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Book 24: The Princess Bride

OK. If you haven't yet read The Princess Bride, immediately visit Amazon.com and buy it. This is not an option. This. Is. The. Best. Book. Ever. Written. Period. (Well, besides the Bible, eh?)

You think I joke. I do not. It is hilarious. Go. Now. You can always come back and read the rest of this blog. Life is too short to have not read The Princess Bride.

Title: The Princess Bride

Author: William Goldman

Genre: Oi.

Rating: 10/10

Synopsis: The Princess Bride is a true fantasy classic. William Goldman describes it as a "good parts version" of "S. Morgenstern's Classic Tale of True Love and High Adventure." Morgenstern's original was filled with details of Florinese history, court etiquette, and Mrs. Morgenstern's mostly complimentary views of the text. Much admired by academics, the "Classic Tale" nonetheless obscured what Mr. Goldman feels is a story that has everything: "Fencing. Fighting. Torture. Poison. True love. Hate. Revenge. Giants. Hunters. Bad men. Good men. Beautifulest ladies. Snakes. Spiders. Beasts of all natures and descriptions. Pain. Death. Brave men. Coward men. Strongest men. Chases. Escapes. Lies. Truths. Passion. Miracles."

Goldman frames the fairy tale with an "autobiographical" story: his father, who came from Florin, abridged the book as he read it to his son. Now, Goldman is publishing an abridged version, interspersed with comments on the parts he cut out.

I liked: Oh. My. God. This book is the funniest book I have ever read. Ever.

I didn't like: Why did it have to end?! Why hasn't he written more books?!

Great line: That word. You keep saying it. I do not think it means what you think it means.

Book 23: Jurassic Park

Title: Jurassic Park

Author: Michael Crichton

Genre: Mass market paperback

Rating: 9/10

Synopsis: If you don't know what Jurassic Park is about yet, you ain't never gonna know.

I liked: OK. So I had more than $25 in fines at the library. And unfortunately I only had $14 in my pocket. Therefore, no book checky-outy for me. Thus, I had to go through my personal library of books (every one of which has been read at least three times) to find something to pull me through this little library fine slump. I tried to read "Sahara," thinking that with the movie coming out, this might be a good time. It wasn't. Blah blah blah. Even when I first read it when I was in high school and didn't really have discerning taste in literature, I still thought it was crap. Anyway, my dog-eared copy of Jurassic Park has never let me down. I love, love, love it. Sure, it suffers from Michael Crichtonitis (the condition in which an author has no idea what to do after reaching the crecendo and therefore contrives an abrupt ending and runs off to sell the rights to Universal Studios). And no, it's not literature. But it's still a good story and it still freaks the hell out of me. Seriously, they could clone dinosaurs, don't you think? Really. I mean, it doesn't seem that far-fetched. We allegedly put a man on the moon; you'd think we could clone a dinosaur. And, in the words of my former brother-in-law, That be scary.

I didn't like: C'mon, what's not to like.... except for a mild case of Michael Crichtonitis (see above) it's his best book yet.

The Christmas Season is Over ... Finally

The Christmas wrap is down. Total days of Christmas: 137

Noveling: Wanna Watch?

Wanna watch me write a novel?

So in November, I attempted to participate in the National Novel Writing Month competition. (The goal is to write a 50,000-word novel in 30 days.... yeah, it's as crazy as it sounds, but it's possible.) However, because I was just starting some treatments, I was in a lot of pain and had to set aside my novel with just 10,000 words.

I'm gearing up for this November (don't expect to see much of me) and am planning to base the book on this short story I wrote shortly after covering a tragedy on Lake Minnetonka that resulted in the deaths of two teenagers. It's kinda dark ... as my short stories tend to be. And it's a far cry from the comedy I started last November. But it's the foundation.

My hope is to blog the process. I've always wondered how novelist ... novel. So here you go. I can't actually write any of the book until November, but I'll try to share my outlines, etc. Let you peek into the writer's window, so to speak. Unless I get all paranoid that you are going to steal my idea. ;)

Comments are appreciated.

