Showing posts with label annie dillard. Show all posts

the 2010 book list

I wasn't even going to write out the list of books I read this year because I shamefacedly thought it wasn't enough to make a list.  However, once I checked into it, I realized I had read more than I remembered, and that over half of them were worthy of sharing!  Anyway, here's the list of what I read this past year, in order:


by Gabriel Garcia Marquez

This was a short read I picked for a vacation to Florida early in the year.  I really enjoyed it, but Marquez isn't for everyone.  Completely salacious and somewhat shocking to my Victorian sensibilities, the book reminds me of all the reasons I love "Lolita."  One of my major tenants in life is to try and vicariously experience varying forms of human existence.  Very intrigued by what it must be like to be in another human body and living an entirely different life, I find myself gravitating toward authors who write sensational characters but who at their very core are universally the same as you and I.  We ache for love, we have sexual appetites, we eat, we drink, we read, we die. 



by Jeannette Walls

For those of you who are well-acquainted with my snobbery, you might be shocked to find a non-classic book on my list.  Well, I joined an online book club that I lost interest in, but this is the one book I read from the pool.  I hadn't heard of this author before and I certainly have not paid $20 for a book published seconds ago, but it was a good experience in new things.  It was the kind of read you want when you don't want to put your book down.  Super easy reading, poignant at times, and memorable.  I recommend it.



by Sylvia Plath

I actually started this many years ago, but had set it aside for a while. This year, I finally finished it.  Melodrama aside, I think SP's journals make my top two favorite/most inspiring books of all time.  It actually began an obsession about journaling and reading other's journals (looking to start Steinbeck's "Journal of a Novel" this year).  There is absolutely nothing like experiencing another human soul than reading their own interpretation of it.  I miss SP when I am not immersed in her words so I am sure to have this one readily available on my nightstand.


by Kurt Vonnegut

I had forgotten to pack any books of merit when I traveled to San Diego to stay with my sister in March.  She had this one and I had been meaning to start reading Vonnegut for ages.  I really, really loved this book...so damn quotable and slippery with sardonic undertones.  Loved how bizarre and poignant it was.  I want to continue reading his stuff, anyone have recommendations about where to go from here?



by Christopher Moore

Another modern book?!  More pulp fiction? I know, I know.  This one also came recommended by my sister, and it was beyond enjoyable.  Of course it won't become a classic, but it CAN become something you will laugh your ass off reading.  It's also surprisingly smart.



by Annie Dillard

I admit that this book baffled me entirely.  Annie was strange and detached in this piece, her words more like the elusive lyrical angst of poetry rather than the linear path of prose.  Once I stopped being so frustrated that I didn't understand what was going on, I enjoyed it much more.  She wrote it while living on an island in the Puget Sound, so it was interesting to know the places of which she spoke. I cannot say that I would recommend it to a burgeoning Dillard fan, but I am very glad to have read it and found something new in an author I have come to regard as family to my soul.  Also, it's really short...



by Ayn Rand

Another recommendation by my sister, who picked it up for a trip and returned telling me to read it.  How I had never before read any Ayn Rand is well beyond me, but it was a good one to start with.  Very easy to read and very short as well.  I am a sucker for a good dystopian plot, and it delivered.  Recognizing that although I felt I had read the story before ("Brave New World", "1984" - side-note, "Anthem" was published just 5 years after BNW and 12 years before 1984), she was one of the only women at that time to stir up such a raucous.  



by Annie Dillard

By far the best book I read this year.  This is also the best book on writing I've ever read.  Annie manages to explain with realism the plight/pleasure of writing.  I would read this in the morning before writing and it was my single inspiration and all I needed to find my space that day.  A complete must for anyone who writes.  It will probably become a frequent reference/yearly read for me.

Voila.

the many moods of the madame

a working breakfast

Good Morning, other people who also stare at computer screens.
Above, you'll see my working breakfast, complete with blueberry streusel muffin and coffee that I must milk because it is entirely too gross to consume without.  Ahh, office coffee.

Today is good.

Yesterday was a day where traffic actually made me cry and thrash about in my car
(note: on my way to Nordstrom to pick up a pair of boots that were left on their stretchers, which ended up STILL being too tight on my Norwegian calves).
The gray rain couldn't have been more melancholy.
The food I ate couldn't have been more bland.
I began to fall into a spiral of overwhelm...you know, the kind where "What the heck am I going to make for dinner??" speedily snowballs into, "Oh my god, when am I going to have children?!!!"
It's a slippery slope, that dinner conundrum.
(note: I made Devon's* meatball soup).


finishing

Quite in contrast, the day before yesterday (also known as Monday) I noticed a goodly amount of euphoria surging through my blood.
My music (currently the Velvet Goldmine soundtrack) couldn't be loud enough.
The leaves couldn't have been more vibrant and stunning.
Finishing my book couldn't have been more profound.
Everything leaked beauty.
My heart could not contain it.

ride home
I suppose it would be true to fashion if I were to engage in some sort of overly-serious analysis of these particular mood swings.  But I just kinda don't care.
And this not caring is my newest skill set.

It's the jolly good time we women get to share...
and I guess I'm used to just being along for the ride.



*(another note: Devon just launched her new blog and etsy store.  So great!  She's an important creative resource in my kitchen, so I wanted to share her with you. One of my most treasured gifts are the hand-written recipes she sent me while I was living with my sister earlier this year.  Devon mentioned not having profound words to comfort me, but that she did know she could cook well, and that sharing these with me was her way of comforting me.  It warmed my heart so much AND I continually read her note and use those recipes.  Story says: USE YOUR HAND TO WRITE THINGS.  End Note.)

a writer

Making My Way


"There is within my own definition an incredulity about being a 'writer.'  But truly, here I am with pen, paper, and thoughts communicated upon the page.  I am a writer.  That it was always this simple gives me glee.  I know for some it remains paramount, but I feel that public recognition of this fact does not really matter at all.  The catch?  I really must write to be thusly defined - not 'have written' for then I WAS a writer - not 'will write' for then I am only ever always BECOMING a writer, one elusive day. Today I write, therefore...today I am a writer. Today is all that matters."


The above is an excerpt from my journal...written this morning while Clara banged her cheerio bowl on her high-chair tray.  Ever since writing the blog post last week wherein I committed to myself to actually WORK on my writing projects (aside from correspondence, journaling, and blogging), I have really never felt so good about writing.

I've had only a few rules.
- Be gentle with myself.
- Set a timer for 30 minutes.

It's been fascinating to discover that the particular subject I'm writing about is a torrential downpour of thoughts and words.  I hope to be finished with it in November.


It just feels good to be working.

In the meantime, I've been reading.  Annie Dillard's "The Writing Life" may very well be the best book I've read all year.  It is so inspiring.  Since I also committed to a "quite time" every morning (while Clara naps of course), I am reminded yet again of something I always told my students.  When looking for inspiration to write, READ.

Although she does not outright claim this, I've deduced Dillard's formula for a writer, which is by no means complete, for I have yet to finish the book.  Thus far a writer must have the following:

: solitude :
: physical exertion :
: a schedule :

I am good with the first and the last, now for a nightly Salsa class.
Maybe the saint can build me a dance studio.

Here's to work.
Here's to the writer.
Here's to homemade chicken pot pie for dinner,