly accomplished afterward! Don't let me down" face - it unfortunately doesn't have the same effect.


Patti and Robert were lovers, partners and friends. They pushed each other to be the best versions of their creative selves. They understood each other on a deeper level. They loved each other through everything. Even when they didn't understand some choices, they were still respectful and supportive. It is this that I crave the most. A creative soulmate.

Soulmates. God, that sounds so cliche and naive. But this is different. I'm not talking about the "soulmates" in movies or books. I'm talking about those people in your life that just get you. There isn't just one out there for you. I think there are a select few who will fit the bill. One soulmate may be totally different from the next depending on where you are in your life. But essentially they all do the same thing - accept you. They never try to change you. What they do is push you to be the best version of yourself  - the one you constantly think about being.

I guess my question is, is this too much to ask for?

Audrey Niffenegger ** Double Feature ** Part I

I've now read two of Audrey Niffenegger's books and I think I see a bit of a pattern. First she lures you in with the promise of mischievous fantasy, makes you fall in love with her characters and just when you are getting comfortable she pierces you with a (slightly expected but unwanted) twist.

I am frequently being sucked into bargain book stores, garage sales, and used book fairs. It doesn't matter if I'm running late for something or meeting up with someone for lunch. I can't stop myself from being sidetracked. The sirens call me and I answer. You might be thinking, "Get some self-control, woman!" But if it hadn't been for one of my unanticipated stops at one of these burgeoning blacktop businesses, I would never have stumbled upon my copy of The Time Traveler's Wife.

Normally, a book as clunky as this one would have made me look the other way. The vague description on the back would have waved me along. But something about the image on the cover kept me coming back. The impatient little girl with her pristine, white knee socks and the large brown leather shoes placed neatly on a flannel blanket waiting for the feet to fill them. Circling around the tables of books, I methodically made my way back to the same pile over and over again, the image of the shoes peeking back at me, urging me to give it a chance. So, what else could I do? I bought it.*  I didn't think anything of it. I knew this book would be placed on my shelf where it would wait for me to pluck it from its slumber when the mood struck. What usually ends up happening is, I forget that I own the book, I eventually hear that a movie is coming out based on the book, then I search for said book, plop down and read it.

When books get turned into movies, I become anxious and panic stricken. Will I have enough time to read the book before the movie comes out? Will the book be good? Will the movie be good? Will there be disappointment like there always is when Hollywood tries to recreate something as magical as what an author has created on his or her pages? Those pages that ignite your own imagination? But those aren't the thoughts that went through my mind when I finished Time Traveler's Wife (TTW). I was intrigued and somewhat excited to see how they would portray this epic love story on the silver screen.

It was the first time that I wanted them to Hollywood-ize a book. That's not to say that I was dissatisfied with it. I would even go as far as to say that TTW is one of my favorite novels. But when you are given the opportunity to see a different outcome, wouldn't you want it? It's kind of like watching a movie that gives you the option of seeing the "alternate ending"; don't you click it, just to see what else could have happened?

I was given the chance to appreciate both adaptations of a love story that surpassed practicality and time. I fell in love with Henry and Claire. I appreciated the innocence of fate weaving itself throughout their story. At times it was dark, a habit in Niffenegger's writing, but the dark moments just helped highlight the lighter ones. I really don't want to spoil it by giving away anything about the book, but I do highly recommend it.

In regards to the movie (which I am eagerly awaiting! I ordered it a week ago!!), what can I say? It won me over. The first song accompanying the beginning credits was "Lo, how a rose e're blooming", one of my all time favorite songs. And I think that they cast it well with Rachel McAdams as Claire and Eric Bana as Henry. But I may be biased, because I love them both. Yes, there was some disappointment with certain details, but all in all I liked it.

With all that being said, I would still suggest reading the book before seeing the movie. It is a personal preference, but I like to maintain the authenticity and integrity of the author's work in its original form. It makes it easier to create my own versions of the characters, instead of picturing the actors cast in the roles.

My Life in France - Julia Child

If we go back to my first post about Julia Child, you will remember that one of my ambitions was to read My Life In France. I was enchanted by the relationship Julia shared with her husband, with France and with la cuisine française. So as soon as I finished Julie and Julia, I requested the book (during the summer) from my library......and waited until December to actually read it! And once again, the love affair between the Childs sent my heart aflutter.

Their quirky sense of humor and the way they manage to understand each other's every peccadillo astounds me. It got my brain thinking...that's what I want...someone who is going to understand all those little things about me, that may annoy an innocent bystander, but that will make them love me even more. I believe that you have to find someone who is going to love your imperfections even more than your "perfections". And I feel like that's what Julia and Paul had. When you read about their adventures and their spontaneity...it's like they brought out the best in each other, in their own unique way. It's a modern day Romeo and Juliet, minus the dying and plus the good food, good friends and good humor.

One thing that I learned, that made me fall in love with them even more is that instead of sending out Christmas cards, they sent out Valentine's Day cards. In the book Julia says that Christmas was too hectic, it always crept up on them and they could never send out the cards in time. So their tradition was to take "lovey" pictures of themselves and send those out to their friends in time for Valentine's Day. A sample of their Valentine's Day cards is in the photo insert in the book, and they are priceless.

Since I've started working in publishing, I've realized how difficult it can be for authors to find a collaborator who is going to bring out his or her real voice in their book. Sometimes, an author is not a writer, and finding someone who is going to stay true to his or her own voice and personality is essential. Julia was reticent about writing her story, but when she finally did decide to put it all down, she could not have found a better person to help her. Alex Prud'homme, Paul Child's great-nephew captured Julia in a way, that even though I didn't know her personally, I could feel her presence and fun-loving charisma resonating off the page.

If I closed my eyes, I could hear her high-lilting voice booming joyfully; sharing each one of her experiences with me. I savored the French dishes that changed how her palate tasted life. And I felt my heart leap every time she described her marriage and interactions with Paul.

Her story is inspiring to say the least. Moving to France and diving into doing something that I love, with no regrets? Sounds perfect. When I was in high school my sister used to joke that I was like Gertrude Stein. She'd say that like Stein, “America is my country and Paris is my hometown.” Lucky enough to visit Paris more than once, I was always romanced by the people, the art, the language and the lifestyle. It felt right when I was walking down the street, baguette in hand, Eiffel Tower in the background. French pastries are my weakness, but unlike Julia, my affinity for French cooking is nonexistent.

I guess growing up in a Greek household, my love for olive oil trumps my French ancestry's butter-loving butt.

A bientôt, mes amis!

For a great book review of My Life In France check out this link:
http://www.nytimes.com/2006/05/28/books/review/28riding.html

The one that got away?

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?

Post Script:

According to Jane pg.223

"Your soul mate could not be genuinely happy without you. You deserve someone whose eyes light up when he sees you across the room, someone who'll rub your shoulders when they're aching just because he wants to relieve your pain. Someone whose heart never stops beating for you."