The Guardian says archery is cool again, and it's thanks to a heroine of Young Adult fiction, Katniss Everdeen.
And I believe it. I've experienced this type of popularity piggy-backing when I was young and impressionable, whether it was a Super Nintendo game piquing my interest in the World Cup, or the adventures of Emilio Estevez and his Mighty Ducks causing my friends and I to get rollerblades and commit faux-hockey stops in the library parking lot. Shoot, I knew archery was a great sport ever since Disney's Robin Hood outfoxed Prince John in a competition for maid Marian's kiss.
Should I say, just because it's literature, that Katniss' grip is more genuine, effective or lasting? The influence of Katniss is more important than Emelio's, but the difference is circumstantial. Whereas hockey is a high-profile sport, I don't think many people are familiar with archery. Katniss, like Legolas, helped bring a long-lasting tradition to the fore of our awarenesses. The Mighty Ducks instead helped a sport with a large following reach out to the casual fan.
It's also significant that Katniss is a young women. According to The Guardian, in 2011 teenage girls were polled concerning the sport they most wanted to try, and archery came out on top. If it were this year, you might say the Olympics had something to do with the spike in popularity, but since it was last year the link to The Hunger Games is obvious.
Literature's roll is to teach, entertain and inspire. Katniss made once again relatable an ancient form of recreation and survival. Films, and even video games, have the ability to do all these things, but the leaning is always toward entertainment. With a book we're able to take teaching, be entertained and become inspired for hours--and not even feel guilty about it.
July 31, 2012
July 28, 2012
Grab Bag: some favorites from mommie's shelf
Apparently I have the best mom in the world. Let me give you a few examples.
Last month we went for breakfast on Main Street, and even before we get our food I'm pulling out my latest treasure. It's a book I've bought online after hours of searching called I Used to Be An Artichoke, by Maureen McGinn.
"You remember this one?" I ask mom, beaming childishly.
"Oh, yes," mom says, encouraging my enthusiasm.
I begin to pour over the book. 'A' to 'Z,' this little veggie morfs from one object to the next before eventually coming back to becoming an Artichoke. My mom smiles with me at the pictures.
I recently celebrated a quiet birthday at my parents' with fried chicken, the grandparents, Apples to Apples. I'm taking turn opening my gifts with my grandmother, whose birthday is a day after mine. I'm coming accross the usual suspects--cards, gifts certificates, journals--and I'm down to one more. I figure I'll breeze through the last one before getting to the cake, so I'm ripping paper off corner. My fingers flinch as soon I'm looking at the back covers of two books from a favorite children's series growing up. Then to my joy two accompanying cassette tapes pop out, and I'm thinking, it's my party, I can cry if I want to.
Yesterday we went to my parents' house to borrow a calculator, but even an innocent errand like this doesn't escape mom's ability to stoke the flames of my nostalgia. While daughter-in-law catches up with mother-in-law, I glance toward the door and spot the gem. An older than dirt copy of Walter Farley's Littl Black, a Pony. Beaten-up, scotch-tape beauty. We're saying goodbyes when I pose with the book, smiling. "Yes, you found it!" mom says. "I thought of retaping the binding, but I figured it's charming like it is." That is, darlingly delapidated. I take the brave pony with us and feel like I've gained the world.
Last month we went for breakfast on Main Street, and even before we get our food I'm pulling out my latest treasure. It's a book I've bought online after hours of searching called I Used to Be An Artichoke, by Maureen McGinn."You remember this one?" I ask mom, beaming childishly.
"Oh, yes," mom says, encouraging my enthusiasm.
I begin to pour over the book. 'A' to 'Z,' this little veggie morfs from one object to the next before eventually coming back to becoming an Artichoke. My mom smiles with me at the pictures.
I recently celebrated a quiet birthday at my parents' with fried chicken, the grandparents, Apples to Apples. I'm taking turn opening my gifts with my grandmother, whose birthday is a day after mine. I'm coming accross the usual suspects--cards, gifts certificates, journals--and I'm down to one more. I figure I'll breeze through the last one before getting to the cake, so I'm ripping paper off corner. My fingers flinch as soon I'm looking at the back covers of two books from a favorite children's series growing up. Then to my joy two accompanying cassette tapes pop out, and I'm thinking, it's my party, I can cry if I want to.
