Three Birds with One Stone

Number one reader and I went to Belleville and forked over sixty bucks to get a yearly library membership. As cool as our local library is, it is the size of a one room school house and stocks ONLY best selling commercial fiction. Kinda limiting when one is in the mood for something a little more cerebral.

So...anyway, after a quick perusal of the stands...fuggedabout cerebral, I ended up with the audio book of Outlander. Yes, I've read it before I admit - but Diana Gabaldon does a great job with description and has a knack for voices. I thought it might be useful to read (ie listen) to it again. Research for my own writing, see.

Besides, number one reader and I had a day trip planned and I took along my giant box of Outlander CD's to pass the time. It was fun and number one reader actually enjoyed the disappearance of Claire through the standing stones, her re-appearance two hundred years in the past, her adventures in Castle Leoch and even her forced marriage to Jamie Fraser.

But, he drew the line when Jamie and Claire's wedding night antics never seemed to end. "Ach, Sassenach," whispered Jamie, his breath warm upon my quivering cheek, "your wee fat bum is as tender as a fresh plum just asking to be pinched." My fingers traced the outline of his zygomatic arch, his eyes as deep and dark as Loch Ness on a winter's eve, his reddish gold mane as thick and proud as a lion's after a successful hunt.'  or something like that...

On and on and on and on it went and I could tell number one reader was reaching his limit. But it was the whispered "Shall I service thee again, Lass?" that tipped him over the edge. I turned it OFF before we crashed in the ditch.

But, later that night, as I stood all aquiver admiring his zygomatic arch (at least I think that was his zygomatic arch) he was ensconced in front of the computer muttering bitterly to himself. He was writing an email, a task that with his two fingered typing technique usually requires at least an hour of angry tapping. "Ach," I said, batting my eyes in an entrancing fashion, "would you say my bum is like a fresh peach?"

"Hmmmhmmm?" he said, not looking up.

And that is how I found myself killing two birds with one stone. It's funny how walking on the treadmill becomes a lot less boring with the indefatigable Jamie Fraser playing the golden red stag to Claire Beauchamp's coquettish doe over hill and dale, up one crag and down another, on the heather, in warm ponds, on chilly rock outcroppings, under flea riddled quilts, in front of 20 highland raiders, inside deserted crofts, under the wide Scottish sky.... fat bums flashing, muscular thighs pumping....

Weel, you get the idea.

 On second thought, it might be more accurate to say I killed three birds with one stone....

What Do You Like To Read?

One of the hazards of full time writing is the lack of time for reading!

In the old days it was nothing for me to read several books per week. By the time I was old enough to ride my bike to the library, I remember coming home every week with stacks of books tucked into the basket on my bike. Nothing was more satisfying than lying on my bed or out in the sun on the chaise lounge devouring story after story.

Dumpy Grace in real life - almost 50 years ago!

When I was a child I read anything and everything about animals. Two of my favourites were Vulpes, the Red Fox - the story of a red fox and Vixen, his mate which has probably the saddest ending in the history of children's literature, notwithstanding Old Yeller. Despite the thousands of books I've given away over the years, Vulpes still graces my grown up bookshelf. The other was Big Red, about an Irish Setter that lived on a farm. Another tear jerker for the ages.

When I was a preteen I loved Nancy Drew. The image of her speeding around town in her roadster, her titian hair blowing in the wind, her friend George by her side...ah...heaven.

In addition to library books, I would pour over everything my parents had in their library including a scientific Time/Life series with titles like: Mammals, Fish, The Earth, The Stars, etc. Fabulous! My mother also kept some 'steamy' books that I read, although didn't quite understand at the time. The Tropic of Cancer and The Valley of the Dolls spring to mind. Later I went searching for more, including Lady Chatterly's Lover and Fanny Hill, and anything by Anais Nin. Tsk! Tsk!  

In my mid-teens I went through a Russian period. I read Alexander Solzhenitsyn's The Cancer Ward, and Tolstoy's The Death of Ivan Ilyich, which for some reason, touched me deeply. After that I read every Russian author I could get my hands on including Dostoyevsky, Chekhov and  Pushkin.

In my late teens I admit to a fling with Ayn Rand. I read every book of hers, not really understanding her objectivism philosopy but clinging to the notion that as individuals we are responsible for our own happiness and success. It was a life lesson that has stuck with me.

I was a science major in university and never had a formal literature education. Wanting to educate myself I would visit the library or the Bookshelf Cafe in Guelph and would work through the Penguin Books. Remember the distinctive orange covers? At the time, I believed that anything published by Penguin was high art and therefore, necessary reading. I wasn't wrong.

Along the same vein my father purchased a set of Classic books from the Franklin library series and it was here that I was introduced to the ancients such as Homer, Ulysses, Marcus Aurelius and Epictetus, as well as amazing American writers such as John Steinbeck, William Styron and William Faulkner, among many others.

I fell in love with the short story genre, as well. Among my favourites, Margaret Laurence, Alice Monroe, science fiction writers such as Arthur C. Clarke. One of my all time favourites was Bronwen Wallace, who, sadly, died at a young age and never got the chance to write a second book.

And always - the popular fiction/science fiction and mystery/thriller/suspense series dominated. From John Le Carre and Len Deighton to Lawrence Block and James lee Burke. PD James and Thomas Perry, Stephen King, Patricia Cornwell, Umberto Eco, Sue Grafton, Graham Greene and Peter Hoag, to name just a very few.

The latest non-fiction I read was The Swerve - a brilliant exposition of how a 1400's era monk, by the name of Poggio Bracciolini discovered a copy of Lucretius's long lost, On the Nature of Things, and how this epic poem changed the world.  I can't wait to read more by Stephen Greenblat.

Currently, I am enjoying the Giles Blunt series, set in North Bay, Ontario. I love the nuanced protagonist, John Cardinal. The latest James Lee Burke is always a must read, mostly for his wonderful characters (Dave Robichaux and Clete Purcell) and his heart breaking descriptions. And I wait with bated breath for the latest in the Keller series by Laurence Block. Best psychopath ever.

But, I digress. The point I was trying to make is that I miss reading for pleasure. After a long day hunched over the computer, the first thing I want to do is get up and move. The thought of sitting down, or lying in bed, or out in the sun on my chaise lounge for that matter, just doesn't appeal. I want to read, but don't want to SIT!

I need to find a solution. I like audio books but the closest library that stocks audio books is an hour away. I do have a treadmill but I can't read while walking unlike my friend Kathy, who reads while jogging! How the heck does she do that without going blind?

Anyway - this week I am setting aside all writing obligations and giving myself permission to simply read. I scored a couple of free books while visiting Simon and Schuster. I've already been through The Demonologist, a good read by Andrew Pyper, and am now ensconced in The Firebird, by Susanna Kearsley, which I'm loving! It seems to have been inspired by the Diana Gabaldon Outlander series, and I am not ashamed to say that I am an avid Jamie and Claire fan.

Ahhhh....heaven!