Dog Ear
Carrying your pet book (DOG EAR) PDF Print E-mail
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Thursday, 13 July 2017 00:00

y wife and I have a little ritual. Every Sunday at about 11:30am we walk a quarter mile (through quiet neighborhoods) to the little reborn strip mall. There, amid eclectic CD shops, yoga dens and cutesy boutiques, we slip into the seats at Juniors, an old throwback place with booths and even counter stools. And there, over omelets (with tabasco sauce) we’ll read our books.

Yeah, it’s just our shared quiet time. We’ll talk about things on the walk over, and talk (generally) about our books on the way home. It’s just our freaky couples thing.

But it struck me on the walk home today (with the new books I’d bough at the CD shop) how I carry a book.

First, I’ll carry it spine down (carefully!) in the curl of my fingers. This way, my finger-sweat won't stain the pages (it can get to 100+ degrees in the places where there aren’t trees (plant more trees, people!)). But with the open side up, my bookmark stays in place, the pages don’t get damp or bent, and everything is fine. But on older hardcovers, one most carry the book gently, new-baby gently, so as not to break its spine (perhaps not the best metaphor, in retrospect).

But what if it’s drizzling? If it rains, we’ll wait. If it drizzles, we’ll walk home. But if it picks up (and we hide under one of those too-scarce trees) or it’s just spitting then I reverse the book in my hand, spine-up, pages-down. This way I won’t get water into the pages. Very important.

And bookmarks. A lot of people give me bookmarks and I try to preserve them as long as possible (since I always have books and bookmarks, the latter wear out pretty frequently). In this, care must be taken not to knock the end of the book into tables, bending the bookmark. Tossing the book into the back of the car? No. Setting it on end? No. All these damage bookmarks. Be very careful with them. Damaged bookmarks might make you look scholarly but it is disrespectful to your noble placeholders.

With such care given to your books (including the lowly paperback), they should last you a lifetime.

NEXT WEEK: How to deal with a houseful of books.

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Last Updated on Thursday, 13 July 2017 07:32
 
Reading through tears (DOG EAR) PDF Print E-mail
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Thursday, 06 July 2017 00:00

oyal followers of this blog might have noticed I've been spotty at late with my postings. Well, it's because I've had horrible news, news that rocked me back. Our ten year old feline, Mookie, just suffered a kidney disorder. She's still alive (just) - we're having to coax food and water into her (and take her to the vet every week for hydration). And so this vivacious sleek friend, the little girl who rushed to the door to meet me after work, is now a withered thing, small and pathetic, disinterested in food.

God, this is killing me.

So today I decided to get through The Man in the Iron Mask, the conclusion of the Musketeer's epic.

Porthos, he died when his aged body failed him, his legs spasming while he was trying to hold a stone ceiling up. That was sad. But the worst was Athos, whose beloved adapted son Raoul, broken irreparably by love, has gone campaigning to Africa to die.

Athos, the morale core of the group, the fellow who kept things together, who drank the hardest and lived the best - with his son gone, he withered. I just read of him walking less every day, of not caring, of detaching from life in his aching sorrow. And I read this and had to force myself through - after all, I've got deadlines and other books to read. And I've gone 4800 pages in this saga - I had to finish. And so I read, my heart heavy in my chest, as I pushed through every declining word.

I probably shouldn't. I'm depressed enough as it is. And if you are waiting for me to come up with some sort of "on the other hand" twist, I can't. I'm depressed that my little cat is dying in mid-life, that for every little success, there comes a greater failure, and that this can only end one way.

Perhaps I am a writer because I am empathetic (I know enough writers who are not). Dumas wept after he'd killed Porthos. I feel the same way as I write this.

Sometimes writing can show up a greater purpose and higher calling. Not this time. I ache.

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Mookie, in the shelter a few days before we adapted her, eight years ago

 

Last Updated on Saturday, 01 July 2017 15:20
 
Footnotes (DOG EAR) PDF Print E-mail
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Wednesday, 21 June 2017 21:48

’m reading The Man in the Iron Mask right now (kinda spooky in that I’m also watching Versailles at the same time). But Mask is a melancholy story – like our real lives, we have such passionate loves and friendships in our early years yet in the end, everyone is allied with their duties and occupations, with friendship a distant consideration. I even realized that with my best buddy on the phone last night – good friends for thirty years but a thousand miles, five kids and two spouses apart. All those long games and movie marathons – negated.

And I’m off topic.

