books

What is Saving My Autumn Life

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Fall Romance Novels ~ I have fallen absolutely in love with Autumn-set romances and romantasies this year. Over my Fall Break week, as I healed from a wisdom-teeth surgery, Lyra Parish’s Fall I Want became everything to me. All I wanted to do was curl up in the recliner with my pumpkin blanket, a cup of coffee, and my cat Jack and read this heartwarming, sweet love story. Fall is my favorite season, and the warmth that exudes from these books is such a soul-soother. Also on my TBR this season are: Must Love Libraries and Libations by Maisy Magill, The Autumn Leaf Bookshop by Kay Michaels, Kindling by Bonnie Woods, and Uncharmed by Lucy Jane Wood.

Kpop Music ~ Thanks to a dear friend and the sheer golden enjoyment that is Netflix’s Kpop Demon Hunters, as well as my existence as a lifelong boyband girl, I have fallen in love with Kpop music. My particular group is Ateez. Their songs make me bounce and sing and smile, and that is always something I treasure. I love to sing, I love to dance, and I love when music makes my body so happy that I just have to bounce. It has been an absolute mood-saver throughout my healing process.

Fall-scented Candles ~ I always stock up on my fall candles, and my house constantly smells like pumpkin-something these days. It is part of my transference routine when I get home, lighting a candle before I head upstairs to change clothes. That way, when I get back downstairs to settle on the couch, the air is warm and sweetly-scented, and I know that I am home.

Romanticizing My Fall Wardrobe ~ I have begun reimagining my fall outfits: pairing sweaters and flowy skirts, cardigans and dresses, tights and over-the-knee socks with my ankle boots, over-the-knee boots with my jeans. A sunflower-crown headband here and a bow at my temple there, letting the lightning streaks in my curls shimmer and shine in the autumn sunlight. As I told a coworker, I am happily in my soft girl era, and I will not be taking questions or commentary on this issue. In my off hours, I am wrapped in warm, cozy comfies, sweet pumpkin slippers, and two of the softest, most deliciously comfortable blankets I have ever owned! I am hoping for a nice, long autumn to glory in.

Re-starting the Fire

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Last night, my little family had our first cookout and fire of the autumn season. After hot dogs and smores were eaten, Kiddo went inside and left me and their dad to our drinks and apple pie Oreos by the firebowl. As the flames flickered and died down and the sticks within the bowl began to smoke, we just sat in contented conversation. Then, quietly and determinedly, the embers seemed to find fresh kindling, and the sweet orange flames began to lick up again, seemingly out of nowhere. But somewhere in that bowl, something touched an ember and re-started its fire.

I have felt that way over the past 24-36 hours. On Saturday, I ran to the bookstore in the search of a book that had caught my attention online and sounded just too sweet to be true. The cover instantly reminded me of another beloved favorite — Love Kindness by Barry H. Corey. So, successfully, I garnered a copy of, in fact, the sunshiniest book I have seen in a long while — The Incredible Kindness of Paper by Evelyn Skye.

And this book, from the opening page, like that quiet bit of kindling, reignited a fire within me. An old love that never quite went away but has fallen into quieter forms of late. The paper roses with their kindly messages that float throughout this novel reminded me of my own love for the spirit of encouragement. I used to go through life with a packet of pre-written notes in my purse to leave on tables, in books, on lockers, on bathroom mirrors, and coffeeshop counters. I was taught the gift of encouragement at my mother’s knee and gifted new ideas to expand upon it by lovely people like Hannah Brencher (Love Letters to Strangers). It was so wonderful to hear from folks in my little Indiana town that they had found one of my notes at the coffeeshop or the bank and had passed it on to someone else who they thought could use it. That is the entire point! Love is fullest when it is shared, after all.

Reading Evelyn’s beautiful story now, I feel my heart connecting to the FMC’s and her desire to encourage the world, and it has awakened a yearning in me to share love and kindness and encouragement widely again. Therefore, I am now armed with close to 30 notes with messages that I tried my best to follow my heart with. I left two in books at the grocery store already this afternoon, and I am looking ridiculously forward to leaving a few on random lockers around my school when we head back after the holiday weekend.