Yesterday we went to my parents' house to borrow a calculator, but even an innocent errand like this doesn't escape mom's ability to stoke the flames of my nostalgia. While daughter-in-law catches up with mother-in-law, I glance toward the door and spot the gem. An older than dirt copy of Walter Farley's Littl Black, a Pony. Beaten-up, scotch-tape beauty. We're saying goodbyes when I pose with the book, smiling. "Yes, you found it!" mom says. "I thought of retaping the binding, but I figured it's charming like it is." That is, darlingly delapidated. I take the brave pony with us and feel like I've gained the world.
I know you're wondering how I can be so lucky to have such frequent thrills of nostalgia without being crushed by its joy. It takes a lot of practice. Which means I'll be back with more greats from my childhood.
July 27, 2012
Writer's Corner: short story: the Portal Exploration part 1
Scout Miller was a man of banal ways, uncelebrated means, and incredibly normal appearance. Yet Scout was a lucky man, being married to one of the most wonderful women this side of heaven. Gina was a quietly beautiful wife who volunteered in her community weekly and gave herself to her family life. Because of her efforts, and despite his, Scout was gifted with two compassionate children, Sam and Vicki. Scout's everyday existence was spent trying to appreciate the incredible life he'd been given, and to some day become worthy of it.
Sadly, Scout's family was killed on a Saturday morning in November. Scout's kids were accompanying Gina to a doctor's appointment when Gina was mugged at gunpoint. Vicki screamed as the man in an oversized winter coat rasped, "get on your knees, kids." "Do what he says," Gina said courageously. The man threw Gina's purse to the ground and wrapped his snowmobile gloves around her neck. As her face purpled, Sam jumped at the man but fell with a shot. Vicki looked with shock into the man's face before she, too was shot in the chest and fell to the cement with her mom and brother.
The news hit Scout with a crushing blow. For a week he sat numbly on his wide couch where his family watched movies together, eating endless bags of greasy chips with high-calorie dips and putting away cheap beer by the six-pack. His second week of mourning Scout dropped the chips and upped his drinking to mostly liquor. He would think about the times in college he and Gina would drink White Russians at the pool hall. In painful nostalgia he stumbled to a hall downtown where he drank whisky sours and played horrible pool. He quickly became a laughing stock and willingly excepted bets from sharks, but the owner put a stop to it after Scout had lost $150.
To be continued...
Sadly, Scout's family was killed on a Saturday morning in November. Scout's kids were accompanying Gina to a doctor's appointment when Gina was mugged at gunpoint. Vicki screamed as the man in an oversized winter coat rasped, "get on your knees, kids." "Do what he says," Gina said courageously. The man threw Gina's purse to the ground and wrapped his snowmobile gloves around her neck. As her face purpled, Sam jumped at the man but fell with a shot. Vicki looked with shock into the man's face before she, too was shot in the chest and fell to the cement with her mom and brother.
The news hit Scout with a crushing blow. For a week he sat numbly on his wide couch where his family watched movies together, eating endless bags of greasy chips with high-calorie dips and putting away cheap beer by the six-pack. His second week of mourning Scout dropped the chips and upped his drinking to mostly liquor. He would think about the times in college he and Gina would drink White Russians at the pool hall. In painful nostalgia he stumbled to a hall downtown where he drank whisky sours and played horrible pool. He quickly became a laughing stock and willingly excepted bets from sharks, but the owner put a stop to it after Scout had lost $150.
To be continued...
July 26, 2012
SOLL: Hole-in-the-wall Bookstore a Fossil
In our current media age, local bookstores are becoming dinosaurs. As an advocate for the people who invest in literature locally, I try to support local bookstores by giving them business and keeping in tow with their recent developments. There are some bookstores in Chattanooga I love to patronize and make my role as literary advocate easy and fun. However, there are others who challenge my graces and my idea of the way literature ought to be shared.
