Dec 8, 2007
Okay, confession time. I’m branching out in my reading adventures. Thanks to buzz on the Internet, I’ve read Louisa Burton’s House of Dark Desires and Jane Lockwood’s Forbidden Shores. Both books feature ménage a trois situations, something my middle-aged mind doesn’t quite comprehend. I just remember a modern dance class I took in college. We were several young women and two male football players, who were encouraged by our avant garde teacher to crawl all over each other to music (“Pretend you are ants on a discarded piece of fruit.” “Pretend you are litter of puppies.” “Pretend this class has meaning for your future and I’m not a complete nutjob.”). I think the boys liked it but I felt kind of suffocated. Way too many arms and legs and other stuff. And I was fully dressed, wearing a black leotard and tights, genuine Danskin if memory serves.
Threesomes—hot or not? And does it matter whether it’s MMF or FFM to you? Are you reading naughty stuff like I am? Please comment anonymously if the subject freaks you out like it does me. A random commenter (who may privately reveal him/herself) will receive a very gently-read Forbidden Shores ($14.00 U.S./$16.50 Canada value!), which besides sex has slavery, scandal, sea travel, sand and lots of other stuff. There is an actual plot. Mrs. Giggles gave it a keeper rating at https://mrsgiggles.com/books/lockwood_shores.html
(Ms. Lockwood also writes as Janet Mullany, the author of the hilariously witty The Rules of Gentility. It’s on my Books I’ve Loved Lately list.)
Come and knock on our door….. We’ve been waiting for you…… Where the kisses are hers and hers and his, Three’s company too. Come and dance on our floor…… Take a step that is new….. We’ve a loveable space that needs your face, Three’s company too. You’ll see that life is a frolic and laughter is calling for you…… Down at our rendez-vous, Three’s company, too!
Dec 5, 2007
You have a naked man in your bed. Handsome. Tall. Dark-haired if we go by tradition. This is not a bad thing. But at some point, he’s got to get up and get out to fetch you jewels and cheeseburgers. Maybe a diet soda. It’s cold outside. After all, it is December. What is this dream guy wearing? Is he a braw Scot, flicking his kilt naughtily to tempt you with his own version of the Highland Games? See how big his sporran is. Or is he a dashing pirate, miraculously clean, all his limbs intact and parrot-less, ready to set sail for a tropical isle with you as his first mate? Pick your preferred hero and give him a name. We’ll take an informal poll. Claymore vs. cutlass. Let the best man win.
The finest clothing made is a person’s skin, but, of course, society demands something more than this. ~Mark Twain
Dec 1, 2007
I watched the sun rise over the foothills this morning from the window above my kitchen sink. There wasn’t much rosy-fingered dawn, but it was still a vibrant sight. Most of the year I have to imagine it, but now that the leaves are down and snow is on the ground, I can hum Here Comes the Sun (Abby’s favorite Beatles’ song) and really mean it. I’ve been lucky enough to see the sun drop behind the Camden Hills overlooking Penobscot Bay and into the waters of the Florida Keys, too. I never take a sunrise or a sunset for granted, for it means I’ve earned another day, probably to waste, but there’s always a chance for glory.
I’ve seen some neat things in my travels. I rode down the Grand Canyon on a mule once. I was so scared that I had my eyes closed some of the time, but the mule was well-trained and knew where he was going. The fact that I had to throw my clothes away—the combination of stark-terror-sweat and eau de mule was overpowering—was a small price to pay for mostly seeing a Natural Wonder. I’ve stood in an abandoned ring of standing stones in Great Britain, mist creeping in, visited a “thin place” in Scotland where any moment it seemed Rob Roy MacGregor (or at least Liam Neeson) might appear, driven along the Cabot Trail in Cape Breton, the rugged cliffs and ocean one of the most beautiful sights on earth. Lights of Vegas. Central Park in the summer in love. I’ve been lucky, even though travel with all its associated headaches is not the lure it once was.
Where have you been that’s left a lasting sense of place? How do you incorporate that in your writing?
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun, and I say it’s all right~ George Harrison
Nov 28, 2007
Earlier this year I wrote about one of the more controversial aspects of my job. I hear you snickering now. “Maggie works in a high school library. What, did she forget to initial a hall pass? Mis-shelve a book? Eat a banana under the No Food or Drink in the Library sign?” Yes to all of the above, actually, but I’m talking again about discarding books. Every year we select the poor waif-books that will find a home in a dumpster. Last school year we weeded through the social studies section, removing books that were worn beyond repair, hadn’t been checked out in twenty years—or ever—, had inaccurate information. There have been a few more presidents since FDR, for example, so The Complete Book of the American Presidents had to go.
