Friday Feature: What I'm Reading

 I've been pondering Friday Features for a couple weeks now, and I'm finally sitting down to write one. It's no coincidence that I'm doing this on the last Friday of classes, when the semester is winding down, and the first Friday in December, when my reading for the month (and the year) is ramping up. 

This week's set of books is a pretty accurate reflection of who I am and what I read (and, yes, I read them all concurrently). Anchoring the pile is The Twentysomething Treatment, a book I didn't put on my Christmas list because I didn't want to wait until after Christmas to start reading it. As the parent of a twenty-something, and an instructor to young adults on the cusp of that decade, I was excited to read therapist Meg Jay's take on why this decade is so hard (too much uncertainty for a still-developing brain to navigate) and what to do about it (spoiler alert: medication is not always the answer). I'm just a few chapters in and I'm looking forward to digging into it when I finish my grades for the semester.

Atop that non-fiction choice are two others: a beautifully illustrated book of London landmarks (London: A Guide for Curious Wanderers by Jack Chesher) and a book of interviews of the cast, creators, and personnel responsible for a show I watch regularly in syndication (The Big Bang Theory: The Definitive, Inside Story of the Epic Hit Series by Jessica Radloff). I'm only a few chapters into the latter but, as a writer, I'm lapping up the character development that took the series from a failed pilot to a beloved series. And, as a regular viewer of that series, I find it fun to read about the behind-the-scenes happenings directly from the people involved with creating the show each week. And London? We're saving up for a trip, and I hoped this book would give me ideas for fun things to add to the itinerary as well as motivating me to put a little less cash into short-range purchases and a little more toward long-range plans. 

The slim paperback at the top of the pile? A script for The Savannah Sipping Society (Jones Hope Wooten), a play that's part of the current season at my local community theatre. It's been too long since I've done a show so, when one comes along with characters (roughly) my age, it's worth a read. 

The only thing missing from the pile is a novel with a feisty female protagonist because I haven't found one that keeps me invested in said feisty female. But I'm optimistic that there's one on my Kindle, just waiting for me to dig in, once I finish with the semester. 

Until then, I'm happy with the pile below, and all the friends that keep it company.

Lights! Decorations! Christmas!

 How soon is too soon for Christmas music? I typically have a visceral (usually negative) response when I first stumble across an all-Christmas-all-the-time station in November. But really, it depends on the day, the song, and my mood. Ella Fitzgerald singing "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas"? Any day of the year.

In my house, I'm a late adopter, refusing to dig into the Christmas decorating until after Thanksgiving. This year, I won the battle, but it doesn't always work out that way.

It's not even Thanksgiving (2019), yet the halls (or some of them, anyway) are already decked in our house. Don't blame me. If it were up to me, the decorations would still be in the crawlspace.

My husband has always been an early adopter when it comes to Christmas decorations. When he wanted to put up the outdoor lights last weekend, I thought it was a bit early but, as he pointed out, Thanksgiving is late this year and it makes sense to put them up before it gets too cold.
Okay. I'm not the one who puts them up and, if he's outside happily working I can be inside happily writing, so it's a win-win. The outdoor lights are pretty and understated (as my mom would say), so having them up now is kind of nice.

But then, Monday night, he took out the Christmas Village houses -- the ones that are laid out under the windows in the dining room and in the bay window of the mudroom.

Suddenly, I felt as though we needed a little less Christmas. I'm no Scrooge, but I'm not ready for a full-on assault of Christmas decorations before the Thanksgiving turkey has found its way into the oven.

So, last night, when he came back into the family room with a string of blue lights in his hand, I said, "You're not putting those back here."

"Why not?" (feigned ignorance)

I had no valid verbal reply, but apparently my face spoke plenty loudly because he took the blue lights (yuck, by the way) into the mudroom and added to the light show there. Even I had to admit they looked nice out there, where there were already decorations.

