Books Read in Chincoteague (0 of 7): Introduction

am a reader. If I could be The Reader I would be, but in this day and age it seems that all of the archetypes have all been claimed, and all one can do is occupy an indefinite article.

In order to avoid a[nother] rant about [the sad state of] contemporary society, I will simply describe the situation, the setting for the seven posts I will make in the forthcoming fortnight. Once a year, every year for the last [20+] my family has vacationed in a small cottage on Chincoteague Island for a week. When I was smaller and/or younger, the purpose included daily trips to the ocean for sandcastle making and mole-crab catching, mom-made sandwiches and hours spent sitting in the porch swing listening to books on tape. 

Now the entire purpose seems to be to bike around the [nice, flat] island a bit, go for a long walk or two on [what's left of] Assateague Island and spend as much time as possible reading book after [quality] book. In my teens, I blazed through every book Anne McCaffrey had written in the space of approximately 48 hours (Slight exaggeration. May have been 72.). While I'm still not reading Joyce and James and Dostoevsky in the space of hours, I did manage a few decently mature books in the space of a week; a book a day for soothing a soul. 

And, somehow, the books I brought along matched my mental state and future-goals with aplomb. Each stood up and made its point across time and space, reaching me through excellent authors, stories and words. 

The overarching themes in a nutshell: From The Shipping News to Catch-22, a frabjous sense of optimism or hopeless-hope in the face of disaster, despair and delirium (Endless tie-in!), lessons on the paths we take through life to the place Ruth Reichl's mom teaches us to be: unshakably within our selves.

Then, from Boneshaker back to Shipping News, a sense of community and grand purpose pervading humanity in times of challenge and need. Reichl's mother proselytizes steadfast self-confidence, but the citizens of Proulx's Newfoundland will tell you: in the end, only the wind and the sea will have their way.

Stay tuned for seven (7!) upcoming (short) book reviews...

Quotations, photos and ponderings, all. at. once.

    "You can live a lifetime and, at the end of it, know more about other people than you know about yourself. You learn to watch other people, but you never watch yourself because you strive against loneliness. If you read a book, or shuffle a deck of cards, or care for a dog, you are avoiding yourself. The abhorrence of loneliness is as natural as wanting to live at all. If it were otherwise, men would never have bothered to make an alphabet, nor to have fashioned words out of what were only animal sounds, nor to have crossed continents — each man to see what the other looked like. 

     Being alone in an aeroplane for even so short a time as a night and a day, irrevocably alone, with nothing to observe but your instruments and you own hands in semi-darkness, nothing to contemplate but the size of your small courage, nothing to wonder about but the beliefs, the faces and the hopes rooted in your mind — such an experience can be as startling as the first awareness of a stranger walking by your side at night. You are the stranger."

  Beryl Markham, West with the Night.

I already posted a passage from West with the Night, but since that was specifically relevant to the airplane post, here's a little more about the book itself: Generally, West with the Night is a ruminative, verbose, sweeping memoir that covers three notably distinct parts of Markham's life. After writing herself into the narrative, she takes the reader through her childhood, hunting lion with African locals, to leaving home and training race-horses, and finally to her career as a freelance pilot. 

So much of the book draws its strength from descriptions of people and places that the silence felt in the above passage is as startling to the reader as it is to Markham. The change from lengthy, illustrative passages about the African landscape and the characters who occupy it to the breathless and fleeting few paragraphs articulating her personal experience of flight parallels her assertion about loneliness. Most everything we do in our day-to-day lives is engineered to keep us from noticing that we are really very alone in the world, thus we keep self-awareness to a minimum in the interest of maintaining sanity. Even when physically alone, humans go to great lengths to avoid confronting themselves, whether by immersion in external stimuli, abuse of a substance, or simply by locking away their thoughts in a mental prison and living in denial of themselves. 

In conclusion, but not really to conclude this ongoing train of thought, West with the Night was an inspiring memoir not just in terms of tangible accomplishments and admirable writing, but in the additions Markham's personal philosophy made to my own modus operandi. Someday, I hope to meet myself.

Photo is of the Potomac River near Theodore Roosevelt Island, April 15, 2011.

Today I decided to be impulsive [irony] and painted a tree on my wall.

I feel the earth move under my feet, I feel the sky tumbling down...

As days go, today was pretty relaxing in a decently busy way. Woke up early, got coffee out with a friend, did some laundry, painted a tree on my bedroom wall, went out for dessert with another friend (who's leaving the country next week, and this was the last time I'd see her until... ever? heck, no.), made decent dinner, and my roommate got a job (ok, that one's not me).

As an impulse project, this came out alright. I needed wider masking tape and less spackle on the wall (it came off a little with the tape), but honestly I'm pretty pleased. This wall was blank and bothersome, and I needed to actually go through with one of my hair-brained ideas, just to get rolling.

I still need to go back and touch up the edges, take off some of the hazy over-spray from the paint can. Thoughts?

Conflict of interest

Not to sound schizophrenic, but I have a choice here, and I'm of two minds about it (and they keep fighting. In my head). On the one hand, I could be making money (in theory) off this blog. I could monetize, I could use the $100 Google AdWords coupon they sent me (and look into AdSense, too), I could sell something, I could even put a Paypal donation button on here.

Or I could do none of those things, appealing in part because then I have to do none of those things (I'm not lazy, I just like to conserve time). I could have a beautiful, ad-free blog, affix this lovely ad-free blog sticker to myself (er, I mean, the blog) and skip about on my moral and ethical high ground.



I don't really want to expect revenue from my readers, or plague them with advertisements, or, in general, be a sellout. As a librarian, the point of blogging (and life) is to share information with people who need it (even if they don't know they need it. mwahaha.) I realise that just putting up a couple ads and such isn't really demanding anything more from readers than the rest of the internet does, but heck, I don't want to be the rest of the internet. I want my motives for writing to be pure and simple (not that this seems to generate frequent updates).

On the other other hand, I'm kinda broke.

The conclusion I've come to is that as soon as I stop procrastinating and set things up, I'll do a trial run of Attempting To Make Money With My Blog. Comments and thoughts on this whole thing would be appreciated. I'm likely over-thinking it. I'm also trying out partial syndication, so people who get my blog in a feed reader will need to click through to get the full post. Again, thoughts appreciated.

EDIT: That was a dumb idea. "Short" syndication publishes a fragment, doesn't append so much as an ellipses, and therefore doesn't let the reader know that there's more to be had just one click away. If I could get a "read more" link in there it would be fine. Heck, I say, to heck with that.

There's a Calvin and Hobbes strip that illustrates how I feel about the internet, which I wont post here because I'm sure it would incur all kinds of copyright wrath. It's the one where Calvin is standing outside staring at the stars and he yells "I'M SIGNIFICANT!" pauses, then says "...screamed the dust speck."