I want to devour the rest of this book like icy water on a hot day and bask in the refreshment for my spirit. And, at the same time, I want to take it piece by piece and savor the story with all its sunshiny sweetness in a world that so often is less so. Either way, though, I know I shall be blessed in the reading.

Thank you, Evelyn, in advance and, oh, so much! I can already tell that this is about to become one of my favorite stories.

What is Saving My Summer Life

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 June is done (uggggggh!), and I hate the idea that summer’s almost half over. But here is what is saving my life in these summer months.

  1. Dresses – I am a deep lover of flowy, graceful dresses. Stores like Altar’d State and JessaKae were absolutely made for my aesthetic, if not my wallet. Dresses have always helped me feel my glorious as a feminine figure. Over the past few years, I have leaned into my cottagecore joy with long, full skirts, gauzy sleeves, lots of ruffles, and all the pastels, lacing a romantic air through the most mundane of daily tasks: getting dressed. I recently cleared out several old dresses that were being kept more for nostalgia’s sake than actual wear, reminisced about how pretty they had made me feel, and then packed them up with a whispered blessing for the next girl who finds her glorious in them. Then I coordinated and organized my remaining dresses so my side of the closet is now a gorgeous riot of fluttery rainbow color. I’m still squee-ing about it!
  1. Reading/Books – I am continuing to gobble up stories as fast as I can. I feel bereft if I do not have something to read, to fill my mind with “voices and stories and friends as dear to me as any in the real world” (Little Women, 1994). So far this summer I have devoured seven books, mostly fantasies and historical fiction with a splash of romance for good measure. It is so fun to read things that are unserious and just for the pure enjoyment of the act. Last night, I laid in Spare Oom (my cottagecore-inspired space/guest bedroom), lying in the bed with my mother while she watched old reruns of Archie Bunker. I had my book, she had her show, and we were just laid there together in companionable silence, occasionally broken by one of us making a comment to the cat, who had of course made himself exceeding comfy (belly to the sky) between us on the bed. I have found myself more drawn to my books than my TV shows of late, content to sit in my bed or in the companion recliner in my husband’s den and just inhale story after story. Quite a few of the books I have read have been debut novels, and I am doing my best to make sure that I leave good reviews for those authors so they know how much I appreciate their work. As it is, I post on social media and tag them whenever available so they know just how their hard work is paying off and touching souls. I am also obsessed with pretty books, the ones with gorgeous covers, endpapers, illustrations, and beautiful sprayed/stenciled edges. They are works of art that simply cannot be overlooked. **Side note: if you ever want to give me a gift, give me a book with lovely, stenciled edges. I honestly do not care what the book is; that is utterly beside the point.
  1. Fans – I love to collect hand fans. Carved, lacy, silk, paper, small and soft, large and loud…it doesn’t matter. I love them! They are a beautiful nostalgia for the Sunday evenings when I would sit with my grandmother in church and she would fan me with her gorgeous lace fan or even (gasp!) let me hold it and fan myself. My collection started with a gift from my mother’s coworkers for my college graduation (a genuine fan from Hong Kong) and has just grown from there. I cannot pass up a pretty fan! Recently, I have started taking them everywhere with me. My bag or purse almost always has a fan in it. I even keep one in my desk drawer at work, just in case the unthinkable happens and my always-cold classroom crashes out. It also feeds into my love for the classic feminine aesthetic. Knowing me, my next collection will be parasols.
  1. Water – I hated drinking water as a kid; it tasted like nothing and therefore had no interest for me. Nowadays, through fervent re-conditioning of myself, I cannot cope without a cup of ice water close to hand. I will choose that over just about anything else when it comes to beverages, and I have finally discovered the truth to my mother’s lifelong claims that nothing can hit the spot like cold water. I now have my own collection of pretty tumblers and water cups so that, no matter where I am (home, work, gym, car), I have water close to hand. I am working hard to remember that I need to treat myself like the lovely flower I am and water myself regularly.