The world is white. An overnight snowfall has blanketed the trees, covered the yawning lake, drawn down a colorless sky. Dawn has come and gone, leaving frozen silence behind.

Her body, curled tightly into a comma, is just one hundred yards from the sloping shore. Open water shimmers one hundred yard beyond her.

Snow has covered her, coating her in a fine film. Her features are contorted with pain and sorrow and fear. Beneath the coating of ice her skin is blue, pale and terrible.

Behind her, footprints lead to a black abyss. A frantic ring circles the chasm; footprints, knee prints, clawed ice.

Deep beneath the arctic water his fingers cling to her right mitten. It is red. His lungs are filled with water, his eyes stare into the deep.

As the wind whistles across the lake, a man approaches. Garbage, he thinks, something kids left behind. The snow squeaks beneath his boots. His footsteps falter as he grows closer. Suddenly he races forward. He falls to his knees. He stretches his hand to her face. Before he feels the startling cold, he knows it’s too late.

w w w w

I can’t feel my arms. This thought slogs through her mind.

She looks up. The shore seems so close. There is a house; there is help. She can see shadows moving behind the bright patches of light that mark the windows. The sight prods her, moves her forward. A cold breath of wind shocks her, sends her to her knees. The world circles around her as she rubs her hands together frantically. The darkness is absolute. She cannot see their frightening pallor.

She lurches to her feet again and takes three quick steps toward shore before her legs collapse from under her. Then she crawls; her fingers no longer feel the cold. Her fingers no longer feel anything.

Cold, she thinks, drawing her knees to her chin. She curls her body around her legs. Tears freeze on her cheeks. I have failed him, she thinks. He will die. She rocks slightly but quickly grows too cold to shiver. Mother, she whispers.

w w w w

She is sobbing as she pulls herself onto the fragile surface of the lake. The ice cracks loudly and she feels it give way beneath her. Then his hands are on her thighs, pushing her past the perilous edge.

She draws herself to her knees before turning and reaching for him. The ice shatters below her and he shakes off her grip. She circles away and reaches for him again. She pulls, but the sub-zero wind has weakened her arms.

Again and again she tries. Again and again she falls back on her heels. Her tears are a frozen stream.

For a pitiful moment he claws at the ice, straining to reach a fissure, a finger hold, a ridge. Then he waves her away.

I will get help. The thought jolts through her mind, startling her. She lurches to her feet. She gives him one last desperate look before running for the lights.

w w w w

With a sickening lurch the Volvo plunges into the dark water. As the car decides whether to sink, he pushes her toward the open window. Get out, he cries. Frantically she pulls herself through. He watches her legs disappear and then he is submerged.

The water takes his breath away and shocks him. It’s electric, he thinks. The car is rapidly plummeting now. He pushes himself through the open window and stretches toward the surface.

She is floundering. The weight of her peacoat is pulling her down. He swims to her and pulls it off her. She kicks off her shoes. Her fingers have found the ice and she scrambles for a grip.

w w w w

They are laughing as the car spins. He pulls the steering wheel sharply left, sending the Volvo into another exhilarating loop.

Her mittened hand grips the door handle as he presses down the accelerator. He looks at her and grins. She is beautiful, he thinks.

The carefree smile disappears and she screams. He pulls his eyes from her alarmed face in time to see the dark abyss looming. Frantically he pumps the brakes as the Volvo plunges toward the open water. Her scream cuts the air, fills his brain, seeps into his being. Then he is screaming, too.

Book 22: The Quiet American

Title: The Quiet American

Author: Graham Greene

Genre: Literature

Rating: 9/10

Synopsis: "The Quiet American" is set in Vietnam in the early 1950s. The narrator, Fowler, lives with his mistress, Phoung. One night, he meets an American who hopes to create a "Third Force" to end the spread of Communism. His methods alarm the world-weary and previously uninvolved Fowler who must make a choice that has grave consequences. He must decide whether that choice was made because it was right, or because it was right for him.

