Category Archives: Books

Buried in Books

I’ve just finished my fifth book since arriving here. I feel like I’m catching up on reading fun stuff. I enjoy research, of course, but it’s truly relaxing to read a book for pure pleasure, without a pencil in my hand and a notebook by my side.

I read a third of Undead and Unwed by MaryJanice Davidson on the plane, then finished it here Thursday night. Not as solid as I’d hoped it would be; I guess the reviews denoting it as a summer beach book were more accurate than the ones touting the comedic value. It felt like a giant set-up, as it ends on an obvious tune-in-next-time note.

Once here, I had access to my mother’s mystery library, so I read the third Indigo Tea Shop mystery by Laura Childs, Shades of Earl Grey. I like the author’s characters, and the setting of Charleston, so I still read them, despite the author’s heavy-handed habit of obviously teaching the reader about something new every book. Educational tea references embedded in the text are fine, as that’s what the series revolves around. But the fourth book, The English Breakfast Murders, opens with volunteers baysitting a turtle hatching on the beach, and the author Educates You About Turtles. Apart from this habit which makes me roll my eyes, the copy-editing drives me mad. Two books in a row had a character taking a “peak” at something, one of the spelling errors that drives me mad. (The other really bad one is ladies wearing “broaches.” You broach a wall or a subject. Ladies wear brooches. A successful computer spellcheck does not mean that you’re using the correct spelling for the context of the word.)

Last night in bed I read Joanne Dobson’s The Maltese Manuscript from cover to cover. This is the latest in a literature-themed series based in a fictional New England college, around an English professor. It’s been about two years since the last book in this series, and I’d forgotten how truly above-average Dobson’s work is. I almost wish I’d never read her before so that I’d have the pleasure of reading all five now.

And half an hour ago I finsihed Victoria Thompson’s latest in the Gaslight series, Murder on Mulberry Bend. Set in Victorian New York, this series foucuses on a midwife and a police officer as they uncover murder in both the lower and upper classes. They’re nothing to write home about, but I’d read one recently, and I needed something new to read, so I pulled it out of the bookcase.

Next is a fictional story of Elizabeth I, another of my mum’s favourite topics. But now, it’s dinner, which I think is grilled German sausages. And I think I’ll have a cider.

Time

I slept really well last night, and woke up to discover that it was 6.58 AM, and HRH’s alarm hadn’t gone off. It actually hadn’t not gone off, it was set for the proper time, but when our power went out yesterday morning and I reset the clocks, I remember making sure that I set it to the AM time. Although now I have a nibbling suspicion that when I went back to check it, I reset it again to the opposite of what it was, assuming that I had forgotten to do so in the first place.

All’s well, though; HRH woke up just fine, got ready and left in twenty minutes, plenty of time to pick up his passenger at 7.30. I made tea and brought the Sense & Sensibility Screenplay to bed with me, read it from start to finish, and then Emma Thompson’s simply killing film diaries which follow it. The only film I ever worked on was lots of waiting about and not knowing what was happening next, cutting lines left right and centre, and bagels (don’t ask), with no fun or chumminess at all. When I’d done reading I felt like popping in the Pride & Prejudice DVDs, although that would cut severely into the writing jam this afternoon.

It’s the last writing jam for a while, as most of us are here and there over the summer, and one will be working a six-month contract as of any day now. We ought to come up with goals or schedules and check up on one another anyway. E-mail each other work, and such.

Difficult to remember that I’m flying out to Hamilton on Thursday afternoon. I ought to put neon asterisks around the note on the calendar.

Autumn, the Human Barometer

Over the past twenty-four hours I have been driven slowly mad by the changing air pressure as mirrored by my sinus cavities.

Dear gods, yes — the pressure outside changes as the mini-fronts come through, an ice-pick suddenly appears digging deep into my cranium from one of the many lovely little sinus chambers. I often don’t realise it until I find myself attempting to curl my fingers through my skin and into said sinus cavity to release the pressure. Yesterday, I moved inside and outside my in-laws’ house a dozen times seeking relief as the pressure subtly shifted by a kPa or two.

They grilled shrimp for my birthday. Wasn’t that a wonderful treat? And they gave me a lovely leatherbound blank book, with a nifty red owl bookmark that will travel with me to Toronto later this week.

My newfound need for naps illustrates how miserable sleeping at night in Montreal has become, now that it’s summer again. HRH put the air conditioner in, but I still seem to sleep better in the afternoons. I also attribute my odd need to sleep so much to a reflection of how mentally exhausted I am after producing a polished book in ten weeks.

I’ve read two books since I finished the manuscript: Marion Zimmer Bradley’s Ancestors of Avalon by Diana Paxson (which was only so-so; I should have waited for the trade paperback), and The Mistress of Spices by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni (which was absolutely marvellous magical realism). I’m halfway through Rebecca Wells’ Little Altars Everywhere at the moment, which is possibly even better than Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood (although equally disturbing in places). Today I’ll finish two book reviews and send them off to the magazine for which I write them.

Words for thought, from t!‘s interview with the Suffix9 zine:
“Regrets are for people who don’t understand their present beauty.”

New Day

I took yesterday off — I didn’t crack open the laptop or a reference book all day. I severely needed the time away from the manuscript; I think I broke myself on Tuesday. I couldn’t string enough words together to make a coherent sentence yesterday, and it was a bit of an Eeyore day as well.

So I read all of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix instead, and yet again, for the third time, I read it too fast and didn’t allow the story to breathe properly.

Orchestra was okay, not spectacular but okay, and I slept well (although I dreamed of washing one of my Wicca books in Debra’s washing machine, because the pages had begun to go a bit yellow with age). I awoke to HRH sitting on the edge of the bed to say goodbye (yes, he’s putting in a half-day today). We talked politics for about fifteen minutes, then he got up to go to work. “Oh, sure,” I said, “talk sweet politics to me and then just leave.” “Wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?” he smirked, and off he went.

I so love the fact that my husband can now make literary jokes.

In other news, I sat down to finally reserve my plane ticket to Hamilton, and found to my utter disgust that with taxes and fees etc., the cost of the ticket has doubled. So I’m in the process of checking out the cost of train tickets; I can switch to the GO train in Toronto and meet my parents in Oakville, and it will probably be cheaper. (Update: Yup. Cheaper. Plus I’d get there earlier in the day, and it’s a ten-minute round trip to pick me up instead of an hour.)

I’m bright-eyed and busy-tailed, and I’m determined to write at least two thousand nine hundred and ninety-seven words today.

Good – I Need the Shelf Space…

Is every book going to be bigger than the previous one?

No, definitely not, or book seven would be around the weight of a baby hippopotamus. According to the plan for book six, it will be quite a bit shorter than ‘Order of the Phoenix’. I am not going to swear on my children’s lives that that is going to be the case, but I am 99% certain of it.

J.K. Rowling has her own official web site, which I’ve never even thought to check out until today.

Spellcrafting for Life Announcement

Ahem:

Spellcrafting for Life: The Art of Crafting and Casting for Positive Change
by A. Murphy-Hiscock

SHIP DATE: May
PUBLICATION DATE: June
Category: New Age
Trim Size: 6 x 9, 272 pp.
Price $10.95 (Canada $16.95)
ISBN: 1-59337-272-8

World rights

I have an official ISBN. I am grinning like an idiot.

(Later: for those who are scratching their heads, this page from the Library of Congress defines an ISBN. They’re unique; that’s part of the whole drama.)