Author: beckylevine

Here it is! The guys (yes, per my instructions, but–hey–subtlety is highly overrated)bought it, wrapped it, and presented it to me on my birthday! Let me tell you, that wrapping didn’t last long.

First thing I learned. I adore it!

I read two books on it over the weekend (hey, it was my birthday!), which pretty much verifies that this reading addict, at least, can feed her habit via paper or electronics.

Other things I’ve learned so far:

• You can take it in the bath. Carefully.
• Eoin Colfer’s final Artemis Fowl book, The Last Guardian, rocks the series.
• You can only loan a book out one time. Which means that Son and I got to read The Last Guardian on our own kindles, but–if/when Husband gets one, he won’t be able to. Because, you know, we never pass a print book around through the whole family. Yeah, right. I understand the business model the publishers are using, but…come on, guys! You’re really not going to get me to buy multiple copies. This, you could change.
• 40+ plus years of cleaning eyeglasses comes in handy for getting all those smudges off the Fire’s touch screen. Which, BTW, is bee-yoo-tiful!
• My dad told me that his kindle is lighter than the books he reads. Which I think means 1) Dad has a different Kindle than the Fire and/or 2) Dad buys bigger book or more hard-backs than I do.
• YOU CAN FREEZE THE SCREEN! You know, so when you’re reading in bed and you tilt the kindle sort of diagonally, the page doesn’t go all wonky and flip back and forth between portrait and landscape. Thanks to Son for this one.
• My library system doesn’t yet have enough Kindle books to make me giddy with delight. But I can be patient, because I love my library, as much or more as I love my Kindle. And, you know, there are still print books I can bring home. The nightstand shall not be empty.
• Apps. Not so much.
• You have to (sometimes?!) synchronize your Kindle after you download a book. It doesn’t always show up automatically. Then, again, sometimes it does. I can handle the confusion.
• The battery lasts a nice, long time, but not always long enough for…you know, a reading addict. And the charging cord they ship with the Kindle is just barely long enough.
• It drives my son nuts when I put down the Kindle without putting it to sleep. Driving my son nuts=just an added benefit, right?

Pretty much, all good. Pretty much, ALL GREAT. My cover is on the way, so any day now, Son and I can quit getting mixed up about whose is whose, and I’ll be able to prop the thing up in any orientation I want when I’m reading at the table. Which,you know, is a lot of the time.

What about you? Are you an e-reader owner yet? Fan? Not so much? Feel free to share your “learning points” in the comments!

Tuesday, I got back to plotting the YA historical. I’d gotten on a roll while on vacation, and I know all too well how, if you don’t jump back on the wheel relatively soon, it’ll go flat and be that much harder to get spinning again. So I took a couple of hours in the morning and a couple of hours in the afternoon, and I worked. Those big chunks of time are magic, as I’m remembering, and I felt like I got to new points of understanding for my story and for how I like to plot.

A few things to share:

1. Sometimes, sitting and staring actually works. Along with actually letting your brain roam at least loosely over the story possibilities.
2. The system of assigning a +/- or a -/+ to a scene card makes you think about a) the fact that story is action and change, together b) which direction you want your hero’s pattern of failure & success to shift in each individual scene, and c) what you’re going to make happen to cause that shift.
3. There really is a story reason for every action or event. Be patient and look for that reason (see #1 above). Believe me, you will know when something feels forced, coincidental, or unbelievable. And you’ll know, as you move things around and look at possible causes and connections, when it all makes sense and works.
4. This whole Act I, Act II (in two parts), Act III thing is pretty cool. When you move a scene from one Act to the other, you can feel the shift in balance, weight, and power of that moment, the whole story. Once again, I’m remembering how much I worship structure.
5. I really do like Scrivener scene cards more than paper index cards. I can jot down all my notes and thoughts, without any space limitations. I can do that jotting by typing, which means I can actually read what I’ve written. I can cut and paste and delete, without inked-up scribbles making the whole card a useless piece of confusion. And I can work with Scrivener’s color-coding, without having to recopy and tear up a card every time I decide that it’s Red, for Daniel’s storyline, instead of bright blue, for Abe’s.

So I’ve been musing about this post for a while. Basically, I’ve been thinking about how much I read and where that time comes from and what I get from the actual reading. And I’ve been hesitating about writing up the post, because I was a bit afraid of sounding whiny (about having to sometimes put reading aside to get some other things done), or braggy (about how many books I do read), or defensive (like: it is so not a waste of precious writing time when I pick up someone else’s book).

