My Own Worst Enemy

It's that old song and dance:

  • I start a blog/project and set off on some new idea.
  • Life happens, and I get behind a self-imposed deadline.
  • I feel discouraged and lame, and the pile of abandoned ideas grows.

I know many have trouble with this. It's really something we don't talk about; I know my own reasons involve shame and self-degredation, always feeling like a failure.

Last weekend, and early into the week, Brett and I were cleaning up the apartment thoroughly. It was time for our yearly inspection, and I wanted to make sure that we presented a good front of stability and neatness. As I sorted through one of my many bookshelves, this one with notebooks, I looked to see how many of them were blank versus how many had an idea or two near the front that had been tossed aside when I hadn't visited it in a while. The answer: more than I care to admit.

If you hadn't guessed, this is all to premise that no, I had not written all the reviews of the books I've read so far. And I currently a little behind on keeping tracking with my goal to read 52 books this year. But now is the time to stand up and dust off the shelves, and getting to reading and writing.

If I'm going to ever stop standing in my own way, I'd better learn that it's okay to not be super on top of everything 100% of the time.

Nourishing the Soul [Book Review of Voracious by Cara Nicoletti]

I came across this book on a list of recommendations by Off the Shelf, as a book for "the bookworm who loves cooking".

That sounded right up my alley. I love books, and not only do I love eating food, but I love cooking. I was sold.

From the moment I began the book (yesterday), the title described more than the author's hunger for good food. There's a search for meaning in the meals she read about it books from her childhood, for finding truth in those small moments of memory. Nicoletti then takes that meal from the pages, or her interpretation of it, and transforms it into an actual recipe for the reader-chef to create on their own.

I loved Nicoletti's honesty. She laid her memories out, letting the reader know some pretty intimate moments she'd shared with family and friends. They're the kinds of memories that never really come up on their own, but with the right trigger can instantly start replaying in our minds.

Reading of her bookish childhood made me recall my own, though of a different strain than Nicoletti's. Hers was a family affair, with sisters and parents and grandparents and extended family all encouraging this habit and giving her books to read just at the right time. Mine felt like a struggle to keep it alive. My parents encouraged me well enough, especially regarding maintaining a strong intellect and curiousity that reading provides. But they couldn't buy me all the books I wanted, didn't have the ones from their own childhood to pass down. The school library, when we were allowed to visit, left me wanting (we had assigned times once a month, maybe.)

I managed to find enough to around to read: Mrs. Janes's collection in 3rd grade was where I read all the Sweet Valley Jr. High books she had; I saved the extra change from lunches for when we'd get that beautiful Scholastic order form, buying the others I'd circled that my parents said were too much; the old and slowly obseleting storylines of Encylopedia Brown in the local library. It was in that last place, in our town's teeny library that I read those tween-centered puzzlers, ones that followed in the same vein as Nancy and the Hardys, but wanted you to solve it. One of these series printed the answers backwards and/or upside down, to be read in front of a mirror with the book flipped if need be. These books taught me two things--how to think and question all the details that lay bare, and how to read that text without flipping or a mirror. The latter is a great trick for middle school students.

I am digressing though, which to segue back to the review, is something that does show up in Nicoletti's book in just the right amount. Back and forth in time with her is her natural storytelling mode, one I obviously can relate to. But in a much better way than I do, she makes sure the reader is grounded in the purpose of this entry--why this book particularly inspired her to re-create or imagine a recipe.

Speaking of, those recipes! They sound divine! I personally can't wait to try those Brown Butter Chocolate Chip Cookies (inspired by If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, obviously). The selections are not all like that example, a central obvious choice. Her particular humor shows through her recipe paired with Lord of the Flies, Porchetta di Testa. Or "Hansel and Gretel"'s Gingerbread Cake with Blood Orange Syrup.

Another way Nicoletti's particular voice came through that resonated with me was when she included books that she didn't necessarily like but recognized their place in her life.

Some advice for all parents out there: if you have a kid who already overwrought and anxious, Astrid's Lundgren's Pippi Longstocking is not the book you should read to her. Ande [her sister], ever the party girl, was thrilled by the book, laughing aloud and kicking her feet at Pippi's brazenness and spontaneity, but I was horrified. Her unpredictability bewildered me — her life was an unstructured nightmare, a circus! And I hated circuses. Even her appearance terrified me — those untamed flaming red pigtails, that cavernous gap in her garish smile...Pippi's chaotic existence had me stressed.

