So just know, I write. And I read.
I read mostly very old stuff, since I'm rarely impressed with more modern fare, ironically enough.
I write science fiction short stories,
articles about being married and Mormon (LDS) with the hubby,
working on finishing the next two books in my trilogy (don't we all need a trilogy in our portfolio?), family stories,
and I'm starting in on screenplays since my daughter is going to filmmaking school, and I've never NOT been able to help her with her homework.
If you're into any of those things too, what I write may not bore you to pieces, and you're welcome to read some of all of my daily/weekly behind-the-scenes ramblings.
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I finally got around to recording my story yesterday, after a quick helpful technical tutorial from the 15-year-old on how to use Audacity. And I ALMOST made it all the way through with no mistakes...so utterly pleased with myself. I have to re-record the last sentence and figure out how to cut and paste it in, and then it's ready to send to AntipodeanSF for their October issue. Oooroo!
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My husband and I get involved sometimes with local service projects sometimes through our church. This week we helped a sister (we do that in our church...the whole brother/sister thing) who needs to move to a retirement home and divest herself (painfully) of years of mementos, since it won't all fit where she's going.
We pulled everything out of her backyard shed, and helped her sort what to keep and what to sell, careful to avoid the spiders and mice and other larger creatures that had no doubt set up house in this rustic little outdoor shelter.
One box we opened contained a sheer miracle and pirate treasure, all at the same time - an entire set of the Harvard Classics, all 50 volumes!
It smelled of mildew and a tiny, tiny bit of mouse urine on the outside cardboard. A few mouse droppings and spiderwebs in the box, and some dust on the covers. Otherwise, the books were perfectly preserved.
I asked her about them, and she said they'd sat on her shelves for 40 years, and out in the shed for nine years. She'd never read them beyond the first book.
"Do you want them?" she said.
Do I want them??? Shiver me timbers!!!
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So, after we got them home, I found that ammonia wipes largely took care of the smell without damaging the covers, and I'm starting in on the first volume.
When I read, it's not a sponge kind of thing. It's a conversation I have with someone who often no longer exists in this world, and some writers I really resonate with, while others I gratefully leave behind.
The first volume starts off with Ben Franklin's Autobiography. I'm only on the first two pages so far, and I practically feel re-parented. His sayings and his stories make me wish he'd been my father.
My own father always had this thing about making sure I wasn't vain, and he would accuse me of vanity whenever I showed him a catalog of pretty clothes or asked for something. To be fair, we were dead broke when I was little, and he did that to try and save money, but the way he did it mentally screwed me over for decades afterwards.
This one paragraph from Ben Franklin set me completely to rights, just this morning, in talking about why he decided to write an autobiography in the first place:
"...And lastly, (I may as well confess it, since my denial of it will be believed by nobody), perhaps I shall a good deal gratify my own vanity.
Indeed, I scarce ever heard or saw the words 'Without vanity I may say, etc.' but some vain thing immediately followed.
Most people dislike vanity in others, whatever share they may have of it themselves; but I give it fair quarter wherever I meet with it, being persuaded that it is often productive of good to the possessor, and to others that are within his sphere of action;
And therefore, in many cases, it would not be altogether absurd if a man were to thank God for his vanity among the other comforts of life."
Coolest. guy. ever. :-)
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