But then Jennifer R. Hubbard put up a little post about why reading is so absolutely wonderful and necessary, and I thought, Oh, just write the damned thing. And make it a gratitude post, and you won’t be able to whine. Much.

I think this whole thought-path started when I decided to keep count of how many books I read this year. I see other people talking about that on their blogs, and I got a bit curious about what my number would actually be. So on January 1st, I started keeping track. I’m not counting picture books, not because they don’t count–value-wise–just as much as a novel, but it takes me such a short amount of time to read one, I felt like I’d be cheating just to inflate my count! (Yes, I can go loopy over just about any issue, why do you ask?) And I wasn’t going to keep track of research books, unless I read them cover to cover, rather than jumping around between the topics I really need to learn about. So, basically, that left me with novels and memoirs, many of which I knew would be (and have been) rereads.

As of today, I’m at 151 books.

I read a lot.

• I read while I eat.
• I read while I cook.
• I read when I take a bath.
• I read in the car (parked!).
• I read at night before I go to sleep.
• I read on the couch for luxuriously long sessions.
• I read instead of doing a better job cleaning the house.
• I read instead of choosing a complicated recipe that will require me to spend more time at the stove, thinking about what I’m doing.
• I read instead of meditating.
• I read, some days, instead of doing yoga.
• I read instead of writing.

Pretty much the only item in that list that has the potential to bother me is that last one. Because, yes, if I’m tired or stressed or worried about what I’m going to write, I will pick up a book rather than a manuscript.

This is not so good. I don’t actually worry about it too much, because I know how much I get from reading, not just for my sanity but for my writing skills as well. I am halfway through a book that I’m enjoying, but guess what–it’s making me remember that world-building, cool as it is, can’t take the place of action and conflict for too many pages or I start skimming over it. I just finished a book that wrought such a perfect balance between its world-building and its story that I need to put it on the list of books to study. I get inspired by what I read, and I go back to my own writing recharged and remotivated.

Still, if one was crazy enough to look at it in terms of hours, it’d be hard to miss the number of those hours that I would have available to write…if. If I slowed down on the reading. If I set writing requirements for myself, with reading rewards. If I only brought home three or four books from the bookmobile, instead of ten or twelve. If, if, if…

Not going to happen. My husband spends hours and miles on his bicycle, because riding does pretty much the same thing for him that reading does for me. (If you ignore the fact that none of those reading activities I listed actually does a thing for my physical health.) It’s why we back each other’s habits–not just because we’re nice and kind and supportive. Because we know what it would be like to live with the other person if they didn’tget all that time with their bicycle/books.

I shudder to even think about it.

So, yeah, the reading will continue. Let’s just say the voracious reading will continue. Yes, this year, I’ve got some big writing goals, and I know I’m going to push myself to keep at them. So, okay, maybe the reading-to-writing ratio will shift just a little bit in a new direction. Which would be okay.

The house-cleaning, though? Don’t get your hopes up!

Okay, so after a careful, thorough,  and extremely scientific analysis, I can tell you that–for me and my family–a vacation consists of an adventure or two (or not, for those who don’t so choose); a lot of late, but large breakfasts; quite a bit of driving; some goofiness; books; and about one museum. Music shops, in the plural. Coffee and candy whenever and wherever they show up. Maybe a movie (Yes, I did go see THE DARK KNIGHT RISES. Overall feeling? Not bad. But..yeah, you can take the Marvel-comics girl into the DC theater, but you can’t make her switch teams.)

I don’t take a lot of photos. Even if you’re just looking at a percentage of the whole count, I don’t take a lot of good photos. But, for your perusal, because we all love travel pics (???!!!), here are a few shots and notes from the trip.

The guys started with a day underground. They spent four happy hours, as the only people other than the guide, doing all the ups and downs and ins and outs of the Middle Earth Expedition at California Caverns. I have no photos, because why? Because I am the claustrophobic one in the family, and no tantalizing descriptions of an underground lake (very cool thought!) and lots of goopy mud requiring you to wear high-top shoes (also pretty cool thought, if only in theory) are getting me into those caves. Or those tiny, tinyvcracks in those caves. If I want to get totally stressed out and anxious and trapped-feeling, I can always reread Nevada Barr’s Blind Descent (which, if you haven’t, you should!).

What did I do instead?

I plotted. I had told myself that this was my chance to get something going on the plot of my YA historical. I was definitely feeling a bit like the book was headed toward a drawer, which wasn’t making me happy, but I was also feeling very not willing to keep bumbling/rambling around anymore. I’d finished Donald Maass’ Writing the Breakout Novel and most of Save the Cat,  and I had lots of story thoughts and notes. I took those and my Scrivener software, and I got lots of scene cards up for Act I and Act II. I still have some way to go, but now that way feels possible. Happy work to come!