The strip mall where The Book Rack resides is on property directly adjacent to the apartments my brother and our close friend used to rent in Red Bank, TN. So one day I stopped in casually to soak in their niche. I stepped into a cozy office-sized room with paperback books lining the walls on red shelves, with six-foot high shelves crossing the middle of the room as well. The lady at the service desk looked up from the book she was reading and explained they were an all-paperback establishment. They traded books but did not buy. And they were cash only, thank you. After browsing a few minutes I left with the feeling this establishment didn’t care one way or the other for my business.
My relationship with the locally owned Book Rack has been one of tough love. The store is never experiencing other business when I’ve attended, nor would there be much room for them if there were. There are books literally everywhere, which in one regard is my slice of heaven, but on the other hand there is little regard for selection. This isn’t the type of place that orders a title for you that didn’t turn up in their store. They trade in just about any type of book, therefore there are rooms absolutely littered with romance novels, while the classics take up only part of one wall. The selection is spotty at best. I was lucky to find a couple David Sedaris titles in the trade paperback section, and although I found quite a number Isaac Asimovs, there were no HP Lovecrafts to be found.
I did however enjoy talking to the woman at the front desk today when I came in. Although her description of the trade-in process was distinctly confusing, she seemed more interested in my business than the previous lady. She pointed out a book displayed behind the front desk titled “Chattanooga Chillers,” a soft cover whose front emulated a Goosebumps cover. Her enthusiasm alone committed me to trade in the paperbacks I’d brought, instead of lugging them to McKay where I’d get more bang and enjoy an infinitely better selection.
In my quest to support local literature advocates I’m finding there are many ways people choose to go about this. I appreciate diversity in any field, but bookstore owners need to do what they can to pander to the general public, not merely the literary passionate. I’m always tempted to offer my services free of charge to get the ball going, but in the end I realize some people like simply owning a book store and the idea of pushing sales is an afterthought. Maybe some day I’ll own a store and run it the way I choose to, but for now I’ll enjoy the quirks and personalities of the literary pockets in my community.
The strip mall where The Book Rack resides is on property directly adjacent to the apartments my brother and our close friend used to rent in Red Bank, TN. So one day I stopped in casually to soak in their niche. I stepped into a cozy office-sized room with paperback books lining the walls on red shelves, with six-foot high shelves crossing the middle of the room as well. The lady at the service desk looked up from the book she was reading and explained they were an all-paperback establishment. They traded books but did not buy. And they were cash only, thank you. After browsing a few minutes I left with the feeling this establishment didn’t care one way or the other for my business.
My relationship with the locally owned Book Rack has been one of tough love. The store is never experiencing other business when I’ve attended, nor would there be much room for them if there were. There are books literally everywhere, which in one regard is my slice of heaven, but on the other hand there is little regard for selection. This isn’t the type of place that orders a title for you that didn’t turn up in their store. They trade in just about any type of book, therefore there are rooms absolutely littered with romance novels, while the classics take up only part of one wall. The selection is spotty at best. I was lucky to find a couple David Sedaris titles in the trade paperback section, and although I found quite a number Isaac Asimovs, there were no HP Lovecrafts to be found.
I did however enjoy talking to the woman at the front desk today when I came in. Although her description of the trade-in process was distinctly confusing, she seemed more interested in my business than the previous lady. She pointed out a book displayed behind the front desk titled “Chattanooga Chillers,” a soft cover whose front emulated a Goosebumps cover. Her enthusiasm alone committed me to trade in the paperbacks I’d brought, instead of lugging them to McKay where I’d get more bang and enjoy an infinitely better selection.
In my quest to support local literature advocates I’m finding there are many ways people choose to go about this. I appreciate diversity in any field, but bookstore owners need to do what they can to pander to the general public, not merely the literary passionate. I’m always tempted to offer my services free of charge to get the ball going, but in the end I realize some people like simply owning a book store and the idea of pushing sales is an afterthought. Maybe some day I’ll own a store and run it the way I choose to, but for now I’ll enjoy the quirks and personalities of the literary pockets in my community.
July 25, 2012
Author Bio: Lovecraft in Unexpected Places
Sometimes a name fits a person or object like a glove. Take for instance the German word for team, as in soccer team. To my foreign ears, Mannschaft connotes a group of men banding together to perform an operation of great violence or skill; overhauling a submarine, for instance. Fitting, right?
