Last year I signed up for a reading challenge. It was a disaster. I don’t think I read a single book from the recommended list. And I didn’t feel bad about it. The books just weren’t interesting enough to hold my attention and that’s not anyone’s fault but mine. I needed something more. So, in the wake of that failure, I searched high and low for a list that might actually work for me. It had to be something slightly fluid, something I could make adjustments to as I needed. Because things change pretty regularly around here and I feel pressure to complete something if it’s in list form. When I found the Better World Books 2017 Reading Challenge, I knew it was something that would work for me. Even better, it includes works by POC and WOC, which is something important to me. So, without further ado, my 2017 Reading Challenge list:

PS. If this seems like a challenge you want to be part of, grab yourself a printable form here and let me know what books you decide to put on your list!

       He towered over the other mourners, his shiny head bowed low to his chest. He had been undefeated in the boxing ring during his Korean tour, his large, meaty hands protecting him from blows. Today his hands were useless to protect him from the pain; they hung limply at his sides or twisted his flat-brimmed hat until it resembled a wrung out dish towel. He had been unable to read the eulogy he had composed for her; shaking his head, he pressed the slip of paper into his brother’s hand. He had held himself in check through all the well-wishes, handshakes, and casserole deliveries but later that night, in front of an old black and white movie, the tears soaked the collar of his button up shirt while he talked to me about the old days. How he had loved her from the moment he saw her behind the perfume counter at Gimbels and how she refused his suggestion for dinner that night, because she needed to wash her hair. But her spunk was no match for his determination and six weeks later they were married at the Presbyterian Church on Elm Street. She wore gardenias in her hair and her pearly nailed matched the delicate shade of her cheeks. He liked that people were confused by their marriage; a strange mix of contented silence and heated bickering over, say how to mix the perfect Manhattan. He smiled to himself a little, remembering how he liked to start arguments with her; she was so lovely when she was angry, eyes snapping, cheeks flushed. His chest heaved when he remembered the morning he had woken up and felt alone; that something was missing. How he sat with her, holding her hand and taking his time to say good-bye. “Sometimes I think I’m a bad Christian,” he murmured, breaking eye contact, “cause I don’t much care about seeing Jesus. I just want to see her again. Do you think that’s a sin?” And as he looked at me with those watery blue eyes, troubled behind the thick lenses of his glasses, I realized that we should all be so lucky to be loved that way: the way my grandfather loved my gram.

Copyright 2016 Katharine Brown

Photo: Vinoth Chandar via Flickr

Do you remember in the 90’s when everyone was really into icebreakers? For you younger readers, an icebreaker was a question asked in meetings, hangouts, and other social situations to prevent the awkwardness one feels from having to speak first or converse without a topic. The thing about icebreakers was the questions were usually ones that would take a lot of thought, but you only had a few seconds to come up with an answer.

If you HAD to give up one of your senses, which would it be and why? There is a little bit of analysis needed here, right? I mean, this is a really loaded question.

If you had a time machine that would work only once, what point in the future or in history would you visit? I don’t know about you but this question takes a lot of thought. The machine only works once, which means I won’t be coming home. I have to get this right!

Ok, so you get the idea. The icebreaker that I heard most often went something like this:

If you were stranded on a desert island, what one object would you bring and why? (Variations include, what food would you choose to eat FOREVER? and who would you want to be stranded with you?)

I’m not sure why, but this desert isle icebreaker popped into my head the other day while I was packing my books for our big move and I thought, hmmm…which of these books would I be willing to read over and over, potentially forever. And so, without further ado, my list of three books I would want with me should I ever become stranded on a desert island.

#1 The Secret History by Donna Tartt

I bet you guys are sick of hearing about this book. Too bad. It is my all-time favorite and, since I read it every year anyway, I’m bringing it with me. Not only will it entertain me in my loneliness, it’s pretty thick so I can use it to reach bananas from the tops of the tall trees that shade my palm branch lean-to.

