Someone--my mother or perhaps a character in a book--once told me that if you catch twelve falling leaves in an autumn afternoon, you will have good luck throughout the entire next year: one leaf for each month. I think, if it was indeed my mother who told me this, it was an attempt to get me to exercise.
(I've always thought this would be a great motif (or perhaps even a trope) for a story, but have never been quite certain as to which story it goes with. Sometimes, on the edge of sleep, I know exactly how to do it, but by morning, the plot has always been lost.)
Over the years, I have amended this rule of luck somewhat; twelve falling leaves in one autumn, and the more you catch by luck, the better. Not that many years ago, a leaf blew down off a tree and landed right in my hand. I pinned the leaf to my bulletin board at work, figuring that kind of chance was enough luck for an entire year. Perhaps it was.
In any case, I haven't spent an autumn afternoon chasing leaves in years--though something tells me I'll be doing it this autumn with my stepdaughter, because this is definitely the kind of luck you make for yourself. My waiting for leaves to fall into my hands is a lazy way of doing things. I'm on a campaign (unbeknownst to anyone else until now) to become a better person, and one of the things my better self would be is an active creator of her own luck, just like I used to be.
But I bring all of this up, not to make promises or to announce my campaign of betterment (it's going to be a private thing, for the most part) or to convince you that I even believe in luck as anything beyond chance and probability (because, mostly, I believe in me; it's just sometimes it's easier to believe in me when I'm reminded to by things which appear to be luck), but because I ran into two leaves this week.
On my walk into the library the other morning, a leaf blew down and caressed my face. Literally. It stroked itself down one cheek, across my chin, then up the other cheek before blowing off past my right ear.
How lovely, I thought. Dendrophile that I am, it seemed like a message of love from a tree.
Today, a leaf blew into my hand while I sat outside on my break.
Regardless, I had already decided that it's going to be a very good year. But it's nice to have this sort of confirmation.
How did it get to be a week (and change) since my last post?
Well, basically, not having any content will do that, I suppose. I shall now take this opportunity that I've been in a bit of a writing slump lately. I'm trying to figure it out. When I do, I'll try to explain.
But--there's been no noticeable reading slump, so. Onward.
Jo Beverley is the master of taking the familiar trope and making it fresh and interesting, plus making the unforgiveable understandable. I'd read the Company of Rogues books well out of order, so I'd already known that the main character in this book backhands his wife rather spectacularly--it's sort of a central plotpoint in a later book, as a character witnesses it and thinks that men are generally brutes. (Beverley deals with things. That's why I like her.) Anyway. This was a spectacularly uncomfortable take on the arranged marriage trope. I loved it.
(16) Bag of Bones by Stephen King [horror]
I vaguely remember being sort of scared by parts of the Dark Tower series--the first few books of it that I read in my youth--but mostly, no, I haven't been too terribly frightened by Stephen King books. Perhaps that was because I was reading fairly selectively, and maybe also because some of the things he chooses to write about just fascinate me, without any particular horror. (Apocalyptic fiction? I've never read any that was worse than what I've cooked up in my subconscious.)
Now, with Bag of Bones, I had a bit of a hard time going to sleep on my side when I was reading it. You know. In case the ghosts came out from underneath the bed to get me while my back was turned.
Kudos, Mr. King. I haven't had that sensation since becoming an adult.
That said, mostly this book was just sad, in the way of death and the horrible things people do to each other. Troublingly sad... Not quite enough to break me for any length of time, but the ending (last quarter, really) still bothers me.
(17) Wait Until Midnight by Amanda Quick [romance]
Okay. It's gotten past phoning it in. I mean, I'll keep reading Quick, because she'll inevitably write a good one again--but it will be a while--and this Victorian trend is nigh unto disastrous. I'm not actually blaming the setting; I'll just note that the setting seems to be correlated with boring me to death.
So, the very cool Anna totally sold her first story!
And the very British Vaughan Stanger is eligible for the Campbell Award! Join the club, Vaughan... I'll send you a pdf with the diagrams of the sekrit handshake.
Yay! The inestimable Vaughan Stanger (my hero!) pointed out a review of One Million Years BFE: Diary of an Anthropologist in Exile in Tangent.
The review is for Nov. '06-Jan '07 of The Town Drunk, and it's a pretty good review of the 'zine over all, and my story in particular... I love how the reviewer (Alasdair Stuart) makes me sound much smarter than I feel while writing such things ("the story explores the widening gap between knowledge and skill")...
Anyway. Yay! I'm 2 for 2 in Tangent reviews.
Man, February got away from me quickly. Even more so because January felt soooo long, like I had all the time on earth.
(12) Old English Literature: A Short Introduction by Daniel Donoghue [non-fiction]
Well, I don't see how it's an introduction, but beyond that, it's a fantastic book. It digs deeply into recurring themes in OE lit, as well as digs around in word etymologies. It's a nice bridge between linguistic and literary analysis. It was also a massive idea-generator. My copy is studded with post-it flags, and I wrote segments of "Lawncare in the Afterlife" with this book in hand.
(13) Lie by Moonlight by Amanda Quick [romance]
Hm. She's not really doing anything new and different at this point.
(14) An Unsuitable Gentleman by Jo Beverley [romance]
On the surface, I'd say she is also not doing anything new and different, and yet, I think maybe she is. In this book, the author uses a wealthy heroine to good effect, and that made a pleasant change from the usual formulae.
In lieu of personally-generated content (what more can I say about not writing hard enough or fast enough? Not bloody much), I bequeath to you the week's haul in writing and writing-related links.
Rules for Writing Regency Fiction
-I'm not so sure about the house on the moors, but the rest is spot on. Read closely items 16 and 16a, for between those two items lives my moral dilemma. See also Sherwood Smith's "Fantasy and Regency Romances" for further edumacation.
How to Write More Clearly, Think More Clearly, and Learn Complex Material More Easily
-Well, maybe. It's interesting, for certain.
Cheer me on: Writing Buddies
-about writing as a group; takes me back to the great days of Write Club
Marion Zimmer Bradley's What is a short story?
How to write a novel in 100 days
-is not actually anything like how to write a novel in 100 days. I should do one of these for real. Plus a joke one, for fun.
How to Build a Universe That Doesn't Fall Apart Two Days Later from Philip K. Dick.