chicating | Entries tagged with books

Maybe I'll do this every week, but I won't promise. But here is one for today!

But if this blog truly has a job, I wouldn’t feel like I did it if I didn’t read and make notes on “Knife” since there is so much inside it that has also been here, in a halting way: crime, disability/recovery, and writing. I admired when on page 63 Rushdie wrote that he wanted his attacker, known in the book as A, to “look me in my one eye, and tell me the truth.” Because everything the young man did say seemed so painfully inadequate. Rushdie writes that he might not have been there if his airconditioner hadn’t gone out, if his newly-married life hadn’t hit such a high, and, of course, if he hadn’t written a book in “Satanic Verses” that had become That Book for so many. (His assailant barely knew about that, it should be noted, but that kind of notoriety does appear to leave a trail.) It’s hard to read that and not fall back into that perversely-comforting true-crime trap, that in some ways, might be part of the real draw for some of us: Suddenly, instead of a lonely-and-broke Saturday night(again), it seems suddenly perceptive not to have a date for six years, forcing The Friday’s Killer to look elsewhere for his yummy treats

After all this time, I finally wrote an "OMG, the stick's blue," story, as a lot of people did in my creative-writing classes in college. (A few were good, but I think that's what drama is, when you're twenty in the burbs. (I couldn't write one because I wasn't having sex--not that I am now, again, but a sort of speculative-fiction elegy to my would-be fertility seems appropriate now, in ways it might not have when my fondest dream was to Fit. Which, of course, I never really managed, more than being the quippy mascot who makes everyone feel better with how weird she is.But I guess I didn't want to fit enough just to copy, though I did want to rip off Ann Beattie and Philip Roth pretty hard in those days.

but given the political and cultural climate, I thought rather than just tick off some title that maybe I stole from my mother's shelf, maybe I'd speak out in favor of kids getting a hold of things they are too young for and learning things parents have a hard time talking about. Maybe I wouldn't be a writer without it.

Current Mood: confused

http://bohemiancrip.blogspot.com/2024/03/so-what-if-im-goddess-and-other-stories.html

years late...the ending rather downbeat, but perceptive.
Maybe I've got divorce on the brain: reading a debut novel called "Really Good, Actually" in which the young character is gobsmacked by the break up of her two-year-old marriage. (She hasn't quite reached her title thought yet. Not that I have, either, mind you.)

a comic novel I picked for the title, Ms. Demeanor. (As a reader, I am a sucker for a wacky title, maybe because I find titling my own stuff so difficult.)

The latest memoir about writing school from Stephanie Land. I'm kind of jealous of her for getting to Transcend Circumstances and all that jazz, although not because she's not good at what she does. Just wish my education could have been life-changing too.(Well, I guess I got a couple new ways of saying "I'm probably screwed," and a few different analyses of how it's not my fault that help a lot less now than when I was on fire learning about them.Not exactly the metamorphosis the brainy ugly duckling hopes for most!) And, dag, I'm fifty and still not a swan. Guess that's not going to happen either, huh? probably I'm just a factory-second duck. Quack!

Maybe I'll find some reason why I shouldn't be jealous.
Here's one that made me feel like "What year is this?"--going to my neighborhood Barnes and Noble picking up Jennifer Weiner's latest.

James McBride is trying to make literary/suspense a thing...if he could, it would only be good for a writer like me.(although he has the black experience to work from in ways that I wouldn't, obvs.)
Ironically, my first submission of 2024 went out yesterday, on a fairy-tale theme, but sort of a modern Little Mermaid. Not sure if I'm gonna press that point as hard as I did last year since it didn't lead me to anything, and since I'm no longer a kid trying not to wet her pants, little treats at the end of the end of the week/month aren't that motivating, in and of themselves. What I want to feel like is an artist showcasing her talents. Not a hoople crossing state lines to buy fricking lottery tickets(if it'll help, universe, my guidance counselor is probably dead. I can skip telling her to suck it now.)