#2 The Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro

Another staple in my literary diet that would keep my mind off the scorching sun and terrible thunderstorms that alternately plague me in my new home. This book would encourage self introspection while I huddle away from the rays and the rain.

#3 The Failure of Certain Charms by Gordon Henry

I think learning to exist alone on an island demands poetry. Something full of meaning and beauty and truth, that can be read in a relatively short period of time, between gathering kindling for my rescue bonfire and fishing for shoal fish with a safety-pin and some thread from the hem of my dress. This book will fit the bill nicely.

What about you? What three books would you take with you on a pleasure cruise, knowing they may be all that keeps you sane on a desert island?

As you may remember from earlier this month, one of my resolutions for the year is to write every day. This might seem like a pretty simple task but when you add three kids 5 and under, an artist/poet/songwriting husband, a handful of great friends and a group blog, training for a half marathon, and a new part-time job you can see where it might be hard to find the time for words. I have actually been doing really well, especially for me. Usually if I set a goal and miss it one time (which happened to me three times this month, just in the interest of honesty) I throw the entire thing out the window and spend a week moping about how I’m a terrible person and I can’t even culture one little habit, blah, blah, blah. Yes, I can be a real joy to be around. But this year is different. I can just feel it. This is my year. This is a good year.

I have missed three days so far this month but you know what? I just kept plugging away. What I wrote wasn’t the most amazing or polished writing, but it was words on a page, everyday (almost). My goal for January is 500 words per day and it has been really amazing to me to see how easily they come…most days. There were a few times where I was counting up words every dozen or so just waiting for the 500 mark. But that is where the rubber meets the road. When it’s hard and I don’t want to write and I just want to give myself a pass and go watch Dr. Who, that’s when it’s most important to get those words on the page. Most of the time, I am writing after the gym which is after the kids in bed which means my writing time is usually eleven thirty or later. But I’ve enjoyed most of it, I was a night owl before kids and I think my body is kind of enjoying it again.

To ensure success, an old writing buddy and I have linked forces once again for inspiration and accountability. We get together (online) every Sunday night to write for a while and to think tank longer pieces we are working on. This week, the prompt was to write a story titled Kinetic Energy. At the beginning it was rough going and I restarted the piece about three times before it just started coming to me. I thought you might like a sneak peek at what came out of it so, without further ado, Kinetic Energy:

It was two days longer than normal when she showed up again, all softness and smiles. Something was different. She was keeping a secret, it seemed. She walked with power and purpose. But she kept me at arm’s length. This hadn’t been a lovers’ quarrel. I was on the outside now, the outside of what I wasn’t sure. She cut her hair. Got a manicure. She spent evenings out with friends and came home with red wine in her teeth.  She stopped sleeping so late, remembered to eat, painted her toenails red. The letters started coming in a few weeks into this change of habit. They were plain, stamped return addresses of galleries near our apartment, a few in DC and NY. I asked her about them and she gave me a generic answer. She shopped for gowns. I couldn’t write. I needed to know what was going on, with her, with us. She wouldn’t talk about it. Answered my questions with her own. “What are you talking about? What big changes?” Things were as they always had been according to her. As if I hadn’t been the muse. The one encouraging her. Pushing her. Driving her along. She would smile at my outbursts, amused and aloof. She made plans for an installation, displayed in two galleries, didn’t have time to talk.

Hello friends!

I hate to break from my All Stars posts, especially when I am so close to finishing them out, but November is National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) and it’s a tradition for me. I will be spending my nights this month sitting in front of my computer until all hours of the morning, plowing through coffees and typing as fast as I can. It’s madcap fun, whether you finish or not, and I have a feeling that I might be able to reach the 50,000 word goal this year. Regardless of the outcome, I have to try so I bid you adieu for the next few weeks. I will return on the 2nd with my good friend Shel Silverstein to wrap up the last few authors in my series before moving on to the next thing. See you in a few!