Bookcycling

So instead of blogging about my writing and editing process (later, promise) I've been making belated Valentine's cards. I don't celebrate the day, generally, but I do like taking it as an opportunity to shower some appreciation and do some crafting.

So today I did something a little subversive: I ripped up a book to make cards out of the pictures in it. I know, I know: a writer ripping up a hardback? Unthinkable! Except there are so many old, neglected books out there looking for a last hurrah. If they could converse, they'd say "I'm still interesting and relevant. So get me out of this second-hand bookshop before I throw myself off of this high, high shelf!" ... or something. Most of them will languish on back shelves and in cardboard boxes, slowly rotting away. But some will be repurposed and enjoyed in a whole new way. I was given a book about cool ways to do this called Playing With Books, and I have to say I think it's awesome. Easy, too:

Find a $5 bargain filled with yellowing pages and silly illustrations. 

Whip out your dinosaur typewriter and one-finger punch out some witticisms.

Try not to asphyxiate on the spray mount.

And there you go! Instant classics.

Resolutions 2011

I've been just a little slow in making new years resolutions this year. I usually start thinking about these things around my birthday, but Christmas heralded some really unfortunate, game-changing events that temporarily took away my will to live, let alone to make resolutions. But now that the Year From Hell is officially behind me, I'm game to start setting some new goals for the road ahead. I'm pretty passionate about that fact that goals are important, no more so than when your life has been turned upside-down and shaken.

So here are my resolutions for 2011:

1. Finish a polished, (hopefully) publishable novel #2 and shop it around to agents.

2. Develop a professional website and start marketing my freelance writing & editing services.

3. Participate in a half-marathon or mini-triathlon.

4. Write an adult fiction novel.

5. Find a place to nest and make it my own.

6. Do some work with kids (maybe coaching or tutoring).

7. Go somewhere I have never been before and write a travel article about it.

8. Help out wherever I can.*

* I was incredibly moved and inspired by my friends and family this year. They extended themselves in a million different ways to help me; their thoughtfulness really blew me away. I was so wrapped up in my own issues during the Brisbane floods that I don't feel like I helped out as much as I could have. I'm making a promise to myself this year that I will help those who need it where and when it is within my power to do so, whether they be family, friends or strangers.

Books Just Make the Greatest Present

I'm a big fan of birthdays. The last few months have seen a lot of friends and family members birthdays come and go, so I've got them on my mind. I may not always remember whose is on what actual date (I'm getting better... right?), but I think they're a pretty big deal. I don't why people want to pretend they're not happening. If you're going to stand up and celebrate anything, you should celebrate the day you were born. It's a celebration of the fact that you're alive. On what other day do you get to sip wine with the people who love you and have them rejoice in the fact that you are, well, you?

I'm also a big fan of giving books as presents. Yes, they're generally heavy and you can't guarantee that the person will like/not have read a particular book, but I can't think of a gift that is more personal. Personal, you say? Really? Yes, really.

I never give books that I haven't read. I only give books I've loved. By doing so, I'm giving that person something that has moved me, brightened me, inspired me, even shaped me. That book says a lot about me, about who and where I was when I loved that particular story. It is a window into my life and my passions, given in the hopes that it will serve the same service for them as it did for me. It also says a lot about my relationship with that person, because for me a book I've loved is a way to strengthen the bond between me and the friend I'm giving it to. It's me saying, "This book illuminated my life. I want to share that light with you."

There are people from my past who have given me books that have turned into beautiful keepsakes, more treasured than some of my oldest pictures and cards. When I open The Sheltering Sky and Catch-22, I remember the teachers who believed that I was something special. When I flick through Into The Woods and Dandelion Wine, I remember the good friends who love and have loved me. When I look at The Fledgling, Mom feels less far away.

Books own a special kind of magic. They're a great way to tell someone you're glad that they're alive.

All I Want For Christmas...

There are scores of reasons to love December. There are parties and mittens and slippers with bells. There are nine million semi-legitimate excuses to indulge in chocolate desserts. It's a time of enjoyment, of merriment- of giving.

And then, there's the receiving. December is the only time of year that I get given BOOKS.

Let's face it- I've cursed myself. My obsession with books, which borders on reverence, is so well known by friends and family that they are terrified to give me any. They argue that A) my tastes are so 'refined' that they think I won't like what they pick out, and B) that chances are if it's good, I'll already have read it.

To which I say: what rubbish.

First, I like to think that my tastes are rather varied. Literary classics and Sookie Stackhouse ain't the only things I read. Give me speculative, historical, literary, mystery, doesn't matter: if you loved it, then I'm excited to try it. And as for fearing I've already read it? I have two words for you. Shelfari and Amazon. My wish lists will show you which books I'm drooling over. Consider it a cheat sheet that you're allowed- nay, encouraged- to use.

Lists aside... I probably haven't read it. Because there is SO MUCH out there. If I had a thousand lifetimes, I couldn't get to all the 'good stuff' on those bookstore shelves. I wish they'd hurry up and figure out regeneration so I could have a few more years just to read more of what's out there. There I books I stumble upon that I am amazed I didn't know about before. Again, if you loved it enough to want to share it, then chances are you're giving me a really thoughtful gift.

In fact, Dad and I reconnected through the giving of books. Every year, Dad would research new releases, scanning BookWorld clippings and online reviews for reads he thought I would like. I'd drive through the deserted Christmas morning streets knowing the treasures that awaited me under the tree. Dad would pile them on my lap, each one beautifully wrapped and waiting. As each one was unveiled, he'd tell me why he picked it out as I caressed their covers and read their jackets. In this way, he gave me some of the great books of my life. That's not to say I loved them all, but I loved the ritual through which they were chosen. Each book formed a small connection, a brick in the ever-growing foundation of him plus me.

That's what I really crave for Christmas: to pick up that hefty rectangular present that bends just slightly between your hands. Knowing that the thing waiting beneath the shiny paper could give me pleasure, make me think, ignite my passion, maybe even change my life.

Bring on the giving season!