Question of the day

What movie is this from?

"Everyone I know has a big but. What's your big but, Simone?"

Book Review: Beauty

You know how you can read a book once, set it down, and come back to it a few years later and enjoy it all over again? That's what this book is like. I find that most of the books I buy are books I will read multiple times, and there is a unique sort of pleasure to be found in a second, third, ninth read of a treasured book.

Beauty is the almost-sixteen year old daughter of the Duke of Westfaire, a man whose two favorite passions appear to be fathering children and visiting holy relics. Beauty's three closest friends are Father Raymond, the priest who teaches her Latin and the classics and who sees far too much for Beauty's comfort; Giles, her father's handsome man-at-arms, who is both honorable and socially inferior to her; and Beloved, her half-sister who could be her twin, who was born the same day as Beauty.

There is a mystery about Beauty, one her seven spinster aunts (who live at the castle) refuse to share with her, but Beauty knows it has something to do with her mother, who disappeared shortly after her birth.

When a woman comes to visit, a woman whom her father has pledged himself to marry, Beauty is ousted from her bedroom and takes refuge in the Dove Tower, which had been her mother's favorite room when she was still at Westfaire. There Beauty finds a letter left for her by her mother, a note revealing that her mother Elladine is Lady of Ylles, a land in Faery, and Beauty is therefore half-fairy. The note further says that an evil enchantment was laid on Beauty at her christening: that on her sixteenth birthday, the Duke's beautiful daughter would prick her finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel and fall into an enchanted slumber.

(Is this story beginning to sound familiar?)

Beauty convinces Beloved to take her place for the birthday party so she can escape the fancy clothes and admiring eyes, and it is Beloved who falls prey to the curse. By the time Beauty realizes what has happened, all in the castle have fallen into an unwakable slumber, and a hedge of thorny roses has begun to climb about the castle. Beauty escapes and stands outside her home, weeping in dismay. There is but one spot of hope in her dim outlook: Giles had been sent away on a mission by Father Raymond after the priest observed the two young people exchanging a love-charged glance, so Giles has been spared from the enchantment.

As she wanders the countryside, blinded by tears, Beauty stumbles upon something completely foreign to her: a crew of time-travelling filmmakers from the twenty-first century, arrived in the fourteenth to record a bit of magic. They seize Beauty and take her back to their time, a world that is horrifying in its absence of magic and hope and beauty.

From there the story becomes a romp through space and time as Beauty tries to find her way back home and figure out her destiny. Along the way, stories of Cinderella, Snow White, and the Frog Prince get worked in, plus numerous visits to the land of Faery, which is peopled with a myriad of fantastical creatures.

Although the narrative becomes preachy at times, when Tepper rants about the fate of the world if modern people do not conserve resources, appreciate nature, stop deforestation, and allow abortion, there is enough magic and humor in the majority of the novel to give the sermons just a hint of bitterness that is quickly swallowed and forgotten.

In all, I highly recommend this book, especially if you like a mix of fantasy and humor, but please don't assume that I espouse all of Tepper's views.

Soul Sistah

Well, apparently, my youngest sister Gretchen has been feeling increased anti-sister angst since the post I made oh, what, like three months ago? More? about the wine/cheese/bread party with Ilona, and how she is my best friend. Really, I should have known better than to bare my deepest feelings like that. Turns out, I may think Ilona is MY best friend, but (alas) I am not hers. Where's the sisterhood in that?
And now Gretchen has been simmering with indignation that she does not hold the same place in my heart. Apparently, she thinks she should share the pedestal with Ilona (and I'm wondering if I should just shove both of them off--the pedestal, that is, not the mortal coil--and find a BFF who will reciprocate my devotion).
But since Gretchen has been bugging me now for too long to have her own ODE published on my blog, here it is.

Oh Gretchen
faithful gentle tweezer
of mine eyebrows
thou bastion of fashion and
movie watching panolply
THOU who hast bravely
applied dye to my headly follicles
in what is (unbeknownst to thee and me)
a vain effort at beautification
because not even the most discriminating of
critics can tell the difference between
Mocha Brown and our natural color
THOU who hast designs upon the industries
of theatre and music
who hast shared thine voice with
untold countless masses
with undiminished benificence
My thanks is heartily rendered for the
following acts of service:

FIRST: for quaffing the elixir of joy
with reckless abandon and infusing
the homestead with laughter
SECOND: for sneezing like a cat, almost always seven times
THIRD: for inspiring creative cooking from
the paternal units with thine foodish
allergies
FOURTH: for filling our lives with song
FIFTH: for acting as my surrogate child
when I was pubescent and beginning to feel
motherly inclinations
SIXTH: for nearly always happily agreeing
to play babysitter

For being a treasure and almost always happy
EXCEPT WHEN YOU'RE NOT,
I thank you.
For music and kidwatching,
I thank you.
And if I decide to let Ilona keep her honored position
in my mental hierarchy, I promise to push her over
A BIT
so you can climb aboard.