As we enter July, I really hope that you find some things that can help to save your life this summer. Things that give you hope and joy, even if they make sense to no one else but you. You deserve that. Always. Meanwhile, I’m off to be a public nuisance at the bookstore with my big-skirted dresses and fans.

When Reading Equals Sheer Joy

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Book Review: That Time I Got Drunk and Saved a Demon by Kimberly Lemming

There are days (sooooo many days) when all you need is a bit of something fun. Whether that is a game, a movie, a show, or whatever. For me…that is often (frequently, usually) books. And I have been in desperate need of something riotously fun lately. Not that the books I have read so far this year haven’t been awesome; they absolutely have. But there are some books that are just plain, laugh-out-loud fun. Kimberly Lemming’s Mead Mishap series is definitely in that category. In fact, it might be its current Queen.

I mean, let’s start off with just the titles: Book #1 is entitled That Time I Got Drunk and Saved a Demon, continued with That Time I Got Drunk and Yeeted a Love Potion at a Werewolf, and finally culminating in That Time I Got Drunk and Saved a Human. On that basis alone, how could you NOT want to know more of what these stories are about?? Not to even mention the gorgeous covers. Oh, so to die for! Each shows a perfectly adorable and hilarious spin on the classic romance novel cover, including handsome men in shirts that are either suspiciously deep-cut around the chesticle area or just falling off due to the garment’s lack of will to stay put on its wearer.

What next and definitely attracted me about these covers was this: all of the main women are women of color. And we aren’t talking about just your willowy, woodbine, fiery-haired damsels either. These are short, strong heroines with skin that warms and glows, bodies that range the gorgeous variety between svelte and thicc with generous busts and hips, adorned with pink hair, braids, and wild curls. Women who love food and coziness, with strong hearts, sharp minds, and tongues to match. In short, all of them look like me! In a fantasy-romance novel! Oh, my stars! I had no chance of saving myself.

Beyond these already-tempting details, these books are bonafide geeky. There are little Easter eggs and pithy references that will make your inner D&D party member giggle gleefully. Yes, they are romances so there are indeed spicy scenes but, on the whole, the selling point of these books is that they are just FUN! I laughed more than anything, re-reading particular paragraphs or whole scenes just because they made me smile and giggle.

Let me tell you this: a book like that is a treasure. Not only a good read but fun to read. A book that gives you unmitigated joy is an absolute jewel. Lemming does not claim her books to be tomes of the highest literary order, not a chance (Have you seen this delightful human’s endpage bio? You should!). But what she has gifted us with are books that bubble over with readerly joy.

I needed that joy this week. It’s the fourth quarter, testing season, and everyone is just done! I do not blame them–students, teachers, or administrators–it has been a…what’s a diplomatic word?…fustercluck of a school year, and the emotional drain and saturation are real. We can all use an infusion of joy wherever we are able to find it at this time.

So for that I say HUZZAH and THANK YOU, Kimberly Lemming! Your Mead Mishaps came along at just the needed time for me, and I cannot wait to read the rest of them. I appreciate and laud you and your work and all the joy that it undoubtedly brings to myself and countless others! You are amazing!

Book Review: Marmee by Sarah Miller

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I cannot explain how happy this book makes me! Little Women is, far and away, my favorite novel and has been for the majority of my life. I have consumed this story in a myriad of different forms and have had so many surprising parallels between my own life and that of Jo March’s fictional one. But this book…oh, this book!