This year, however, we’re discarding fiction, and I trembled to my chubby toes as I stamped “Discard” on Christie, Buck, Austen, Cather. Some of the volumes literally fell apart in my hands, and we do have newer, improved editions to replace the classics. But a great many, mostly paperbacks, had outdated covers, topics, excessive Scotch tape and graffiti. Ironically, those books which were once loved as much as the Velveteen Rabbit are now repulsive, victims of their popularity. Their condition and content no longer appeal to modern teens. It got me thinking.
Every author writes for a scrap of immortality. There’s good reason for “Never put it in writing.” The pen truly is mightier than the sword. Words live forever as long as there are readers to read them. Those of us who aspire to publication hope to move a future audience to tears, laughter and the parting of their $6.99. But someday, even if our talents and luck combine to produce a shiny pink or purple paperback (maybe even with a sexy stepback!), our baby will be tossed away by somebody just like me.
What do you do with your old books? What images do you like on your covers? I rescued this handsome edition of Wuthering Heights (circa 1959, I’m guessing), last checked out in 1995. I think the cover artist had a little “inspiration” from John Singer Sargent’s Madame X. S/he’s changed her dress and given Madame a nose job, but the resemblance is unmistakable. When the original portrait was first exhibited, it was considered so shocking that Sargent was asked to withdraw it. It destroyed Madame Gautreau’s reputation, and Sargent became persona non grata in Paris. For more information, visit https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Portrait_of_Madame_X
Nov 25, 2007
The Spice Girls are touring again. Their concerts are, unbelievably, selling out. For those of you who don’t know, they were a manufactured band in the nineties, kind of like the female Monkees. Like the Monkees, they managed to rise above their faux origins. Little girls across the world were dancing and singing, “I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna really really really wanna zigazig ha.” Huh?
Here’s a scene from their 1997 movie, Spice World.
Spice Girls: We’re the Spice Girls, yes indeed. Just Girl Power is all we need. We know how we got this far… Ginger Spice: Strength and courage and a Wonderbra! Spice Girls: Would this work with only one? Baby: Just with me I have no fun. Spice Girls: Would this work with only two? Scary Spice: We need more for what we do. Spice Girls: Would this work with only three? Sporty: Three’s a crowd, bad company. Spice Girls: Would this work with only four? Posh: No way, girl, we need one more! Spice Girls: Listen up, take my advice – we need five for the power of Spice. Give it up, give it out, take a stand, scream and shout! One, two, three, four, five – Spice Girls!
Here’s the Robinson five, taken a month and a half ago on my birthday. Sadie’s a bit young and out-of-it, but her mom and evil aunties will teach her all they know about zigazigging and everything else. They are what I’m thankful for, and what I really really want.
So tell me what you want, what you really really want? Where do you get your Girl Power?
Thanks to everyone who gave thanks, giving and thanksgiving! All your poetry was prize-worthy. Hope you had as much fun writing as I did reading. RevMelinda said “Not only do you have a beautiful blog, but you have the best commenters in the blogosphere!” and I couldn’t agree more. Special thanks to Haven Rich. Terrio, you’re November’s winner! Please send your snailmail address to maggierobinson8@yahoo.com
Nov 18, 2007
I shall leave it to others to be thoughtful about the holiday, although I do know how very lucky I am every day of the year. But I used to teach acrostic poetry as an elementary school teacher, and silliness has soundly trumped seriousness this post. So here is my THANKS for romance.
T empting
H eated
A ching
N aughty
K isses
S atisfy.
Now comes the GIVING part. Your turn. You can pick THANKS, too (GIVING is way harder! Or do the whole THANKSGIVING if you really want to impress. *g*). Enter as many times as you like. It doesn’t have to be a sentence, or even make sense. One random poet will get November’s prizes. Winner and new post Sunday, November 25.
Have a wonderful holiday with those you love.
We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures. ~Thornton Wilder
Okay, confession time. I’m branching out in my reading adventures. Thanks to buzz on the Internet, I’ve read Louisa Burton’s House of Dark Desires and Jane Lockwood’s Forbidden Shores. Both books feature ménage a trois situations, something my middle-aged mind doesn’t quite comprehend. I just remember a modern dance class I took in college. We were several young women and two male football players, who were encouraged by our avant garde teacher to crawl all over each other to music (“Pretend you are ants on a discarded piece of fruit.” “Pretend you are litter of puppies.” “Pretend this class has meaning for your future and I’m not a complete nutjob.”). I think the boys liked it but I felt kind of suffocated. Way too many arms and legs and other stuff. And I was fully dressed, wearing a black leotard and tights, genuine Danskin if memory serves.
