Bloggers Gonna Blog

As part of my 'return to reading' I just finished my wife's favorite book, "I Know This Much is True".  It was good.  It's not the kind of book I'd ordinarily read because a lot of it is sad and I honestly just feel like I can do without all the sadness in my 'entertainments'.  It's a drama.  But it was really thoughtful, and well written, and researched, and it made me think, which is key.

I had just finished IKTMIT and moved on to, "Manhood for Amateurs", which Angie's sister and brother-in-law (I think it was them, Angie?  Wasn't it?) gave me for Christmas.  It's by one of my favorite authors, Michael Chabon.  It's a series of essays, which is ALSO not something I typically read (Honestly, it's basically a book of blogs if we're being honest.  And I'm not sure you could go TOO wrong reading a blog written by Michael Chabon.  ANYWAY...), but straight out of the gate, his essay on - what?  Art?  Taking chances? - struck a chord.  It was called "Loser's Club". 

In the context of a story from his childhood where he attempted to create a comicbook fanclub (and failed), he writes about the process of creating art, and it resonated with me.  He said, "Every work of art is one half of a secret handshake...an act of hopeless optimism in the service of bottomless longing."  "Art, like fandom, asserts the possibility of fellowship in a world built entirely from materials of solitude."  He talks a bit about this failed fan club as a model for every book he writes.  "My story and my stories are all, in one way or another, the same, tales of solitude and the grand pursuit of connection, of success and the inevitability of defeat."

And boy, does that seem like blogging.  At least for me.  Whether I'm reaching out to fellow autism parents, writers, friends, family, or my kids...or maybe I'm reaching for memories or trying to capture a feeling for myself...blogging is looking for connection the way he describes making art as the pursuit of connection.  And with blogging, perhaps a much more direct and tangible result like interaction with like-minded people, and social media conversation.

And all this 'inevitability of defeat' stuff is a bit of a downer, except, EXCEPT, this is the Pulitzer Prize winner.  And it's kind of nice to know that even when you've written...however many novels he's written, and even when you've won...whatever awards he's won...you still question yourself and worry about failure.  And maybe for someone like me (or others who might read this) you shouldn't worry so much about the failure, because EVERYONE worries about failure, and instead just reach out for that secret handshake and search for a fellowship of readers in the solitude of writing.  I think that's what all bloggers do, or are doing...looking for people 'in their shoes' to read their words, acknowledge their own similar/same experiences, and take what was a work of solitude and turn it into a shared experience.

I hope that made sense. 

Meanwhile...or...actually "later":  I was 'reading' "Sharp Ends", which is a series of short stories (another nuther thing I usually don't read) by Joe Abercrombie.  I put reading in quotes because it's an audiobook.  I love Abercrombie's books.  At the end of Sharp Ends there's a ten minute interview with the narrator and Abercrombie, and they discuss "muse".  Abercrombie is asked how he approaches writing.  Does he wait for the muse to strike, or sit and write from 10 - 2, or other?  And Abercrombie said something that I thought was smart.  He said if he waited for the muse he'd never write.  He said that real writing, is writing in SPITE of your muse (or lack thereof), the hardwork of writing something even though you don't really feel inspired to do so. 

I think I've always known that, but again, it's nice to hear an established author talk about not really being particularly inspired, but writing through it anyway, because...it's what he does for a living.  He went on to say that he sometimes IS inspired and sometimes DOES get a great idea he wants to commit to the page, but that his writing is not and can not be dependent upon that.  It's too inconstant. 

That, to a certain extent, is advice I need to apply directly to myself.  I mean, I don't ever really want to feel like writing is a slog, or writing isn't enjoyable.  But maybe abandoning writing entirely because you're at a particularly uninspired place and waiting for ideas to come to you is the wrong approach.  And maybe getting into the habit of writing...on good days, on bad days, so that overall you've enjoyed the process even if a few times you felt like what you produced was complete dogshit, is the right way to do it, if you want to DO it. 

I often pay lip service to the idea that I want to write, but also struggle from time to time making the effort to do so.

Anyway.  I've wanted to write.  And to read.  And so this is some stuff that I read and it made me want to write about it.  Win-win!