I love that. Pippi gains no ground in winning Nicoletti's over, but the book was read at a paticularly rough childhood moment. It's one where I felt a kinship with Nicoletti when she shares the memory of her making pancakes with her mother and both of them agreeing on Pippi and her rambunctiousness being too much to bear. Books have a particular poigancy when they also help us connect to the people standing next to us.

To divuge another personal anecdote: my mom loves yard sales. Adores them. When I was four, give or take, we were looking around, and I found a book bound in burlap brown, two boys silouhetted on front below the title pressing the material, The Tower Treasure. Fans will recongize that this is the first entry in the decades long Hardy Boys series, but at the time, I just thought that it looked like it might be good. I knew how to read at the time, and after persuring the first few pages, I knew I wanted it. I brought it to my mom, now talking with the woman selling these items. I still have an imprint of this woman's face, looking down me with a emotion I can only describe as well-meaning condenscension. She then said that might be too big a book for me. Momma, ever the opportunist when it comes to being right, opened the book to the first page and told me to read the first paragraph aloud. So I did. The woman was so impressed that I could read it at my age said we could have the book for free. Looking back, part of me wonders if she just thought I was younger than I was (I have always looked younger than I am). But in this scene from my past, I look back with fondness at Momma's simple response, a thread I see throughout my life and the lives of my brother and sister--Momma and Daddy's pride in all that we three had within our heads and motivation to not let others' expectations dampen our goals.

Because of the way it made me think back on my own reading youth and whetted my appetite both for food and for reading, this book is one I recommend not only to the cooking bookworms like myself, but to all with fond memories of the books they read in the back of their heads.

(P.S. I don't agree with her view of Holden Caulfield, but I love her inclusion of Middlesex and The Little Friend, two of my favorite books.)

The Hope That Sustains

While 2016 was a strange, strange year for almost all involved, one of the biggest personal upheavals for me was the loss of my desire to read.

I've had bouts of reader's block before: from having to read something for school and not being interested, overwhelmed by all the choices on my shelves and unable to choose, or just too involved in other things before I notice the same book has been in my bag for months on end.

Towards the end of the year, when I visited my family for Thanksgiving, I noticed myself falling into old routines from my youth, particularly my ease of grabbing a book when I no longer wanted to continue a conversation. For the first time in months, I devoured two books within the span of a few days. I felt like my old self who could flip pages and take in the content at breakneck speed. Unfortunately, I seemed to lose the motivation again on the flight back to Virginia.

Maybe it was a difference in location once again, but I tore through another book when I went with Brett to his parents' for Christmas, finishing a 300+ page book within roughly 12 hours.

As 2017 moved from future to now, I was reminded by Goodreads to set my reading challenge for the year. I fell woefully short in 2016 (a mere 27 of my 55 goal). I seem to do better in odd-numbered years, oddly enough. So, in an effort to not lower the bar to be too easy, I set my goal as 52—a book for each week.

Yesterday, though, I was looking through one of my many listicles bookmarked with potential "to-read" additions to my list, and I came across a book that I thought, I know I have a ton of books at home, but man, that one sounds really really good.

Another New Year trope is to read organizing and how to de-clutter one's life articles, in an attempt to stave off my inner hoarder of all things printed and bound. One of the suggestions I recently read regarding books, courtesy of everyone's favorite "less is more" guru Marie Kondo, was that the best time to read a book was that initial reaction period when you first had gotten the book, before it was placed on the to-be-read-at-a-later-date-aka-when-I-win-the-lottery-or-inherit-enough-money-to-never-need-to-work-again. She then advised that if you haven't read it within that introductory excitement period, it's best to go ahead and get rid of it.

While I won't heeding that last snippet any time soon (sorry, Brett), I thought of that in the seconds after I had read this book's blurb. Conbine that with yesterday's weirdly rough morning, and bam! I spend my lunch going to Barnes & Noble to pick it up and start reading it before I return to work.