But the point about reading Mask is that it’s an old book, 1847, and I’m having a difficult time with it (as you will find when I get the review up – my heart, how it aches). But the style is preserved, and the editor has added a number of booknotes (asterisks that index to pages in the back of the book, explaining who this is or what this was). And this takes me back to the Flashman series done in the same style (historical tale with an fictitious editor actually played by the author) to explain things. There is a lot of interesting information one can pick up outside the story.

Which takes me to my own delayed effort, Tubitz and Mergenstein. Yes, someday I’ll pick this one back up. I’ve had a number of positive responses in the first reads of the first half. But there are things I’m not happy about – there is a lot of information about this strange and lunatic place I’ve created, backstories I feel need to be included. But how to do so? To explain about an ancient section of bridge (stuck in an urban area, with houses capping its remaining summit) is cool but brings the story to a dead halt. Sometime pacing is essential. I can’t explain about the Imperic High Seas Fleet or what, exactly, is that crazy thing a Chaos Culverin fires. Either I have to leave the story and give a quick explanation, author to reader, or I need to try to describe it at such length just to hint about what it actually is. And both those (asides and over-descriptions) are no-nos in writing.

But then it hit me – why not footnotes?

It could be fun. All this crazy side information, all these random thoughts about how things work, what districts are in a city, the clothing Mergenstein wears or the social norms he follows (and Tubitz snubs) could be handled at length in the back. So that’s another note for me in the information I’ve gathered from readers. Sure, it will take a bit of effort to pull out – I’ll need to cut out the explanations and re-plane the verse to keep things smooth and fast, then add the link (along with enough explanation to make the back-search pay-off). But I think it’s a very interesting idea, one that I’m looking forward to implementing.

After I retyre, perhaps.

>>>AND SPEAKING OF BOOKS I’VE ACTUALLY GOTTEN INTO COVERS, CHECK OUT MY WORKS HERE, ALL PRICED TO MOVE!<<<

 
The Good, the Bad, and the Late-Night (DOG EAR) PDF Print E-mail
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Wednesday, 14 June 2017 20:58

es, stories. It’s what connects us to entertainment, to meaning and memories.

Father’s Day is rolling around, made less-so by the fact my dad has passed away a few years back, but more-so for the same reason. Now it’s no longer just a card. Now it’s about a personal storytelling observance.

See, when I was a kid living on a base in the Philippines during the wind-down of the War in Vietnam, one night my dad invited me to stay up and watch a movie with him. I’d watched late-nighters with him in the past, generally being introduced to some of his favorites. And that night in a cinderblock duplex on a jungled hill overlooking Subic Bay, it was The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly.

He wanted to teach me, in his words, a “life lesson”.

This being back in the Vietnam era when “body counts” were all the rage. Only a few years before he’d been on a cruise to ‘Nam on the Valley Forge and the story goes that in the wardroom showing of this movie they made midshipmen body-count the three title characters. Three stood along the back bulkhead with pens and notepads. Every dead gunslinger, farmer, farmer’s wife (and farmer’s eldest son), every death from the slug of Eastwood & Co earned a tic mark*. And Dad had me do the same, handling the roles of all three middies, keeping tabs. The results were very, very telling**.

But that was the story and the memory. And so for Father’s Day I sit down at 10pm on Saturday night (I used to do it Sunday but then I’m worthless at work on Monday) and watch that old flick again. And it’s funny – even though I’ve seen it three times since his passing, and I knew it pretty well, I always start thinking “Okay, let’s get this over” yet finding myself laughing and enjoying it. It’s just a fun movie with good lines, vast spectacles, western vistas, colt justice and long eye-balling showdowns. And I’ll think of Dad, his good points and his bad, and feel his presence as I share a laugh with his spirit (like when Tuco throws an empty water bottle at the sun-bleached, prone Blondie, and how it rolls down the long dune and clinks against Blondie’s head). It’s my own memorial to him, and one that I think would not have displeased him.

So that’s it – a story in a movie. And a story of a father and son watching it. And the story of me watching it in his memory, and the stories that raises. And the story I’m now sharing with you, how all this wraps up.

Our lives are defined by a weave of storytelling. And realizing that is seeing how the world we perceive all goes together. It’s the story of our lives, and beyond that.

Then again…

Tuco: When you have to shoot, shoot. Don’t talk.

And now I’m smiling.

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* I’m not sure on the ruling of Shortie, who was supposed to have his noose shot away by Blondie but was denied this by Tuco. Shortie was dead, but did this count for Blondie not shooting, or Tuco causing the not-shooting? Well, body-counts didn’t work well in the Vietnam War, either.

** It turns out that The Good kills far more people (into the high teens) than the Bad and Ugly combined. In fact, outside of some character-defining deaths early on, the Bad is largely not-so-bad.

Last Updated on Thursday, 15 June 2017 09:04
 
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