For a few years now I’ve associated the name “Lovecraft” with one of the classical names of early science fiction. I mistakenly categorized HP Lovecraft into the company of the visionary HG Wells, the prophetic Jules Verne, the ground-breaking Isaac Asimov. But not only was Lovecraft American born, unlike these three writers, he was more eclectic in his fiction writing.
Because I first heard the name mentioned in a college course studying 19th century ghost stories, I ought to have taken the hint Lovecraft was in the business of writing horror. But to me the name spoke of a grand voyage taken by fantastical creatures to a rainbow galaxy, so how was I to suspect otherwise?
I finally took the hint on a visit last weekend to Barnes and Noble, when waiting for me in the atrium was a collection of HP Lovecraft of Hebrew Scriptural proportions. Having no shame when it comes to public displays of affection with a codex, with two hands I tenderly took the book from its place on the quick-sell rack and flipped its pages lovingly. Only then did I understand this book was a collection of horror fiction. Rainbow galaxy indeed.
But nobody had to know of my little blunder, did they? So I entered the store with my head held high, taking in the wonder of books and living in the endorphin rush. HP Lovecraft was no longer a writer of the cosmic but of corpses, which explained my inability to find him at our giant used Books and CDs store in the science fiction section, no matter how often I walked the genre aisle.
As you've probably guessed by now, or perhaps already know, Lovecraft writes horror as well as science fiction, and--what's this?--fantasy to boot. What a loveable craft this man was blessed with.
And so, at the book store, I moved on to fondling other merchandise, namely the two last books of a certain American essayist my wife and I lack for our collection. At first I couldn’t locate an aisle named "essays," mistakenly scouring the generously stocked World War II history section twice over. The self-search computer was jammed as luck would have it, so this English major swallowed his pride once again and lined up at the customer help desk, where out of the corner of my eye was the missing aisle. Patiently awaiting my audience by the conveniently placed steps to the coffee bar.
For a fascinating discourse on Lovecraft's life and mythos:
http://www.crackle.com/c/Lovecraft_Fear_Of_The_Unknown
For a few years now I’ve associated the name “Lovecraft” with one of the classical names of early science fiction. I mistakenly categorized HP Lovecraft into the company of the visionary HG Wells, the prophetic Jules Verne, the ground-breaking Isaac Asimov. But not only was Lovecraft American born, unlike these three writers, he was more eclectic in his fiction writing.
Because I first heard the name mentioned in a college course studying 19th century ghost stories, I ought to have taken the hint Lovecraft was in the business of writing horror. But to me the name spoke of a grand voyage taken by fantastical creatures to a rainbow galaxy, so how was I to suspect otherwise?
I finally took the hint on a visit last weekend to Barnes and Noble, when waiting for me in the atrium was a collection of HP Lovecraft of Hebrew Scriptural proportions. Having no shame when it comes to public displays of affection with a codex, with two hands I tenderly took the book from its place on the quick-sell rack and flipped its pages lovingly. Only then did I understand this book was a collection of horror fiction. Rainbow galaxy indeed.
But nobody had to know of my little blunder, did they? So I entered the store with my head held high, taking in the wonder of books and living in the endorphin rush. HP Lovecraft was no longer a writer of the cosmic but of corpses, which explained my inability to find him at our giant used Books and CDs store in the science fiction section, no matter how often I walked the genre aisle.
As you've probably guessed by now, or perhaps already know, Lovecraft writes horror as well as science fiction, and--what's this?--fantasy to boot. What a loveable craft this man was blessed with.
And so, at the book store, I moved on to fondling other merchandise, namely the two last books of a certain American essayist my wife and I lack for our collection. At first I couldn’t locate an aisle named "essays," mistakenly scouring the generously stocked World War II history section twice over. The self-search computer was jammed as luck would have it, so this English major swallowed his pride once again and lined up at the customer help desk, where out of the corner of my eye was the missing aisle. Patiently awaiting my audience by the conveniently placed steps to the coffee bar.