The caves are in the California foothills, so we stayed in Angels Camp, which is the town Mark Twain talks about in The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County. Angel’s Camp has a lot of frog statues and art. Personally, I liked this one.

The next morning, we went to our one museum, at Railtown 1897 State Historic Park. If you like trains and/or history, this is the place for you. My husband does like trains (I had to leave him for 3+ hours once at the Sacramento Train museum before he’d had even close to enough time to make him happy.) And I’m pretty good with history these days. My son knew the music shops were coming, so he was very patient. Like I said, not a lot of photos, but does anyone else love how this looks like a big train stable?

And, apparently, I didn’t catch a photo of the water tower from the opening credits, but does this bring back TV memories for anyone of you?

For a better “clue,” go here.

Starting near lunchtime, we drove up and across the state and ended up, very tired but happy, sleeping under the trees in Humboldt Redwoods State Park. If you like redwoods and could skip the bother of setting up a tent to keep out the damp, I can highly recommend the Burlington campground here. Wherever else the fog was, and it was a lot of places, it was never in our campground at the same time we were. So we were able to just put down sleeping bags, curl up, and wake to this view.

Okay, this is actually a better view than I woke to, because, obviously, I wake up without my glasses. But as soon as I groped around and put them on, this is what I saw. Gorgeous. I’ve been around redwoods all my life, but I always forget how amazingly warm and friendly they are. Really.

We pretty much meandered through towns for the next day or two. We had breakfast at the Samoa Cookhouse, near Eureka, where I saw this stove in their museum.

Definitely bigger than Caro’s mother would have had, and I have no idea of the when of this stove, but it was good to see something even similar up close and personal. I liked how the waffle iron was set down into the burner spot–so it was either a burner cover or a waffle iron, depending on your current need. Which, you know, would most likely be waffles.

We did bookstores, a little sunshine, and coffee/tea/lemonade in Arcata. The reading selections of the day:

And we drove home. Stopped at one more music store, where my son bought himself a new ukulele–an upgrade from the one he’s had a while and perfect for a traveling-around instrument. We were all pretty tired by the time we saw this, but it always means about an hour left to the trip, so it’s a welcome sight.

And now, as they say, reality begins again. Came home feeling like, yes, I’d been away–which is always good–and that there were good things waiting for me here. (Along with the good things, those two guys, that traveled with me, of course!) I have picture books to draft and revise, and I have a plot to push through to the end. And a novel to write that, finally, feels like it could actually happen.

Life is good.

Okay, honestly, two weeks–my first two weeks on the new development/grant-writing job.

1. When you’re “of a certain age,” the best desk chair is the one that makes you sit up straight.
2. Budgeting can actually be fun, when you’ve got a workshop teacher who sees said budgets as “telling a story.”
3. A seven-minute commute is just as stupendously fantastic as you predicted it would be.
4. Your teenage son can (totally and easily) survive fewer hours of your scintillating presence than he is used to being tortured graced with.
5. New [people, places, tasks: take your pick!] shake up and wake up your brain.

Here’s to change–the good kind, anyway!

No, I’m not talking about the Hitchcock movie. I’m talking about our back deck.

Every morning, my husband takes out a cupful of bird seed and scatters it along the deck railing. On the table. Along the ground. Then he whistles.

And they come. Oh, do they come. Our regular are:

1. Stellar Jays. Or as we affectionately refer to them: Pig-Birds. These guys come to gobble up whatever we put out there, although I’m not sure how they can eat, what with the squawking and squabbling they do. They land and take off rapidly, they hop at each other to establish some kind of temporary dominance, and they turn their back on the woodpeckers (see below) as if they think this means the other birds can’t see them. Definitely my husband’s favorite.

2. One Scrub Jay. Yes, just one. Okay, maybe there are two, but we never see them at the same time. I know a lot of people prefer the Stellars, in terms of sheer amazing beauty, but–believe me–after fifteen minutes of loud, boisterous, gorgeously BLUE Stellar Jays trying to assert power, one solitary Scrub Jay brings along a subtlety that has its own kind of appeal.

3. Acorn Woodpeckers. These guys hold the true power among the birds, as much as the Stellars try to pretend otherwise. It must be the beaks, right? Because they’re no bigger than the Stellar Jays, and they come nowhere near to outnumbering the Jays on our deck, at least. But, boy, an Acorn Woodpecker lands, and the Jays take off. Yes, they come back, but there’s a space around each woodpecker that they don’t venture into. I guess, if you’ve been sharpening your beak on an oak tree for your whole life, you’re not too worried about a Jay with attitude. Because, for you, it’s only attitude.