Here is our beloved Marmee’s soul laid out in her own journal entries. It was so brilliant to read the familiar plot points of Little Women but from Marmee’s particular perspective with all the hidden details that often fill a mother’s heart and mind. We are familiar with the Marmee who admitted to her spitting-image daughter Jo about her own struggles with her temper and indignation at the unfairness and injustices of the world. Furthermore, in this book, Miller expands upon those personal struggles and her journey through them and the life her beliefs and actions have built for her girls, her “little women”. Miller presents Margaret March as thoroughly human — loving, longing, struggling, working, and yearning. In the midst of “hoping and keeping busy”, we see the true needs of a woman, mother, wife, and friend presented in honest relief. Now a Marmee myself, I cried at portions, feeling indelibly seen and known in that particular capacity by this best of stories.

Before, I have always identified with Jo, but here in Miller’s well-researched and heartfully-rendered portrait, I blessedly saw my own heart reflected back at me in Marmee’s vulnerable humanity and the loving work of her life. I found myself yearning to be as lucky as John Brooke or Laurie or Birte Hummel, to be drawn into the warm circle of Marmee’s life.

It is also not only Marmee’s portrait that has been filled out by Miller’s pen. Grandfather Lawrence becomes a deeply-loving father figure that is sorely-needed, John Brooke a man thoroughly deserving of Meg and the Marches’ love (no matter Jo’s young protestations), and the Hummel family comes to rich life as full characters instead of a mere vehicle for lessons in kindness and sacrifice.

While Miller does indeed make some changes to this well-worn story, I found none of them to be detractors or detrimental to the effect of this gorgeous story. It is more than just a retelling, it is a new side of the much-beloved story of the March Family. Miller has drawn the stitches between the fictional Marches and the humanly real Alcotts tighter and embroidered them with stunning flourishes of growth, love, faith, hard work, and hope. I could not have asked for or even dreamed of a better novel with which to begin 2023. It has done my heart and soul unspeakable good and has become one that I will undoubtedly recommend over and over again. Thank you, Sarah Miller, for all your hope and hard work in producing a book of such feeling and skill. Thank you for giving me a story that shall find its way into my own Marmee’s hands as well as next to my childhood and anniversary editions of Little Women, in pride of place among my most cherished volumes. A place among my treasures, for that is what it is: a treasure.

My Storied January, Part 2

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A bee. A key. A sword. Several months ago, those images began filling my Twitter and Instagram feeds. I knew what they heralded and was practically beside myself with each new post and peek. I had been waiting for eight years for a new world from Erin Morgenstern to step sideways into, ever since I was so exquisitely enthralled, ensorcelled, and enraptured by The Night Circus. I have never recommended or passed on a book as often as I have that one. And The Starless Sea was no disappointment. A story molded and folded, fitted and tide-locked with other the stories within it. Stories that mix and mingle and connect and rend. When I first received this beautiful book, it took me several weeks to read even 70 pages. That was agony for me. When all I wanted to do was to dive in and devour it, I was being forced to savor it. I found it creeping into my days, my dreams, my daily drive (thank you, monthly Audible credit!), and even my work. I used it as an example entry for my 8th-grade students’ silent reading journals. 

Photo by The Ridgefield Press

Needless to say, I tumbled into a world of keys and swords and books, of Doors and bees and stories. I will not claim to understand everything…yet. It will no doubt take several readings and listenings to unravel all the paths and side-quests and cues within the gorgeous labyrinth held between these gold-embossed black covers. There are lines that still linger in my mind, lines that I have quoted and enigmatically posted. Lines that wrap themselves around my wrists and elbows like golden ribbons, words dangling from my fingertips like keys and glowing in my chest like embers. Morgenstern has not disappointed in any sense; once again her world-weaving has carried me off over golden waves.

My fictional world is, as it seems, full of books and Doors and stories right now. I am chasing after books come alive in A.J. Hackwith’s The Library of the Unwritten and running headlong through ten-thousand Doors in the most gorgeous epic by Alix E. Harrow (The Ten Thousand Doors of January). To my delight, I am led and shepherded everywhere I look in these tales by characters of color. I am also seeing bits and pieces of myself spread out among them. A hero with eyesight as bad as my own. A Librarian with locs and a fierceness to match the angelic host themselves. A girl with mocha skin and a bronze-furred dog. Her friend with a body the color of coffee who would be perfect standing side by side with the Librarian in battle. Zachariah, Claire, January, Bad, Jane. I marvel at finding myself surrounded by these characters, taken by the hands and led–sometimes thrown–through their adventures, failures, discoveries, and downfalls. It is intense. It is emotional. It is fascinating. It is painful. And every second is worth it.

