Back from The Black Hole

I'ts been a bit since I've posted... I have the regular excuses - lack of time and/or energy, lack of interesting things to say, lack of happy mood and desire to document funks... but the biggest reason is I've been thoroughly, pathetically, immersed in teen fiction. The boys and I have been reading Harry Potter for the past 18 months or so, usually at bedtime. The first three or four books were okay, kinda silly but cute and fun - very much for kids. The last three books were much more... more. I found myself giving the boys more second chances to not lose their story time because *I* wanted to read. Finally I finished the last book by myself (Shhhh, they don't know) a full week before we finished it together. I went through literary withdrawal and mourning for the loss of Harry, Ron and Hermione.

THEN, my bookclub selection for January was Twilight. Stupid, eh? I had actively NOT read any of the Twilight series. I'm not interested in vampires. I'm not interested in silly lovesick junior high school giggly girl stories. I'm not interested in trash fiction, I want books that make me escape, think, argue, wonder, feel... not silliness. I read my borrowed Twilight quickly through the last bit of the Christmas break, vowing not to read the second one. It was a quick, easy read that was hard to put down but I found myself skimming to get through it to read the end instead of soaking in the words as I do with books I LOVE. And I really wasn't going to read the second one. Honestly. Not in the least bit interested. And right now I can't remember what changed my mind? I do remember borrowing the second book from N, and looking at how thick it was and feeling exhausted and bored looking at it's width - I really didn't want to start over with such a long book. But I did, and everyone said the third one was the best, but I wasn't seeing N for another few days after I finished the second one, but if I'm owning ONE, I need to own all of them and Costco had them on for a good price (about half of the cover price). I left it to fate - if they were there when I went shopping, I'd get them, otherwise I would not. They were there and I have finished the third and fourth books in about a week. All 1500+ pages of them - including reading until after 3am last night. And I still can't admit they're GOOD. "Good" is a strong word, but they were better than one and two - and ADDICTIVE. If I wasnt' reading it, I was thinking about reading it. Pathetic, eh? Unlike with Harry and his friends, I'm glad I've finished with Bella and her love triangle. They're all living - sorta - happily ever after and I can get on with my life.

I used to read a lot. I took a lot of English classes through highschool and through university, to make sure I was reading something - I don't think there was ever a semester I wasn't taking English? I love it. I love reading, thinking, talking about it everything. That stopped when I started at Dal - no English was offered, and it was harder justify the time spent on a book. It was even worse when the kids were babies - I think there was a good span of 6 or 7 years that I only read educational or professional text books or parenting books. Part of it was not finding the time, part of it was fear for nights like last night where I just can't put a book away and end up getting three hours sleep. A couple of years ago I joined my bookclub in an effort to force myself to read one book a month and meet to talk about it. I remember talking to Mom on my way there after a very late night, a very rough day and she asked why I was going out instead of home to bed. My answer was simple, it's the only thing I do For Me. Not for Steve or the kids, not for work, not for church, not for community, just for me, and I love it. Since forcing the issue with the bookclub books I've found that I'm reading more than just those books now too - spending time every day to read, even if it's ten minutes at bedtime. I've missed it and am so glad to have it back.

But it brings back whispers. I don't think I'm cut out for this life - the kids and chaos yes, but not the job. Given my choice I'd be in a much different place - my first choice would be Broadway, but since I can't sing, dance or act, that's not really a realistic goal. My other choice would be to be holed up at home, in a cluttered, mysterious office writing and painting works of literary and visual art. When I'm reading a lot I start to hear voices in my head... well not voices, just one voice. The voice is an omnipresent narrator documenting the thoughts and actions of a Nobel Prize winning protagonist - me. Lofty expectations, eh? I read about people like JK Rowling and Stephanie Meyer who report that characters come to them in train stations (Harry et. al.) and dreams (Bella and her coven) and I wait for my characters to come find me. But where are they?

N