my inner norris is riled, but like norris, i took the high road, though i didn’t want to

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At the library the other day I overheard a fellow reader talking to my friend about a book she’s reading, a little thing she called “that Fikry book”.
My ears perked immediately while a smile crossed my face.
Oh, how I love that Fikry book: “The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry” by Danielle Zevin. It’s the year’s most perfect book with not a wasted word, a great storyline, a wonderful cast of interesting characters…I could blabber about it for days. (In fact I have…)
While musing to myself, bathing in my giddy pool of literary love, I listened to the reader continue with wide eyes and a surprised tone, “It’s turned out to be a good little book.”
Thinking to myself, “Ha! She’s joking, underplaying the book, she’s so funny…” and I swing around to look across the room and catch the reader’s face. She sees me and nods as if I, too, think the little Fikry book shockingly, astoundingly, against the odds, turned out to be a good book!
Since I had too much distance to cover to sprint, leap, and pummel the woman to the ground screaming, “Take that back! You don’t know perfection! You call yourself a reader??”I left it to my friend. I fully expected her, the one directly in front of the so-called reader, to fly over the counter and beat her down.
Did either of these things happen? No. My friend nodded kindly and allowed the woman her freedom as well as another stack of books to eviscerate with her poor judgment.
I reached my friend just as the door swung closed behind the Critic au Jour.
“What the…whydidn’tyoutakeherout? Didyouhearwhatshesaid? Andshelivedtowalkoutthedoor??”
My friend chuckles a little as she casually looks up at me and drawls, “She reads Nora Roberts.”
We both had a hearty guffaw.
And then when my friend was away from the counter I deleted the reader woman from the database.

I’m kidding! She’s still a member of the library, don’t call the authorities.

And no offense to Roberts. The Reader Who Must Not Come Back said, “Nobody writes like her!” as she unknowingly fled for her life.
I muttered, “Except J.D. Robb.”
As librarians oft spake: “For every reader there’s a book, and for every book, a reader.”

And yes yes yes, I’m a book snob and I know it and that’s the first step to turning into A¬†Literary Curmudgeon. Sweet! I’m halfway there.

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five favorite Martha Beck quotes

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When my Bubs is away, safely in the arms of love and attention because I have to work and thus cannot feed a child’s need for adoration, I get lonely. And bored. I get a bit bored. So I read. That’s shocking to you, I know.
Lately¬†I’m reading upbeat, supportive, motivational literature and Martha Beck is my favorite. She’s funny and straight shooting and wise.
And funny.
Any advice is more solidly ingested when it’s salted with humor. And yes, I mean salt, not just any old seasoning. Sugar begets sugar, which only means I’m going to get fatter. Granted that I shall bloat, but salt adds flavor in a satisfying tangy bite and it creates saliva, which makes me want more. (Like Fritos. Oh man, I love Fritos, and I know it’s because of the salt that I can’t stop with one handful, I must eat them until only the dust is left and then I inhale that too.)

So tonight I share my favorites Beck-isms (well, favorite for today; tomorrow I’ll find even more ingenious insight into my soul and those will be my new faves; that’s how great writing works, I can never find just one bit I would save from a fire because I want to save it all):

5. Almost all my middle-aged and elderly acquaintances, including me, feel about 25, unless we haven’t had our coffee, in which case we feel 107.

4. Everyday brings new choices.

3. To know what that true self is without social pressure is to know your true nature.

2. Do whatever it takes to convey your essential self.

1. Use anything you can think of to understand and be understood, and you’ll discover the creativity that connects you with others.

Haven’t read any of her stuff? Gosh. Get out there and find it. It’s life altering wisdom.

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all’s quiet on the prairie…except my scissors

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At 2:30 this morning I was cutting my own hair.
I know I’ve told horror stories about doing this very thing not so long ago, and I’ll admit to feeling a teensy bit bad about it, but it had to be done: my hair needed a trim.
And trim I did! To the point of excess. What’s the amped up term for “trim”, but less than “shaved”?
My hair stylist won’t be thrilled with me. Or maybe she will be; repair could be a costly, repeat visit kind of project for her.
Also, did you know soap operas repeat at 2 in the morning? Did you know soap operas still existed? Did you know that the story line hasn’t changed, but now characters get a lot of texts?
I learn so much from insomnia.

 

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