This is my storied January indeed, and I am loving it!

Evenings’ Readings

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I’m getting back into the practice of reading before bed. So here are my bedtime books for the past two nights:

You’re Never Weird on the Internet (Almost) by Felicia Day. I haven’t really been a big fan of Felicia’s before but I really enjoy her writing style. It’s bright and conversational and fun. Feels like chatting over dessert.

Hamilton: The Revolution by Jeremy McCarter and Lin-Manuel Miranda. This tome is big and beautiful and an utter delight. I am a process person so reading about Lin and Hamilton’s process of becoming is amazing. And his libretto annotations? Sheer joy!

Keep Reading, My Darlings

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I am sitting here, still riding the high of having read three books this month (it’s been literally years since that happened) and surrounded by books that I want to read next. It feels like there are so very many of them, though, far more than the five that are currently at the top of my to-read pile. I am almost starting to despair of getting any of them read in a month. I know that I shouldn’t despair, I have no reason to. I have already made good progress on one beautiful novel (Clockwork Lives by Kevin J. Anderson and Neil Peart) and May has just begun. I have time, as long as I take my fringe moments and make use of them and feed my soul with literary beauty.

There are so many gorgeous stories, so many heartfelt biographies, and books on living, feeling, connecting, writing, and being heartful. I want to devour them all, pull them deep down into my belly, and let them sink into my blood. Books will forever be the balloons that carry my imagination aloft, feed my creativity, and buoy my soul.

Keep reading, my dears. Keep devouring those stories. Keep pulling them deep down into your belly. Keep letting them sink into your blood, their words swirling in your veins, and worlds stored up in your heart. For Heaven’s sake, keep reading!

 

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This is NOT my work. I don’t know who to credit but, if you see this, thank you for your beautiful artistry! 

 

Once a Lost Girl…

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Ruth B’s single “Lost Boy” has been moving quite fluidly across the airwaves of late,  sung in her dreamy, soulful voice, though I first heard it when a friend of mine shared a YouTube video of the song to my Facebook page, saying that it reminded them of me. I take that as quite a compliment, personally. The first half of the song goes like this:

There was a time when I was alone
Nowhere to go and no place to call home
My only friend was the man in the moon
And even sometimes he would go away, too

Then one night, as I closed my eyes
I saw a shadow flying high
He came to me with the sweetest smile
Told me he wanted to talk for a while
He said, “Peter Pan, that’s what they call me
I promise that you’ll never be lonely, ” and ever since that day

I am a lost boy from Neverland
Usually hanging out with Peter Pan
And when we’re bored we play in the woods
Always on the run from Captain Hook
“Run, run, lost boy, ” they say to me
Away from all of reality

When I was a child, the first storybook character I fell in love with (yes, I believe that I loved him with all my little-girl heart) was Peter Pan. I had a beautifully illustrated storybook, a book on tape, loved the Disney movie (was so jealous that Tiger Lily got to “kiss” Peter), watched the “Peter Pan and the Pirates” television series on Fox in the mornings before school, had my blue “Wendy” nightdress, and had the Mary Martin production of Peter Pan memorized (still sing “Once Upon a Time” and “I Won’t Grow Up”). It’s safe to say that I was a bit obsessed with Peter Pan and all the characters therein.