For a fascinating discourse on Lovecraft's life and mythos:
http://www.crackle.com/c/Lovecraft_Fear_Of_The_Unknown
July 23, 2012
Current Events: Sally Ride, a nonfictional Bright Knight
Americans lost one of our great heroines today, Sally Ride, to pancreatic cancer at the cradle-robbing age of 61. My Senior year of high school I proudly wore a vintage t-shirt which proclaimed, "Girl scouts can do anything." Because of women like Sally Ride, young women accross America--and not girl scouts only--believed they could do anything, too.
When combining the frontier of space and fiction you usually come up with science fiction, a genre for which I have a tragically poor understanding, especially considering the abundance of hackneyed premises I'm able to produce without even trying.
If I were teaching a literature class at the local Community College and could impart whatever I wanted so long as it sounded plausible, I would describe the key convention of science fiction something like this:
a story taking place in a universe held together with consistent but unfamiliar rules, whose hero alters the course of that universe's destiny.
Now, in the company of such an ignorant statement, aren't we glad to have wikipedia to save us?
"Science fiction includes such a wide range of themes and subgenres that it is notoriously difficult to define."
Well, I guess we're all grasping when it comes to this fascinating genre.
While reading the many attempts over eighty years to nail down the nuance of science fiction, I realized one reason that accounted for the variety of definitions. Science fiction not only reinvents itself as a genre by varying its best themes. It also feeds off the desires and moods of culture.
Take the Dark Knight film series that has been so popular for the last five years. I haven't seen Dark Knight Rising, but nonetheless I remember how Dark Knight ended. The Joker's philosophy is turned on its head as the citizens choose not to destroy each other, but to relinquish their fate to the gods insted of saving their own necks. The police begin to search for Batman, convinced this man who hides his face must be the cause of the city's trouble. Therefore it's Batman's plight not only to save the helpless masses, but to embody our guilt and twistedness (shouldn't they be chasing the guy who uses blood for lipstick?).
The writers of Dark Knight got it right when they presumed movie-goers would appreciate the mystery of a superhero scapegoat. Something struck home with us when Batman was unjustly accused.
Things were different in the 80s, when to inspire others you had to have the charisma of a Sally Ride. I look forward to watching the future develope, and I'm thankful for people like Ms. Ride who encourage us to be what we desire so desperately to be.
When combining the frontier of space and fiction you usually come up with science fiction, a genre for which I have a tragically poor understanding, especially considering the abundance of hackneyed premises I'm able to produce without even trying.
If I were teaching a literature class at the local Community College and could impart whatever I wanted so long as it sounded plausible, I would describe the key convention of science fiction something like this:
a story taking place in a universe held together with consistent but unfamiliar rules, whose hero alters the course of that universe's destiny.
Now, in the company of such an ignorant statement, aren't we glad to have wikipedia to save us?
"Science fiction includes such a wide range of themes and subgenres that it is notoriously difficult to define."
Well, I guess we're all grasping when it comes to this fascinating genre.
While reading the many attempts over eighty years to nail down the nuance of science fiction, I realized one reason that accounted for the variety of definitions. Science fiction not only reinvents itself as a genre by varying its best themes. It also feeds off the desires and moods of culture.
Take the Dark Knight film series that has been so popular for the last five years. I haven't seen Dark Knight Rising, but nonetheless I remember how Dark Knight ended. The Joker's philosophy is turned on its head as the citizens choose not to destroy each other, but to relinquish their fate to the gods insted of saving their own necks. The police begin to search for Batman, convinced this man who hides his face must be the cause of the city's trouble. Therefore it's Batman's plight not only to save the helpless masses, but to embody our guilt and twistedness (shouldn't they be chasing the guy who uses blood for lipstick?).
The writers of Dark Knight got it right when they presumed movie-goers would appreciate the mystery of a superhero scapegoat. Something struck home with us when Batman was unjustly accused.
Things were different in the 80s, when to inspire others you had to have the charisma of a Sally Ride. I look forward to watching the future develope, and I'm thankful for people like Ms. Ride who encourage us to be what we desire so desperately to be.