Now, just over 24 hours later and finished with that same book, I feel invigorated in reading again. To try and capitalize on it, and to fulfill some of those goals to myself about writing more, I'm taking on PopSugar's 2017 Reading Challenge to inform which books I read and reviewing them in individual posts.

I know oh so many of you are clamoring to make sure that you don't miss a moment of my book reviews, but don't fret, dear readers. I'll aggregate them on a single special page that I'll link with the appropriate entry as the year progresses.

I feel really hopeful right now, as I usually do after finishing a book. (Usually. I'm looking at you, Bel Canto and Super Sad True Love Story, for being the exceptions to that norm.) I hope that this feeling continues, throughout the year, for all things. But I'll have to remember: this hope came through effort, through action. I can't just sit by idly and expect hope to fall down. I have to make it happen.

Dear Harry: A Love Letter to Books

Lately, I've had the urge to reorganize my books, to put the ones I haven't read towards the front, where I'll read them before the ones I've already read and enjoyed (or not).

Many of my fellow bibliophile friends are sticklers for well-kept books: no creased bindings, no dog-eared pages, no major damage to the book. I'm of the opposite camp: while I am saddened by some damage, especially to vintage tomes, those marks of a well-digested read are as much of an harbinger of memories as the story itself.

In this foray into my hundreds of books (not hyperbole), I came across my copy of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. The one I actually read from back in 1999. This book is the best example I have of why I find well-worn books so enjoyable.

The cover itself is fairly intact, considering its age and the distances it's traveled:

Oh, Harry. So young and naive and hopeful.  

Oh, Harry. So young and naive and hopeful.  

I first heard of this orphaned British boy from my 5th grade homeroom teacher. She read various books aloud to us from time to time, to make sure that we were hearing stories outside of the textbooks we read. I recognize now that it's because her background in elementary education made this second-nature to her, even if it seemed to us "baby-ish" at the time. To be completely frank, it's the one thing I can say I liked about her (she is one of my least favorite teachers, for various interactions we had that pivotal year.)

But I digress. She read to us, chapter by chapter, the exploits of this boy who discovered this secret magical world that he was a part of. Her reading schedule was inconsistent, so it could be weeks before we could read more. As someone who read books often in five sittings or less, this was unbearable for me. During spring break in March 2000, my sister, brother, and I were staying with our MoMo (maternal grandmother). She brought us to visit her sister NanNan and NanNan's longtime boyfriend Harry (that's a whole other ballgame, y'all). As a grandmother, MoMo was also very good at the game of spoiling grandchildren, so it didn't take much to get her to stop by the Books-a-Million near NanNan's house. I knew myself well enough that I got both The Sorceror's Stone and The Chamber of Secrets. (I was right; I finished SS before getting home to Mississippi later that week.)

The back of the book shows what happened after:

I promise, Officer, it was an accident! 

I promise, Officer, it was an accident! 

I have always been a lender of books. Even now, when there are more than I want to remember that never made their way back to me, I am willing to lend someone books without limit (as long I know how to reach you to remind you to return it...) So I lent the book to others who couldn't wait either to learn of what Harry would do next. This wavy set of pages in the back should be familiar to my fellow clumsy people--the aftermath of a spilled Coke. My memory tells me it was my fault on this one, but that it happened at school, so I think it was after someone returned it to me. The missing chunk of backcover? I needed to write something down.

As I grew older and really began to dive deep into the images and ideas that reading can evoke, I even became okay with writing in books. Harry isn't exempt from this. Notes from a young adult lit course I took senior year of undergrad:

Dumbledore gettin' deep.  

Dumbledore gettin' deep.  

The people have questions, Rowling! 

The people have questions, Rowling! 

I am always available for snarky commentary. 

I am always available for snarky commentary. 

This is why I love books with all their scars intact: they show the reader fully ingesting this work rather than treating it as some unattainable object. Interaction with it, letting it inform your life rather than idolizing it.

Don't get me wrong. I still find plenty of beauty in a book that is well-kept and bound and make sure to keep those books safe and secure--I have a Longfellow collection from the 1900's I keep in a showbox to protect it. It's more, for me at least, of an appreciation of the past and what is irreplaceable while knowing that part of reading without abandon means there is risk of harm to the pages. It's a small price to pay to potentially change how we see the world.