I liked: A gripping mystery with a prophetic sensibility.

I didn't like: Toward the end things got somewhat confusing, but I might have just been tired. ;)

Down with Christmas!

Dear Neighbors,

It is April 10. Perhaps you hadn't noticed that Christmas has come and gone. You finally took your tree down around President's Day (in February....). I was hopeful that your Christmas-wrapped front door, little Christmas trees and wreath would be gone by Easter. That doesn't seem like too much to ask. I mean, you put that stuff up in November. That's four months.

Today I noticed you puttering around in your garden in shorts, which eliminates my theory that you didn't notice the passing of the seasons.

Maybe you really like Christmas. Maybe you even decorate with a Christmasy theme year 'round. That's great. But keep it inside, yo. I'm sick of looking at your shiny wrapping-paper-covered door. I'm ready to embrace summer and it's disconcerting to look across the GREEN yard and see Christmas on display. Please, please, please end Christmas before five months goes by. You only have 15 days left!

Try for tax day, eh?

Book 21: Reading in the Dark

Title: Reading in the Dark : A Novel


Author: Seamus Deane

Genre: Literature

Rating: 10/10

Synopsis: The boy narrator grows up haunted by a truth he both wants and does not want to discover. The matter: a deadly betrayal, unspoken and unspeakable, born of political enmity. As the boy listens through the silence that surrounds him, the truth spreads like a stain until it engulfs him and his family.

I liked: Deftly written, with beautiful narration. The story was gripping. I read it in one sitting.

I didn't like: That it ended. I wanted to keep reading the story indefinately!

I'm an Ideal Lover ....

In case you are wondering what my seduction style is (pervert) ...

Your Seduction Style: Ideal Lover

You seduce people by tapping into their dreams and desires. And because of this sensitivity, you can be the ideal lover for anyone you seek. You are a shapeshifter - bringing romance, adventure, spirituality to relationships. It all depends on who your with, and what their vision of a perfect relationship is.

What is your seduction style?

ANTS: Homely Girls Make Good Models

As a feminist, I find America's Next Top Model so appalling.

ARGH! But I like it so much!

It's so facinating. The show began with 14 rather plain girls. Sure, they all weigh 118 pounds, but they don't all have perfect bodies and some of them are actually pretty homely. But when the makeup artists get their hands on them and the camera starts whirring, they turn into beauties. It kind of pulls the curtain back on the beauty industry and shows us everyday girls that models aren't perfect, either.

I'm rooting for Michelle. At first I thought she was homely. But she photographs so beautifully. I think she's a long shot to win, but she's got my vote!

I also like Brittany and Keenyah. And you gotta root for the hometown girl, Rebecca, although I think she's a little more Sears model and a little less haute couture.

All About the Bunny

I wasn't sure which blog this belonged on.... because it's kinda stranger than fiction.

Anyway, went to church on Sunday. A new church. Well, new for us. Walked in while they were singing. Two songs, both popular at contemporary Christian services. I'm thinking, "OK. Maybe this church will be a good fit." Then they have offering. And they have each person get up and drop their offering into little urns up front. As people line up, I'm thinking, "This is weird." Then the pastor announces that rather than a sermon, they will be having a "comical" play featuring the church's kids. I'm thinking, "Well... it could be all right. I guess." Then he says the title of the play is "All About the Bunny."

What comes next is 30 minutes of inside jokes and bad Easter bunny humor, plus 4-year-old kids grabbing microphones and screaming into them while half the audience recoils from the unearthly sound and the other, apparently deaf, half laughs hysterically. I'm thinking, "How conspicuous would it be if we sneaked out...?"

Then the pastor wraps it all up with a little Come to Jesus prayer and away we go. I'm thinking, "Hey! What about Jesus? You know, the guy who died and ROSE today? Heard of him? No? Alrighty then."

Egads.