When I was a child, I didn’t have many friends. I was small, skinny, awkward, studious, always with my nose in a book. Not many people wanted to associate with that, particularly in the first half of middle school. So I turned to my books and movies (which were mostly based on books), to the characters held within them who had ever been steadfast friends. I was a Lost Girl in truth. I could sink myself into those stories, let the characters pull me along to join them on their adventures, and live a thousand lives that I would never have in the real world. I was happy as a Lost Girl, in Never Land. I was happy with the dream of Peter (who, interestingly, has continued to grow as I have grown) coming to my window, taking my hand with that handsome, sweet grin, and flying me off to somewhere where I could be more than what I was. Where I could be a Lost Girl, not just little Melissa. Where I could talk with mermaids, fly with fairies, fight pirates, and dance with Tiger Lily.

Where I could be someone else. More than what I was.

Even now, I am still a Lost Girl. I still run off with these characters and dive into their stories, their ranks having swelled over the thirty-some years of my life. Dear friends and new, they make me happy to be a Lost Girl. In fact, there are two new books on my table, two new shedloads of characters just waiting to take me on their adventures and share with me their realities.

As a matter of fact…I think that’s a tap on my window. Excuse me.

 

 

Stepping Out of Middle Earth

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Yesterday evening, I went with my husband to witness something very, very close to my heart: the closing of Middle Earth. Thirteen years ago this month, I was taken to the movies by dear friends, to watch “The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring”, and, honestly, I had no idea what I was getting into, storywise. Not really. I had begun reading The Fellowship of the Ring a little before those but had gotten busy with my sophomore year of college and set it aside for the time being. Now, after having dress-rehearsed all morning for my first performance on the SCF/Kappa Chi team for the Musical Madness competition, I gathered with those friends to see this film. Needless to say, I was seized, captured, and enthralled.

For the next two years, it became tradition for me to treat my friends to the midnight showing of each subsequent chapter of the Lord of the Rings as a Christmas gift, before we all parted ways for the holidays. I cannot tell you the fun of those nights, going out to dinner with my friends and then getting to the theatre early to garner good seats together. Then, each time, I would lose myself in Middle Earth, travelling on this harrowing adventure with Hobbit, Elf, Wizard, and Man.

In the thirteen years since seeing FOTR, I have devoured the books as well as The Silmarillion, The Books of Lost Tales, and written a collection of my own Tolkien tales. I learned a great deal from an excellent professor who is also a great lover of Tolkien. I learned to speak Sindarin Elvish (memorization and transliteration until it rolled off my tongue, sang in Rohirric, and had two papers published. When I saw that Peter Jackson as extending his movie magic to The Hobbit, I rejoiced. An Unexpected Journey was the first movie I watched with my newborn daughter and, now, my husband and I seized the opportunity (and the kindness of his parents) to close out the Red Book together. At the end, as Billy Boyd sang “The Last Goodbye” and Alan Lee’s beautiful drawings scrolled over the screen, I sat and sobbed. My husband was, admittedly, a little incredulous, but I begged him to let me have my moment for tears.

I grieved for the characters lost, for the pain endured, but I also wept for the ending of an era, for the closing not only of the Red Book but for that chapter of my life. There is now a banking of that fiery passion that burned so hotly for those years, a calm moving on (like Bilbo’s returning to Bag End and carrying on his life). The memories attached to Middle Earth, though, its world, people, and stories, will never fade but, I believe, will only shine brighter as the days and years go by. I cannot thank enough those who fostered this love in me, encouraged it, and rejoiced in the fruit it produced. Thank you, all of you, for all that you have done and given to me – from the writer himself, to the family that carries on his legacy, to the director determined to bring these stories to life, the writers who tenderly took Tolkien’s work in hand, and the actors who gave the characters breath and soul. To these last, I will never look at any of you ever again but that I will also see the characters who have become so beloved to me, see the emotion shimmering in your eyes and trembling on your lips, and feel the strength of your hearts. Thank you!

It was the closing of the Red Book, the ending of an era, and the tearful goodbye of a grateful heart that feels like a Hobbit, writes like an Elf, is fallible like Man, hopeful as a Wizard, and staunch as a Dwarf. You have my love and my eternal thanks. Hannon le. Amin mela le.