Divergent

Lots of stuff has been going on, and so I'm going to pretty much ignore it all and just post this.  It's weird.  My last post was about me driving to work, and the post prior to that was two months ago.  So there's officially so much crap that's happened since then that I'm just going to sweep it off the table like it never happened so I can move on. 

Oh...funny(ish) sidebar...

In college a fraternity brother of mine and I went to a party where we all sat around a table and played quarters.  My personality immediately drew "rules"...Jim talks, Jim drinks...that kind of thing.  Similarly, my friend Todd.  Todd "the Wad".  So the Wad was sitting directly across the table from me, and everyone had gotten up to refill the pitcher or make potty stops or whatever, and Todd looks up at me blearily, as if to speak, and throws up on the table. 

I recoiled, scooting back as far from the table as I could, and the Wad...well...he just swept it off the table like it never happened.  They came back with more beer, and the Wad just kept on playing.  He was a trooper, the Wad. 

Anyway...when I said I had all that crap that went on over the past two months and I was just sweeping it off the table?  I immediately thought of Todd the Wad.

Back on track...

I've always been an avid reader.  We've always read to the kids and I've done my level best to encourage Emma to find joy in books as well.  The Harry Potter series seemed to hit home with her.  We read it to her until she was about 11, then she finished the series off herself.  But after Harry Potter, she sort of hit a dead spot.  She just doesn't get as much out of reading as I did.  And to be fair, she's probably more active than I am. 

She's starting 7th grade.  This past weekend she came home very stressed out because she had learned that in addition to the assigned reading (in Reading class), she also needed to read three novels per 9 weeks.  She just didn't see how that was going to be possible.

We talked it out, trying to make her feel better, explaining how when she has time to read, instead of playing Words with Friends, or chatting with friends, or whatever the app du jour is...if she reads, she'll have no trouble finishing.  She seemed skeptical, but somewhat less stressed. 

The 7th graders have a choice this year, "pick one of the following:  Hunger Games, or Divergent."  I told her to just pick whichever book she doesn't want as her assigned reading.  The way I saw it, some of the kids were going to pick the other book, and if she used that as an extra novel, she'd at least be able to talk to kids who were also reading it.  The next day she came home with her first "In addition to the assigned reading" novel, "Divergent."

Okay...on the books.

I read Hunger Games.  While I don't have a problem with the book, I just wouldn't ever have picked it for my 12 year old.  It just seems too...grown up.  We shelter her from so much.  When the news is on, we turn it off.  Is she ready for this kind of book?  I would have recommended "The Borrowers" or "Chronicles of Narnia" or something...but Hunger Games?  I made my peace with it.  I decided that I would read Divergent with her, so at least I could see what she was reading.  I enjoyed it.  But she...

Loved it.  It's more grown up than the other books she's read, was that what she needed to really love a book?  Have I, all this time, been doing her a disservice by recommending books (that ARE good) that are just too...childish for her? 

She just started dance at a new studio.  She'd promised herself she'd work on her flexibility more and was stretching every night.  I know this sounds like I'm changing the subject, but...

She told me that she could really SEE the characters and what they were doing in a way that she didn't think any other book apart from Harry Potter could do.  She was sooooo into it.  I loved it.  The first night she started reading it, I told her the story of how I'd once read a book all night and went to bed only when I realized the sun had come up and I hadn't slept yet.  That night I told her she was free to read a little past bedtime, but at 11:30 to find a good spot to stop, and then go to sleep. 

I kissed her goodnight and went downstairs to finish cleaning some stuff up and walk on the treadmill.  At 12:30 I walked up the stairs to see her light still on.  I walked in to see Emma, unapologetically very wide awake and still reading. 


"Em, honey, it's after midnight.  I told you to find a good spot to stop an hour ago!"

"There wasn't a good place to stop!"

Fair enough.  She marked her place in the book and went to sleep.  I wondered if she'd have trouble sleeping because she was so excited about it.  She slept fine.  Finished the book the following day. 

One day into her assignment to read three additional novels per nine weeks, she was done with her first novel.  I think she feels a little less stressed about her class requirements now...and I am hopeful that she's discovering, in more grown up story-lines, a love of reading.