There: are you happy now?

Merry Christmas!

So I'm not a bah humbug sort of girl at all, not even close. I love Christmas, love spending time with family and eating good food. It's just that right now, all the kids are watching a movie, all the last minute cookie decorating has been done (Swedish Cremes and Hedgehog Truffles and Baked Pecan Truffles, in case you're curious), and most of the adults are working on a puzzle.
Of course, since I've started typing, the quiet has shattered and Sam has a poopy diaper and he doesn't want to get changed; the puzzle has been completed and the puzzlers dispersed; judging by the noise of children, I'm guessing the movie's finished; and Gretchen's playing piano and singing. Clint's standing next to the computer desk, tapping. I think he wants to get on the internet.
The presents have all been unwrapped and the paper cleaned up. It feels like Christmas is done. And here's my big admission: sometimes I feel like the holidays are not so fun. I like parts of the season. I like sitting in my living room in the evening with all the lights off except for those on the Christmas tree. I like singing "Silent Night" at the Christmas Eve service, especially the verse we usually sing a capella, when everyone is holding a candle and the lights are dim. I like--no I LOVE cookies and candy. I like watching my kids open presents.
But it's like the feeling you get when you spend a long, dedicated time in the kitchen making dinner, and you set the table beautifully, and then the meal is done in twenty minutes. I have spent maybe four to six weeks preparing for this one day, and now it's almost over. Is there some place where people spread gift giving out over a period of time? I'm not talking about in-law and step-family Christmas celebrations. I'm just saying (and maybe it's because Jared is two and a half and he's really INTO presents) that it felt a little frenzied, and the meal was good and all, but now it's over and all I am is tired.
Not a great way to end a post, but I'm too lethargic to think of anything else to say. Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.

It's Not Even New Year's

So much for good intentions, eh? I finished the novel in a whirlwind of typing, and as I look over my (now, I realize, WAY too optimistic) list of plans for the rest of my days in 2008, I see I've done...hmm...a lot of reading. That was on there somewhere, right?
And get ready for Christmas. I can check that off. As of today, shopping is almost done. Two more little things to put in a couple stockings. Oh, and a birthday present for my mom. Whose birthday is tomorrow. Any ideas? Hmm. Not a lot of time to come up with something great.
So here I am at 9pm, just finished a delicious bowl of TurtleFudgeBrownie ice cream, and I'm thinking about those good intentions.
I've got one notch on my belt though, something I'm proud of. I did submit an essay to an online magazine. Miranda Literary Magazine. And they accepted it! Woo-hoo. Thanks, Ronster.
So I'll send out a note when the issue hits the proverbial press, and you can check me out in online print. Ron, the editor, says they will be offering a new feature with this issue, print on demand, so if you'd like a paper copy, let me know and I can get one for you. No idea how much it'll cost.
Revised goal then, for Christmas break:
Send out 5 query letters
Finish grading Creative Writing stories (should probably put that first)
Do first major revision for latest novel

And goal for the rest of the winter:
10 more query letters
One contest submission
Submit novel to Amazon Breakthrough Novel Contest

Keep me honest! Make sure I do it.

Drumroll please

After 29 grueling days of feverish typing, I am pleased to announce that my new novel, presently nameless, is finished 27 hours ahead of schedule. True, I did type almost all day today, to the probable frustration of my family, but it's done.

How long is it? You ask. Baby _______ weighs in at 51,000 words (or so) (unfortunately, I shut down the laptop before I checked my final word count) and 172 pages.

Am I glad it's done? Heck, yeah. I've got some reading to catch up on.

What next?
Hmm, more faithful blog posts.
Look for two different sorts of agents.
Check out wordhustler.com and find something short to write.
Hello! Read some more.
(Ugh) Christmas shopping.
And...spend time with the fam. Yeah, sorry guys, you shouldn't be at the bottom of the list. Thanks for being so bifurcating awesome.

It's going crazy

Oh, hunting season, how I love thee (sometimes)
For thou takest mine husband and progeny out of mine sight.
Lost in such depths of despair that in mine loneliness,
I crawled forth

Germs of ideas sprouting in the cavernous recesses of my head
Spewing forth in letters and words
Spidering across the lucent glowing screen
Multiplying in indecent haste into

23,000 words
And 80 pages