I feel obligated to say (once again) that I'm not a Scrooge (Ebenezer, McDuck or otherwise). The trouble is that he's an early adopter whereas I like to keep the decorations up until mid-January. I have a dearth of Christmas spirit in mid-November but, in mid-January, when the days grow colder and grayer, I love the warm glow of the lights that keep Christmas around just a little bit longer.

This weekend, after the turkey has been digested (and perhaps the leftovers as well), I'll be ready to reach into the crawlspace and pull out some of the decorations. But, until then, I'd like to slow things down and savor some stuffing before it's time to stuff the stockings.

So, if you've got early-adopter Christmas spirit to spare, please keep it to yourself. I'm hitting the snooze button on Christmas until I celebrate Thanksgiving.

But you can bet you'll find my Christmas cheer up after New Year's.

nnguyen21 via Pixabay

Thanksgiving Eve in Starbucks Cafe

 When COVID hit, my habit of grabbing my laptop and running to Starbucks to work on writing projects fell apart. Post-COVID, I continued to avoid public places to a large degree, feeling as though my work at a college gave me plenty of potential exposure to all sorts of things.

Chai addict that I am, I continued to patronize my local Starbucks via the drive through, even coming to enjoy the days when the line was long because it gave me time to listen to an audiobook or maybe even squeeze in a quick French lesson on Duolingo. A lovely side benefit of these trips was connecting with the baristas, who came to know me first by my drink, then by my name, and I learned to put their names to the voices emanating from the speaker as well.

I stuck to the drive-through for a good long time, getting a quick jolt of socializing with the baristas before heading home to my bright, unpopulated sunroom. I wasn't avoiding the café as much as choosing to go home, get comfortable and work in the quiet.

Today, my house was busy. My daughter was working from home (from the sunroom) and my husband was working through a self-imposed list of chores. Though I hadn't intended to do work, per se, I felt a need to carve out a space away from what felt like chaos on a day where I'd been hoping for tranquility. As I got ready to make my Starbucks run, I decided it was the perfect time not to run at all, but to instead pack up my laptop and claim a table in the café.

In the end, my daughter opted to join me, and we spent more time coming up with Christmas gift ideas than actually working, but that was just fine. I chatted in person with the baristas I usually see just through a window, and tried one of the new Christmas drinks (I'll stick with my chai, thanks). But, most of all, I hung out with one of my favorite people in one of my favorite places without worrying about what I should be doing instead.

It was a pretty nice way to spend a chunk of Thanksgiving Eve, leaving me considering (once again) how the little things are often quite big things after all.

Fabulous Fall

 I love fall, although my allergies don't share my sentiment. The colors, the crispness, the clothes. Sweaters, sweatshirts, well-worn jeans, and soft leggings -- the stuff of comfort and coziness, contrasting with the crispness and bite of the air outside. Fall has been playing hide-and-seek with us this month, but the small taste we've gotten leaves me hungry for more. My chair in our sunroom gives me a front-row seat to the best and worst of each season, but the changing colors of autumn bring a variety to each day rivaled only by the bursting buds of spring.

When we were out to visit my daughter last month, she pointed to a tree and said, "That's my favorite red." I remember her doing this once before when she was in college, and I find it fascinating that her favorite color is one found only in nature, in a particular season. No crayon, paint color, or article of clothing quite makes the cut in the same way. 

With Thanksgiving just around the corner, I'm hoping fall decides to join us on a more long-term basis. Meanwhile, I'm going to make it a point to look up and enjoy the colors of the leaves on the bounty of trees that flank the road I drive to work. They are, indeed, breathtaking, and I want to be careful not to miss the opportunity to soak in their beauty before those same branches are bare and/or covered in snow. 

What says fall to you?

Hope

 Today, a much-desired outcome slipped from my grasp, leaving instead a choice I not only didn't want, but also feared. A choice with potentially dire outcomes and repercussions beyond my little corner of the world. 

But I still have hope. It's tiny -- a wisp of a thing, really -- seemingly hard to grasp and easy to lose. 

And, to tell the truth, it is both.

