I'll start that project July 1, 2007. I will read a book/week. Now, Jane Smiley took about 3 years to read 100 books, but I'm sure she was also writing, and teaching at that time. I'm not a speed demon reader, I just need something to read. I will definitely know my local library very well, or this could be a costly proposition.
100 books written from 2000 or later, fiction or non-fiction.
One reason I'm doing this is that the knitting place where I buy my yarn for the past two orders seems to have lost my orders, or doesn't act on them. Well, I need something to do in the night time when I'm not running. It's fate's way of saying Read. I also bake but that's only 1 time/week.
If I really crave to knit I could try another place. It's too bad, DC Stitch or Stitch DC is new, and hip, and has 3 stores, and I've bought a lot there from all 3 stores. The turnaround for one order was very quick, but the last two . . . . where are they? It's also good, because I wanted to knit throw blankets for my family for Christmas and the amount of money for the yarn of a throw blanket could be more than $500.00 easily. Now, they'll just get a nice floral arrangement, and movie gift certificates. No loss. I'll just table this idea until next year or so.
I'm pretty excited about this. I guess I need to read some of the NY Times book reviews to figure out what I need to focus on. However, I love to read, and what I will write about is what will strike me within a book. The reviews won't be exorbitantly long, that's for sure. I usually only read the last paragraph of a NY Times book review anyway as the whole point is Is it a good book or not? you know.
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- Bibliobella
- I'm a Jersey Girl without the accent, and the attitude pops up every once in a while. Writing makes a static object interesting, and if I write about it well enough others could find it interesting, too.
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The car stoped and the engine went silent the second it stoped, as an old folks falling asleep at the very moment his eyes close. He got out of the car weary and smiling,and his first words felt like a glass of water in the dusty yellow afternoon. "hello boy, my name is Charles Dedalus, I am a writer; - I am Diogo sir. That was all, and we knew we would be great friends; His car would not lead him anywhere he said, mechanics...It would take a couple of days or more to be fixed up. He stayed in our small town for some weeks actually. During those weeks he began to tell me his storys. First to me only, then I brought some friends with me, and after that the folks of my friends came too. We used to meet in the one cafe of Amareleja. During those weeks, nordic winters, infinite deserts, african lions, dangerous oceans and interstellar spaceships wandered across this little town otherwise forgotten between Spain and Portugal. Somehow, the local garage managed to fix up his big car without a single spare piece available. But then Charles Dedalus got sick, just as if 100 years of age had fallen over his shoulders. " Diogo, can you drive? you better do, cause i won't be able to do it; I have an important appointement and you got to drive me there, i can't miss it, i really have to be on time" That's what i did; we got into his car that very night, and as i was driving, he kept telling me more of his storys, all night long, till he fell asleep. I got to the nearest town before dawn. I had never been there, but the town looked familiar. When the sun rose I began lookingall around. And I saw them all, the sailor, the nordic hunter, the Touareg, the lion walking free, the recked spaceship. They were all there, they were his appointement. I looked for him sleeping on the back seat. There he was, not sleeping, dead. Since I came back to Amareleja, we get together in the one cafe of town, and I tell storys to my friends, and the folks of my friends; it'been like this for the last 18 years.
For you Poetessa; thankyou.
Very cool! I like the descriptions.
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