But, They're Wrong!: A Guide to Handling Misinformation on the Internet

I have this habit of coming off as a know-it-all. When we were younger, my sister, brother, and I were known around "the smart kids." I had a ton of self-esteem issues related to other parts of myself, but how smart I was? Overconfident in my abilities, to say the least.

You know that kid in your class who would correct the teacher? That was me. I would correct my mom as well (my siblings did too), and when she responded with how it annoyed her when we did this, I usually responded that she shouldn't have encouraged us to be so studious.

Basically, I was a top-notch prat Percy Weasley would have been proud of.

After some tumble-down-to-earth moments and a boyfriend who calls me out when I need it, I don't correct others as often when talking.

Enter: The Internet. Where false information easily researchable spreads faster than the flames on gas-soaked wood.

If you're like me, this particular political season is trying, at best. At its worst, it's downright unbearable. But I'm here to share some of my tips on how to not stress yourself and maintain relationships:

1. First, verify the information.
If you see information you're not sure about, look it up. It's always important to consider the source, and any bias it potentially has. For example, meme images with super-imposed text can be quickly checked out by searching for keywords in the text. Is it pu

2. See if it's timely information, or referencing old information. This happened recently with a tweet I saw on my feed, stating the DNC showed an image of a Russian boat in a video for US military. I clicked on the link, to read the article and saw it was from the 2012 election. While it did happen, it's not exactly the best information to reference for their argument (which was against this year's DNC).

3. See if the information is based on contextual magic.
Here's the thing about numbers: they can be manipulated to read whatever you want given the right criteria to filter on. Same goes with quotes. Is someone picking and choosing what words to highlight, or did they stop too early?
In short, the information you're reading might be true, but within what context?

4. Ask yourself, "Do I need to say something?"
This is arguably the hardest step. For me, I feel like if someone just knew they were wrong, then they would see my side of things and say, Oh! My bad! Because that's how I would respond (and have). It's a hard lesson I'm learning, that not everyone would do the same. There are people who don't care if something's true or not, and it's not worth the effort of arguing it on the internet.

5. If you do decide to say something, there are three options:

5a. Put it out there, but not really put it out there.
This one is a longtime favorite of mine. I have written many emotionally charged responses, and by the time I finished, I said, Forget it, and deleted it all. It's cathartic to get my feelings out there, even if I never do actually send those words along. I also verbalize frustrations with mis-information with those I know who will understand--aka I rant outloud to my boyfriend. And he doesn't always agree with me, but it helps to get it off my chest.

5b. Be as succinct and fact-based as possible.
This is the tactic I use with family and friends that I know will not change their minds. Just a quick line of how an image has been photoshopped, or how the blog they link to isn't correct because of xyz, with appropriate links for all. Get in, get out. It can even be as short as, "That's been debunked," with a link to the Snopes article. (I recently used this exact line for the oft-shared false Donald Trump quote about Republican voters being dumb. You know the one.)

5c. If you are emotionally driven, say so!
There are a lot of negative connotations with the term "millennial", usually relating to how we're "an entitled generation". As someone who freely identifies as such, it riles me up when someone paints all people born in a certain generation with a wide brush, especially one I'm a part of.

6. Know when to walk away.
You can tell when you're punching a brick wall. It's good to know your limit of what your sanity can take. Sometimes, that means putting down the phone, and removing yourself completely from the situation for a bit.

Overall, I feel that misinformation can be stopped, that we can bring truth and understanding and perspective to debate.

Then again, besides being a know-it-all, I've always been an optimist.

Ta-DA!

If you've found yourself here, congratulate yourself on finding my little corner of the internet.

I've always like the idea of having my own website. For years, most of those were blog-based platforms, such as Blogger/Blogspot, Wordpress, Tumblr, or even Xanga, for back in the day.

But because of my current podcast obsession, specifically with great shows like Reply All, Criminal, Serial, et al., I get constantly bombarded with ads for awesome stuff. In this case, Squarespace.

After months of thinking, and getting a free trial, I finally bit the bullet a few weeks ago, and just bought my domain and the service.

And I gotta say--I'm digging it.

Now, if you, lucky reader, continue to scroll, you will see more content by yours truly, directly imported from my Blogspot. Feel free to read. Learn ALL about me. (Well, not all. I still have some secrets.)