July 11, 2012
Support of Local Lit (SOLL): local writer starstruck by new director of Chattanooga's Public Library System
After reading our new company’s write-up in The Pulse, a local alternative news guide, I looked at the cover and did a double-take. From where did I know the lady who the paper said was “rebooting the system” of the Chattanooga Library?
At first I assumed I recognized her from my old job where I whipped up lattes and smoothies for professionals in suits every day. Immediately I felt a pit in my stomach as I wondered if I’d been snarky to her as she innocently wondered what exactly was a “froozie.”
Kicking myself for treating our new library director rudely, instead of like royalty, I eventually realized she was a client at our brand new fitness studio! The pit in my stomach blossomed into a fresh batch of butterflies.
Later that day, a Friday, she checked in at the front desk for a workout session with one of our fantastic trainers. I remained at my station at the cafe register, researching chalkboard menus to befit our cafe with local coffee shop swag.
"Ms. Library?" I whispered in her general direction. "...smoothie?"
She walked down the hall to meet her trainer when I suddenly stopped seeing stars and berated myself for not boldy greeting her before she reached the front desk, introducing myself as Chattanooga's Next Top Writer and literary aficianado. With my passion/skills we could, together, really put Chattanooga on the map as a literary Mecca.
But when she returned from her workout, sweaty like any normal human with pores would be, I was still without a reasonable introduction.
"Oh Corinne," I thought as she left with her husband to rescue our public library system from historically abysmal underfunding, "...lead us bravely into the digital age."
At first I assumed I recognized her from my old job where I whipped up lattes and smoothies for professionals in suits every day. Immediately I felt a pit in my stomach as I wondered if I’d been snarky to her as she innocently wondered what exactly was a “froozie.”
Kicking myself for treating our new library director rudely, instead of like royalty, I eventually realized she was a client at our brand new fitness studio! The pit in my stomach blossomed into a fresh batch of butterflies.
Later that day, a Friday, she checked in at the front desk for a workout session with one of our fantastic trainers. I remained at my station at the cafe register, researching chalkboard menus to befit our cafe with local coffee shop swag.
"Ms. Library?" I whispered in her general direction. "...smoothie?"
She walked down the hall to meet her trainer when I suddenly stopped seeing stars and berated myself for not boldy greeting her before she reached the front desk, introducing myself as Chattanooga's Next Top Writer and literary aficianado. With my passion/skills we could, together, really put Chattanooga on the map as a literary Mecca.
But when she returned from her workout, sweaty like any normal human with pores would be, I was still without a reasonable introduction.
"Oh Corinne," I thought as she left with her husband to rescue our public library system from historically abysmal underfunding, "...lead us bravely into the digital age."
July 10, 2012
Author's Bio: Ann Voskamp, excerpt interview World Magazine, July 2012
World Magazine recently published their "book" issue which includes a slew of book reviews and interviews with Christian authors. Thanks go to Grandpa Ashlock for putting a couple of its articles into my hands.
In an excerpted interview with Ann Voskamp from an earlier World issue, the author cites organization, reading, and "waiting on the Lord" as important aspects of her writer's life.
I can see why organization would be important for Voskamp. She lives on a farm, she's a mother of six, and she homeschools some of those six. "I stayed up late for too long and wrote a book." She humbly refers to best-seller One Thousand Gifts. Needless to say, I'm impressed.
Voskamp finds reading theology is helpful in making it "for the kitchen sink." Breaking down theology can be a difficult task, especially in the company of CS Lewis and John Piper, two of her favorites.
Her breaking down spiritual concepts finds its way onto her web journal, whose tagline, "because God has burning bushes everywhere" I find to be a vivid message, filled with hope and belief in promises. Even in the company of a burning bush in Exodus, Moses was hesitant to follow God's order to lead his people, but eventually Moses did so with humility.
Voskamp's unique poetic flair sets her apart in the popular genre of spiritual testimony. Joe Bunting writes in his blog her deft ability to "drop her article" to construct a jarring image. For example, reading "pick it up and watch it sink into sink" sticks out more than saying "the sink," which we are trained to look for.
