Blog, blog, blog

Today I joined an (In)courage Writer's Group on Facebook. When you join a group full of bloggers, you realize you should probably start blogging more. About what I'm still trying to figure out. Sure, I have tons of thoughts. But as I have no readership, I don't know what is readable. :) But one girl said that she needed to start blogging even if no one reads it. That's good.

I also realized that if I'm going to join a group like that, I should probably make time to read the blogs of those in my new community! Which made me want to share what I HAVE been reading.

I just finished reading A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. Wow. Written in 1943, it shows amazing insight into, well, humans. The authoress, Betty Smith, doesn't need to have written anything else (I don't know if she did) because A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, in my inexpert opinion, is a magnum opus. She was so thorough. I came across one loose thread never brought to its end--Francie and Neeley got a live Christmas tree and decided to keep it and water and manure it. Towards the end of the book I thought, "Hm, she never said what happened with that. But I guess no book can perfectly close up all loose ends." Hah! She did. Bottom of the last page. :)

See, I'm wordy. Another reason why I'm not sure what to blog about, because I could go on and on about this book. :) A Tree Grows in Brooklyn follows the life and family of Francie, a girl living in the immigrant area of Brooklyn. In the beginning of the book I thought, and told others, "This book has no plot. It's not going anywhere. But it's interesting." And it just got more and more interesting until I've decided I think it's one of my favorite books. Minus the language. Went through it with a black pen for future readings' sake. And it's not really a family book either.

Hm, I wasn't planning on blogging about that book. But thus it happened. So I will include my two favorite quotes from the book and be done with it.

After spending a chapter on Francie's mother's side, and then a chapter on Francie's father's side, the book then outlines Francie's similarities to both, and then how she was made up of more, the flower in the brown bowl, the books she read, her quarrels with her brother, etc. Then,

"She was all of these things and of something more that did not come from the Rommelys nor the Nolans, the reading, the observing, the living from day to day. It was something that had been born into her and her only--the something different from anyone else in the two families. It was what God or whatever is His equivalent puts into each soul that is given life--the one different thing such as that which makes no two fingerprints on the face of the earth alike."

 

And near the end of the book, when Francie was 15 years old,

 

"'I need someone,' thought Francie desperately. 'I need someone. I need to hold somebody close. And I need more than this holding. I need someone to understand how I feel at a time like now. And the understanding must be part of the holding.

 

'But it isn't an Aunt Sissy thing [carnal] because there's this understanding that I want almost more than I want the holding.'"

NaNoWriMo Day 11

So....
I ended 30 days of quotes on the 31st, only to be informed November 1st by a Facebook friend that November was

National Novel Writing Month

 

As in, you spend the month of November writing a novel, or rather, the first draft, to be precise, 50,000 words.

 

Nice idea, but no, I just finished 30 Days of Blogging and that was enough of a challenge. But hm, that was fun, maybe joining this community of writers would be too. But no, it's November 1st and I'm just hearing about this and I haven't prepared myself at all for such an undertaking.

 

So that night I sat down with my computer on my bed and began typing.

 

By the way, one of the "rules" is that you can't use things you've previously written. It's supposed to be all fresh. (I don't know if ppl actually keep that rule, but ah well.)

 

I found I did have something to say. But I wasn't going to commit. Actually, I tried to sign up on the official website, but it didn't quite work so I ditched the idea. My Facebook friend however was posting her word count and was apparently excited about it.

 

My thought? I'll piggyback on her enthusiasm. Ride in her wake.

 

A few days passed, including a splendid trip to an English Country Barn Dance, and I got sidetracked. Problem is, if you want to keep on this novel-in-a-month idea, you've got to write at least 1600 words a DAY!

 

To give up or carry on?

 

I carried on. And now I'm ALMOST at 15,000 words. (They say I'm supposed to be at some 18,000, but I'm sufficiently impressed with my progress, thank you.)

 

Might I share here a passage of what I've written in honor of the season? I'm sure I've read somewhere that a writer should NOT share what she's written prematurely, but . . . .

 

Here goes (and yes, that is the font I've been creating in--quite fun! and yes, this is a NOVEL, ie. NON-FICTION, but I'm writing it in the first person because that is what the story needs):

 

I absolutely loved Thanksgiving because I loved autumn. The red and orange and yellow leaves. The brisk air and slight breeze. Pumpkin pie, apple donuts, and maple syrup over cornbread. Thanksgiving was the apex of the season, especially in California where fall didn’t really come until late October. [. . . ]

With nothing to deter me from reveling in the holiday, I was ready to eat my heart out. I filled my plate with roasted turkey, candied yams, stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy, and crescent rolls. I went back to the kitchen to fill up a mug with cinnamony apple cider. I could smell the pumpkin pie cooking in the oven. I loved Thanksgiving!

The Charlie Brown theme song started playing.

“It’s Jen!” I said, handing the cellphone to my dad.

I took my hot mug back to the table and picked up my fork and knife. I cut a small piece of turkey and stabbed it.

“Jen wants me to put her on the loud speaker,” Dad said.

With the turkey still on my fork, I squished it into the yams, then used my knife to shovel mashed potatoes and stuffing on top, then dipped it all into the gravy. I looked at my loaded fork. Sheer delight in a single bite.

Jen’s voice came over the cell phone loudspeaker. “Hi, you guys! Michael and I are engaged!”

The next day I would feel jipped—my favorite meal of the year had come and gone and I hadn’t even been able to stomach a whole plate.