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Books/Words
May. 18th, 2009 11:38 pmStats for last night: 1,122 words (assisted by Steve, who’s helping me over my current hump, and had some good ideas about the why rather than the how of certain events). Today: Roughly 500, though that’s a bit hard to reckon, since much of it was re-working and inputting of research. Overall word-count: 56,504. I have high hopes of getting this damn chapter done soon-ish, but don’t want to make any promises.
In other news, I’m closing in quick on 100 books read thus far this year, since Carol O’Connell’s Dead Famous makes an even 90. I spoke briefly with my Mom about how much I liked these books, and the fact that I’d discovered them through her—she brought home a copy of O’Connell’s initial novel, Mallory’s Oracle, when I was seventeen or so. She, of course, has completely forgotten this. We then went into a momentary talk about how she doesn’t like most of the books I recommend to her, because they’re so full of dreadful, fucked-up people. “Yes,” I said. “That’s exactly why I like them.”
“But you can get THAT in real life.”
“Except that the fucked-up people you encounter/read about in real life are rarely anything as amusing as the fucked-up people in good fiction,” I pointed out.
(I could very easily have gone on, perhaps arguing that I see no appreciable difference between the gothic psychodramas of Ruth Rendell/Barbara Vine and the narratives of someone like (former Entertainment Weekly TV critic!) Gillian Flynn, who wrote Sharp Objects, one of my favorite books of the last five years, beyond—say—geography. As ever, though, there was absolutely no point in doing so.)
So: In lieu of more tales-o’-Gemma-and-Elva, let’s go with something memeish:
Name [twenty] books you've read that will always stick with you—the first [twenty] you can recall in no more than [twenty] minutes:
The Moon Pool, A. Merritt
Sword Woman, Robert E. Howard
An Enemy at Green Knowe, Lucy M. Boston
Night’s Master and Death’s Master, Red as Blood, Tanith Lee
Andrew Laing’s Golden Book of Fairy Tales
The D’Aulaires’ Norse Gods and Giants
The Best of C.L Moore
The Light at the End, John Skipp and Craig Spector
Skin, Kathe Koja
Wilding, Melanie Tem
The Elementals and Gilded Needles, Michael MacDowell
‘Salem’s Lot and Night Shift, Stephen King
Ghost Story, Peter Straub
Empire, Samuel R. Delaney and Howard V. Chaykin
The Tombs of Atuan, Ursula K. LeGuin
The Sardonyx Net, Elizabeth A. Lynn
Some of these taught me that horror was allowed to lie cheek-by-jowl with pleasure, or to be alternately scrupulous and unsparing with my characters; some taught me that I could let my deepest fantasies slip into my writing without being ashamed of them, and that they might even make the narratives not just stranger, but richer. Some taught me that the best way to tell a huge story is through the alternating lens of perspective, and some proved that main characters don’t have to be “likable” to be lovable (to me, at least). All involve magic to some degree, as well as blood. All were worth the effort.
Anyhow. Cal is still sick; Mom thinks she may have what he has. I may not take him to school tomorrow, depending. Steve has his job (yay!). We have no money (boo!). I finally alphabetized all my CDs, which took me most of the 24 season ender. And all that.
Later, all.
Amended to add: Arrrgh! I can't believe I forgot C.S. Lewis' The Magician's Nephew!
In other news, I’m closing in quick on 100 books read thus far this year, since Carol O’Connell’s Dead Famous makes an even 90. I spoke briefly with my Mom about how much I liked these books, and the fact that I’d discovered them through her—she brought home a copy of O’Connell’s initial novel, Mallory’s Oracle, when I was seventeen or so. She, of course, has completely forgotten this. We then went into a momentary talk about how she doesn’t like most of the books I recommend to her, because they’re so full of dreadful, fucked-up people. “Yes,” I said. “That’s exactly why I like them.”
“But you can get THAT in real life.”
“Except that the fucked-up people you encounter/read about in real life are rarely anything as amusing as the fucked-up people in good fiction,” I pointed out.
(I could very easily have gone on, perhaps arguing that I see no appreciable difference between the gothic psychodramas of Ruth Rendell/Barbara Vine and the narratives of someone like (former Entertainment Weekly TV critic!) Gillian Flynn, who wrote Sharp Objects, one of my favorite books of the last five years, beyond—say—geography. As ever, though, there was absolutely no point in doing so.)
So: In lieu of more tales-o’-Gemma-and-Elva, let’s go with something memeish:
Name [twenty] books you've read that will always stick with you—the first [twenty] you can recall in no more than [twenty] minutes:
The Moon Pool, A. Merritt
Sword Woman, Robert E. Howard
An Enemy at Green Knowe, Lucy M. Boston
Night’s Master and Death’s Master, Red as Blood, Tanith Lee
Andrew Laing’s Golden Book of Fairy Tales
The D’Aulaires’ Norse Gods and Giants
The Best of C.L Moore
The Light at the End, John Skipp and Craig Spector
Skin, Kathe Koja
Wilding, Melanie Tem
The Elementals and Gilded Needles, Michael MacDowell
‘Salem’s Lot and Night Shift, Stephen King
Ghost Story, Peter Straub
Empire, Samuel R. Delaney and Howard V. Chaykin
The Tombs of Atuan, Ursula K. LeGuin
The Sardonyx Net, Elizabeth A. Lynn
Some of these taught me that horror was allowed to lie cheek-by-jowl with pleasure, or to be alternately scrupulous and unsparing with my characters; some taught me that I could let my deepest fantasies slip into my writing without being ashamed of them, and that they might even make the narratives not just stranger, but richer. Some taught me that the best way to tell a huge story is through the alternating lens of perspective, and some proved that main characters don’t have to be “likable” to be lovable (to me, at least). All involve magic to some degree, as well as blood. All were worth the effort.
Anyhow. Cal is still sick; Mom thinks she may have what he has. I may not take him to school tomorrow, depending. Steve has his job (yay!). We have no money (boo!). I finally alphabetized all my CDs, which took me most of the 24 season ender. And all that.
Later, all.
Amended to add: Arrrgh! I can't believe I forgot C.S. Lewis' The Magician's Nephew!