Not every author can expect to find themselves successfully on the map like Voskamp. But adding your flair goes a long way toward making you stick out, as does knowing your limits. By "waiting on the Lord," Voskamp wills herself to work hard but chooses to not take full credit for her success.
Some have muses, others a faith, and I guess most of subscribe to a combination thereof for our inspiration.
In an excerpted interview with Ann Voskamp from an earlier World issue, the author cites organization, reading, and "waiting on the Lord" as important aspects of her writer's life.
I can see why organization would be important for Voskamp. She lives on a farm, she's a mother of six, and she homeschools some of those six. "I stayed up late for too long and wrote a book." She humbly refers to best-seller One Thousand Gifts. Needless to say, I'm impressed.
Voskamp finds reading theology is helpful in making it "for the kitchen sink." Breaking down theology can be a difficult task, especially in the company of CS Lewis and John Piper, two of her favorites.
Her breaking down spiritual concepts finds its way onto her web journal, whose tagline, "because God has burning bushes everywhere" I find to be a vivid message, filled with hope and belief in promises. Even in the company of a burning bush in Exodus, Moses was hesitant to follow God's order to lead his people, but eventually Moses did so with humility.
Voskamp's unique poetic flair sets her apart in the popular genre of spiritual testimony. Joe Bunting writes in his blog her deft ability to "drop her article" to construct a jarring image. For example, reading "pick it up and watch it sink into sink" sticks out more than saying "the sink," which we are trained to look for.
Not every author can expect to find themselves successfully on the map like Voskamp. But adding your flair goes a long way toward making you stick out, as does knowing your limits. By "waiting on the Lord," Voskamp wills herself to work hard but chooses to not take full credit for her success.
Some have muses, others a faith, and I guess most of subscribe to a combination thereof for our inspiration.
July 09, 2012
Current Events: 50 Shades
My coworker and I had just clocked out. I drowsily accepted her offer for a ride, and we headed for the downtown library.
"Oh, great!" she said in the car. "I can look for a couple books I've really been wanting to read."
I instantly felt reenergized. Book talk time!
"What's the book called?" I asked.
"Well I've read the first book in the series, Fifty Shades of Grey. The next ones are called Fifty Shades Darker, and Fifty Shades Freed. Some people might consider them porn, because they're sexually explicit."
Smelling a censorship issue, I eagerly listened.
"My mom actually signed a petition on Facebook, promising to be a woman who doesn't read this book."
The first title rang a bell. Perhaps I'd ignored a headline or seen the book at a book store.
"Well thank God we're going to the library!" I said a bit too excitedly.
"My friend tried to check it out from her library but was told it would be four to six weeks before she could read it."
Ah, holds. I'd had success with them in college--you put a hold on a book you want, and the loser who keeps rechecking out the same book is forced to return it.
But who wants to wait over a month for even a hot title? I was itching to see what the wait was at the downtown library in Chattanooga.
We sat at the catalogue computers and typed in, "Fifty Shades of Grey."
Eleven copies; all checked out.
We typed in Fifty Shades Darker. All four copies checked out. And for Fifty Shades Freed, all five gone.
My friend looked bored and for a moment, I felt like I'd wasted their time.
"They said you can request for the library to get more copies. That's how they know how serious people are about getting the book."
"Let's do it!" I may have fist-pumped.
My friend left me to go home and water her garden, but I had a passion to feed.
I put myself on the waiting list for the second and third books; I was eighth and fifteenth respectively. Then I civically I filled a petition for the library to get more copies of the second and third titles.
Since my coworker was already reading the first book, I hadn't put myself on the waiting list of Fifty Shades of Grey.
At home I logged into my library account and put myself on the list, and now I'm the fifty-second person in line for Fifty Shades of Gray at the Chattanooga library.
Why would I even bother to be on that list? Will I even care about the book four years from now?
Maybe not, but everyone loves a controversy even more than reading explicit, unmasterful fiction.
"Oh, great!" she said in the car. "I can look for a couple books I've really been wanting to read."
I instantly felt reenergized. Book talk time!
"What's the book called?" I asked.
"Well I've read the first book in the series, Fifty Shades of Grey. The next ones are called Fifty Shades Darker, and Fifty Shades Freed. Some people might consider them porn, because they're sexually explicit."
