August was the month of THE BEACH. My kids didn’t have camp, and our babysitter went back to school early. So we were together, like, constantly. But, oh, it was so fun going to the lake with them. I am a California girl at heart, and seeing them love the water as much as I do (and did when I was a little kid) was like a big, sloppy dog kiss from the universe. I love being at the beach. I love seeing people, meeting people at the beach. It’s my vibe, my level, my pace, my tribe. Sighhhhh. We just had leisurely, lazy fun, and I loved every second of it.
Because the kids were hovering constantly, I didn’t end up reading as much as I usually do. Only five books this month, which is a bummer. Goodreads keeps alerting me that I’m behind schedule for meeting my 110-book reading goal for this year. (Little does Goodreads know that I’m determined to make that goal, come hell or high water, so I wish it would calm the eff down.) Anyway, here’s what I read in August:
- Better Than Fiction 2 – It was fine.
- The Only Rule Is It Has to Work – My cousin is a great writer (and this saved us an awkward moment).
- In Twenty Years – Too long and sprawling, but it still lightly entertained me.
- The Real Liddy James – Started strong and then sucked it up.
- All the Winters After – Glorious.
I have some books lined up for September that I’m excited about. That’s always good.
I also have some ideas for writing that I’m even more excited about. I keep thinking of that thing Elizabeth Gilbert says in Big Magic–that stories kind of float around in the universe, and when they come to you, you have to write them down and share them or they will move on to someone else who will. I like that idea, and I even agree with it. But I think there may be another type of story, too: the stories that belong to just one person. Or maybe even to just one family, one bloodline. These are the stories that you are born with or grow up with. It’s the stuff that’s true (or, at least, feels true). The stories that you repeat to yourself over and over again–whether you want to or not, whether it’s smart to or not.
I have a few of these stories swirling around in my head. They are me, but they aren’t all of me, and they make my brain feel bloated, fuzzy, blocked. They’re impeding my flow. Lately, I’ve been wondering if writing them down might help them move on, might release them back into the ether where they belong. So I’m thinking that’s what I’m going to do: write them down. I’m going to share them with you, my Four Faithful Readers. You won’t mind, right? I mean, this is a book review blog, but everyone likes a good story (assuming I can deliver a good story). It’s always nice to be entertained.
So, yeah, September will be a month of books. And writing. Hopefully. And now that I’ve said it, I can’t go back. I won’t. I promise.