But it's mine. And, unless I relinquish it, it stays with me. It comforts me, brings me perspective, and reminds me that while my peace of mind can be disrupted, it cannot be corrupted unless I allow that to happen.

An illusion, you say. Perhaps even a delusion?

Maybe. But I believe hope is as real as I make it. 

By itself, hope cannot effect a change, turn back a clock, or change an outcome. But it can help me effect a change, find light in the darkness, or make a change. It can extend a hand, pull me out of the quicksand, and remind me that one outcome determines neither my power nor my value.

And so I will hope. Relentlessly. I will nurture that tiny wisp of a thing, clinging on to it stubbornly even if -- especially if -- someone tries to wrest it away. I will use it as fuel on the days when I cannot muster up enough power to drag myself out of the muck and onto dry land.

Though it is small, it is powerful -- immune to dissolution through tears, anger, or criticism -- and always large enough to be shared.

And I will gladly share mine with you.

Why My Writing is Floating Downstream with Me Doggy Paddling Along Behind It

  Spoiler alert: As I type this, I don't know the answer to the dilemma posed in this title. But two weeks ago, I stumbled onto a potential solution.  

It worked! And then it didn't. 

In other words, it was a good starting point, with potential to both solve the problem and run into roadblocks.

Either way, I've been loving the book that inspired it: Still Writing, by Dani Shapiro. When I paged through it in my local bookstore, I thought it would be an interesting read. Almost immediately, it was so much more. Part validation, part inspiration, it reminded me that when I run into roadblocks, there are likely to be other writers standing just a few feet away, trying to figure out how to get around the same obstacle.

I've been dipping into Still Writing for the past two weeks, an essay or two at a time. I've also been listening to student presentations on chapters of Katy Milkman's How to Change, chapters that focus on creating habits, being flexible, and giving oneself grace. Together, these two books have definitely influenced the kinder, gentler approach I'm taking as I work on another of my favorite task: setting monthly goals.

Since today is the beginning of a new month, I worked on my goals, tracking my successes for October and establishing priorities for November. And, as you can imagine, writing goals are always part of the plan. The ones I set today are less confining and more in keeping with the idea that writing is a roller coaster. Some days, I'm ready to do the long, slow climb up the hill; other days, I want to fly down the other side, unencumbered by the hard parts, enjoying the ride. Both have value.

Whether we're talking rides or writing.

The Writing News that Isn't Really News

 Whenever I hit a writing slump, I worry that it's permanent. This post from 2022 reminds me that this, too, shall pass. 

At least I hope so. 

Lately, writing has been more challenging for me than usual. A combination of life changes (an all-too-sudden re-emptied nest) and work obligations have put both concentration and time at a premium. I'm finding this especially frustrating in a semester where, on paper, I was supposed to have fewer work obligations than usual.

So much for the best-laid plans.

Tonight, as I sit here trying to craft a blog post much too late in the evening, I find myself thinking about my writer's wish list (and not for the first time). Writing is easiest when I have...

Time. Not just any time -- prime time. That time of day when the brain is at its peak and thoughts flow easily instead of having to be jump-started every thirty seconds. 

An open schedule. To be honest, this is both good and bad. Too much time makes procrastination a real possibility. Too little time and it's easy to give up when the going gets tough. But when time feels expansive, creativity is more likely to follow.

A clear head. Lately, I've had so much going on that even when I get to my writing at a decent time of day, I find it hard to focus. When I take a few minutes to re-focus, things go much more smoothly.

Cool supplies. There's nothing like the perfect notebook or a just-right pen to provide just the right touch of inspiration.

A work space that works. Not too cluttered, not too noisy and not too distracting. Just right.

The perfect project. Currently, I have multiple projects going. I'm a mood-driven writer, so it's nice to be able to choose the one that seems just right for the time and mental space I have available.

Very few writers have the perfect set-up on a regular basis, especially if "writer" is only one of the hats they wear. But, oh, on those days when it all comes together....

...there are so many possibilities.