Smelling a censorship issue, I eagerly listened.
"My mom actually signed a petition on Facebook, promising to be a woman who doesn't read this book."
The first title rang a bell. Perhaps I'd ignored a headline or seen the book at a book store.
"Well thank God we're going to the library!" I said a bit too excitedly.
"My friend tried to check it out from her library but was told it would be four to six weeks before she could read it."
Ah, holds. I'd had success with them in college--you put a hold on a book you want, and the loser who keeps rechecking out the same book is forced to return it.
But who wants to wait over a month for even a hot title? I was itching to see what the wait was at the downtown library in Chattanooga.
We sat at the catalogue computers and typed in, "Fifty Shades of Grey."
Eleven copies; all checked out.
We typed in Fifty Shades Darker. All four copies checked out. And for Fifty Shades Freed, all five gone.
My friend looked bored and for a moment, I felt like I'd wasted their time.
"They said you can request for the library to get more copies. That's how they know how serious people are about getting the book."
"Let's do it!" I may have fist-pumped.
My friend left me to go home and water her garden, but I had a passion to feed.
I put myself on the waiting list for the second and third books; I was eighth and fifteenth respectively. Then I civically I filled a petition for the library to get more copies of the second and third titles.
Since my coworker was already reading the first book, I hadn't put myself on the waiting list of Fifty Shades of Grey.
At home I logged into my library account and put myself on the list, and now I'm the fifty-second person in line for Fifty Shades of Gray at the Chattanooga library.
Why would I even bother to be on that list? Will I even care about the book four years from now?
Maybe not, but everyone loves a controversy even more than reading explicit, unmasterful fiction.
July 08, 2012
Welcome to the Pleasure Zone
I must be crazy! I'm writing a blog I expect to keep up with daily!
It's all false! It's all a dream!
And I love it!
In the following posts I will be sharing my love--nay, obsession--with literature by covering a variety of topics. It's a scattered approach that I hope will yield amazing results.
Mondays: I easily get caught up in momentary literary passions. The point here is to journey outside my little comfort box, and to discipline myself to pay attention to what's happening in the worldwide realm of literature in Current Events.
Tuesdays: What creative passions, motivational tools and lifestyle habits contribute to an author's success? Find out in Author's Bio.
Wednesdays: Supporting libraries and independant bookstores, encouraging the writers of your city and learning about local literary initiatives are all up for discussion in SOLL.
Thursdays: Hear me spin my tale of woe as a barista who dreams of becoming a full-time author, in Writer's Corner.
Fridays: It's time to take off the tie, throw on the rosy sunglasses of nostalgia and get casual! I discuss the literary inspirations of my childhood in Grab Bag.
Saturdays: Let's wrap up the week with a critical review of a book I've recently read. I'm a slow reader so I'm often drawn to low reading level books. I won't judge you if you don't judge me for the contents of Book Review.
So there you have it! Please check back often because I plan to post regularly!
It's all false! It's all a dream!
And I love it!
In the following posts I will be sharing my love--nay, obsession--with literature by covering a variety of topics. It's a scattered approach that I hope will yield amazing results.
Mondays: I easily get caught up in momentary literary passions. The point here is to journey outside my little comfort box, and to discipline myself to pay attention to what's happening in the worldwide realm of literature in Current Events.
Tuesdays: What creative passions, motivational tools and lifestyle habits contribute to an author's success? Find out in Author's Bio.
Wednesdays: Supporting libraries and independant bookstores, encouraging the writers of your city and learning about local literary initiatives are all up for discussion in SOLL.
Thursdays: Hear me spin my tale of woe as a barista who dreams of becoming a full-time author, in Writer's Corner.
Fridays: It's time to take off the tie, throw on the rosy sunglasses of nostalgia and get casual! I discuss the literary inspirations of my childhood in Grab Bag.
Saturdays: Let's wrap up the week with a critical review of a book I've recently read. I'm a slow reader so I'm often drawn to low reading level books. I won't judge you if you don't judge me for the contents of Book Review.
So there you have it! Please check back often because I plan to post regularly!
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