4. Juncos. These are my favorite. I leave the attention-demanding Jays to my husband. The Juncos have an intelligent quietude toward them. They don’t get squawked at or chased away much by the Jays, and–for their part–they don’t bother the Jays. They hop around the railing and down on the ground, and they’re perfectly content to hang around into the afternoon to check whether there’s anything left from the morning feeding. They also hang out in the plants at the front of the house, just outside my office window, rustling leaves and doing little flits of movement that I can only just catch out of the corner of my eye while I work. The last week or so, we’ve seen a few juveniles. They hang out with Dad, and–I think–he helps to feed them, even though they’re as big as he is. At least, I think that’s what he’s doing when they touch beaks. Maybe, though, they’re just friendly little parent-child kisses. Whatever–very sweet!

5. Doves. I won’t go on, because I know everyone loves doves. Not me. Ever since I had about a gazillion of them outside my bedroom window, my last year of college, when I lived on Balboa Island, that cooing has driven me crazy. The Jays try to chase the Doves off, and–frankly, I’m cheering the Jays on–but it doesn’t work. They are just too stupid to get that they’re being pushed around. Or to stop cooing. Sheesh.

We have a couple of other occupants on that deck. We sometimes get a couple of Black-headed Grosbeaks and an occasional California Towhee, who I love–such a beautiful pinky brown and hard to watch for any amount of time, because he takes off quickly. We have ONE SQUIRREL that has found its way to the feeding party, and let me tell you, that squirrel does not leave much for the birds. Once he’s there, even the woodpeckers don’t mess with him (HOW does a squirrel outrank a woodpecker beak?). And while the birds peck and grab, that squirrel is like the most powerful vacuum cleaner you’ve ever owned. He pretty much moves along the railing and hoovers up everything there. I wish I could get my pots and pans that clean. I like the squirrel better than the doves, but still…I wouldn’t mind him sharing just a little more, so the Juncos would have more to come back to in the afternoon.

The last member of the deck club? My cat. If she gets herself established out there, usually in the shade under one of the chairs, the birds will show up and nobody bugs anybody else. They must realize she’s there, right? But she’s old and deaf enough to just lay there and enjoy the sun and the view, and the birds keep eating along and hanging about. Animal dynamics: Go figure.

I don’t consider myself a birder. The idea of a life list fills me with intimidation and panic. But something about having lived in this house for almost 20 years and watching the comings and goings, the new arrivals, makes me feel at least a little connected to “our birds.” At least enough to keep buying that bird seed.

A while ago, I wrote a whole post here about the difference between time in the summer and the rest of the year. The Internet ate that post (with a little help from me), but I keep having reminders of this feeling: that time moves differently during the summer. Sometimes slower, sometimes faster, but really not the same as in the other seasons.

June was two weeks straight of camp, then a busy 4th of July week with people coming and going, including me, and son practicing for his first band gig that Saturday. Where are we now? Camp is over, summer homework is starting to rear its semi-ugly head, and I’m just letting myself transition gently into yet another pace of living.

Which, this week, means walks. I’ve got three Walks With Friends on the calendar, and I’m hoping all of them come off. It’s a good indication to me that I’ve been just a little too introverted, maybe even just a little too focused on head-calming-yoga, when all of a sudden I both want to get out and stretch my legs and reconnect with…oh, everybody. Today, I got up just a little early and met with Terri Thayer, one of my critique partners, to get in a creek-trail walk before our meeting. We walked a creek trail that we’ve often walked before, and we talked and talked. This is why Walks With Friends work so well for me–I don’t even notice the exercise. Sometimes, I don’t even notice the scenery, especially when it’s a familiar path and I can trust my co-walker to navigate. (I can get lost anywhere/anywhen if I leave the directional decisions to myself.) Today, though, I did notice. And I saw this.

A huge mass of lilypads. Now I must have seen lilypads before. In fact, someone in my family is going to say, “DAD has lilypads in his pond.” But I have never come across yards and yards of them, with those huge, amazing flowers (which you can barely see) all over them. It was one of those surprise moments, one that pulls you out of the talking place, out of the hand-waving, laughing, story-telling, ignoring-all-nature place and says, “LOOK!” And, for all I know about lilypad blossoms, one of those moments that could only happen in the summertime?

What’s different about the pacing, the moments, in your summer. And what do you do to make sure you enjoy whatever it is?