I am an apostate to the American Church of Put Yourself Out There(or else the synod hasn't accepted my existence yet. Because I have tried on multiple levels, and, well, I end up back here. A lot.) I might go off about that a little more, but my luck is that my going full Festivus would be the one thing I ever did that the world paid attention to, so instead of UnDiscovered Talent On The Margins I'd get to be Bitter Old Crank Not that there's no overlap.

From "Wifey: by Judy Blume(if I don't attribute, I could be President?)

Sandy's tears were confused. They were not only for Lisbeth and Miranda and Mrs. Rabinowitz, but for herself. For her life, her only life, and the decisions she had never made.

Current Mood: artistic

in college or just after, I liked the part when young Frankie said he wanted to "swim and eat sweets for Ireland", but until now I've never really felt it until now.
Everything about fighting through life as a disabled person(especially as an activist, though I don't want to leave the impression that I've ever flushed my eyes with milk after a tear-gas attack or anything, though I read writing by people that have.) can be so unpleasant. As if the movement only works if I sign a pledge never to expect any joy at all--- maybe that's the only way I am an effective recruit.

And I still have to get my plaque scraped and get nagged about starting mammograms(Although, yes, I know lack of medical access is a Real Issue(TM) and I should be glad someone cares about my plaque or my so-far putative lumps. And I am, but it doesn't really change the fact that I wish somebody had fondled them more before I get the joy of finding out if they are Instruments of My Doom or not.)

My dentist won't do anything about his inaccessible office, though everyone there has some tip for me, as if they're all on some hidden podcast called "Disability: UR Doin' it rong"(indeed, fully half this country has probably "contributed" and their tips? Suck. But if I tell anyone that, despite the fact that it as-close-to-never-without-ruling-out-miracles has helped to have a rando give me a tip about my life, I'm still the bitch because this person I may not even know Was Only Trying To Help.) If the United States had "00" status, it could probably be called that. sigh.

Do not feel like disability meeting tonight, though the people at the meeting aren't the reason the community annoys me today...maybe I'll get into that another time.

I'll be on that Zoom cause I expect to collect some "atta-girls" that I've been expecting since June. I hope it helps...it's rotten to be thinking how fast life slips away AND be in a shabby mood like this.

Current Mood: frustrated

but Bohemian Crip had its 300th post today!
Should I be pleased or sad at all the other pursuits I set aside for this?
Not that it's a bad post, for all that it took kind of long to complete.
http://bohemiancrip.blogspot.com/2023/03/300th-post-is-about-books.html

Stayed up a bit too late last night reading one of the books I got over Christmas. Knew I was doing it, but it kind of felt like it had been a minute since I was into anything(my real life pales next to my dreams anyway. Like crumbs vs. croissants, I can’t help thinking, even though I am grateful for how people have stepped up to keep my life going as Mom recuperates. (Activist Brain wishes that were better, actually, but I have had a taste of that “It takes a village,” thing, just not enough to believe it’s a dominant principle in American life. Wonder if it’s Phoenix, or us, that’s kind of bad at building community. Wish we had one right now)
“Lessons In Chemistry” https://www.amazon.com/Lessons-Chemistry-Novel-Bonnie-Garmus/dp/038554734X was a fresh, flying car of a book that reminded me a bit of “Where Did You Go, Bernadette?” Except maybe the quirkiness was more effective in “Lessons” –I liked both books, but if quirky or anachronistic bugs you, you might want o read some other things.

http://bohemiancrip.blogspot.com/2023/01/maybe-plotinus-is-part-of-our-problem.html
Really enjoyed "Easy Beauty" but it definitely didn't leave me feeling like the smart one so much.
Also, wish I could read work by another disabled person without hoping they had The Answer to some of our shared struggles/ challenges, because I know that's a lot of pressure and that it seems that Dr, Cooper- Jones and I see life very differently, anyway.

The Big Show rocks. Love it. Too bad politics *doesn't* turn Dan Patrick's crank...I believe his take on it would be more interesting than following Matthews or Fineman through approximately their eleventh millionth election cycle.
Sometimes I wish it didn't turn my crank so much either.