A Train in Winter

ATraininWinterCaroline Moorehead’s A Train in Winter tells the stories of the women who participated in and were largely responsible for the Resistance during the occupation of France during World War 2. They were publishers, writers, scientists, nurses.  They were mothers, daughters, sisters, wives, and lovers. And they were absolutely crucial to the movement for which so many of them were willing to give up their lives.

The stories of the women are impossible to comment on. Their experiences embody a reality for which incomprehensible is an inadequate adjective. Their strength and the dignity with which they represented themselves and their country are the likewise the strength, arguably the only strength, of this book.

In terms of content, yes, Moorehead got this one right. Her depiction of occupied France and the ways in which she characterizes the women about whom she writes are moving and inspiring. However, the mechanical limitations of the book are enough to slow even the most rapacious of readers.

The book’s inconsistent pacing makes for a tough read, the first half of the book a tedious compendium of names and dates and vague character descriptions. At the book’s halfway point, however, the pacing increases rapidly, and the last half of the book is a quick read. In this case, the trudge up the hill of the narrative arc is in every way followed by a speedy slide into the book’s resolution. In order to get to that resolution, however, the reader must be willing to stick with the story.

Since reading is, in its most basic function, a form of communication, syntax is absolutely crucial for success. Moorehead’s sentence structure, however, leaves much to be desired. Varying sentence structure is undeniably important in good writing; however, when the reader is forced to constantly reread passages because of misplaced modifiers and awkward placement of dependent clauses, the overall success of the writing can be called questionable, if nothing else.

While the book is, overall, a success, it would have been nice to see more development of the women themselves, as the subtitle suggests, in the first half of the book. The details given in the first half of the book seem to barely skim the surface of their participation and importance to the French Resistance cause.

The House of Velvet and Glass by Katherine Howe

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Reading this book was a bit like watching someone trying to fly a kite for the first time: every now and then, a promising burst of energy wafts the story upwards creating intrigue and forward movement, but then just as quickly, the energy abandons the book, leaving the reader to reconcile the subplots to the main plot.

Speaking of which, the main plot in the book is excellent, an adept use of magical realism that is not intrusive. In fact, the magic in the book seems, for all intents and purposes, somewhat feasible. The momentum in Sibyl’s story (when considered independently from the rest of the text) is very fluid, and Howe makes excellent use of the cliffhanger device at the end of Sibyl’s sections.

The bits in the middle, though, are somewhat problematic. Their connection to the main plot is not often obvious, and quite often the reader is left to make the connection between the stories for him/herself, leaving much room for misinterpretation. Take, for example, Eulah’s and Helen’s experience aboard the Titanic. While it’s not often advisable to spell out everything for a reader, clarification is sometimes necessary, and that clarification is not obvious in the last section aboard the Titanic.

Despite its tangents, the book maintains its focus, or rather its controlled lack of it, with the help of the time period in which the story is set. On the heels of Titanic’s sinking and on the cusp of US entrance into WWI, the feeling of being out of control, something with which Sibyl seems to struggle, is genuinely realistic and perhaps lends itself as an excuse for some of the more problematic subplots in the story.

The House of Velvet and Glass will, for the most part, keep readers entertained despite some false starts and superfluous subplots (EX: Harlan’s experience with Rawlings), and readers will not be disappointed with the overall story.

The Aftermath: A Character Sketch

Inside him is a pool, black in its depth, smooth, dangerous. It is composed of the feelings he’d rather not have, emotions he’d rather not feel, that which has been relegated but remains unavoidable. Most of the time the pool lies still behind the mask of what he wants people to see, the impression he wants them to have. But sometimes a pebble of reality falls through the cracks. Sometimes something from outside wakes the deep inside and wakes that which is better left sleeping.

When small truths penetrate the surface, when he’s made to confront himself, the pool becomes a maelstrom, violent in its intensity, ready to swallow whole whatever is nearest and dearest. Then eventually the water calms. He returns to his normal state but more alone, and those of us who became collateral, that which could be sacrificed, are spat out of the vortex on a side unfamiliar to us, left to wonder where there is left to go and if we can recover.

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DIY Duvet: Easy Duvet Cover

Let me start by saying that I’ve never been pleased with the master bedroom in our house since we moved in. There’s always been something missing. It never really felt the way I thought a cozy bedroom should feel. Having said that, every now and then I get a wild hair to do a DIY project that requires some sewing, not my strong suit. When I saw this pin on Pinterest, I knew that the time had come to drag my machine out of hiding and get to stitching.

I learned some valuable lessons along the way, specifically that just because both tags say “Queen” doesn’t mean the two sheets are the same size. Still, overall, this was a fun little project that took very little time and produced very satisfying results. My bedroom is still lacking something (curtains, methinks), but it’s very much on its way to feeling and looking just as I always hoped it would.

Here’s what you need:

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Two clean flat sheets that will fit your bed (Since I bought mine at the thrift shop, I washed them, dried them, and ironed them before I began to work, but if you’re working with brand spankin’ new ones, you could probably get away with just ironing them, but who doesn’t love the smell of clean sheets, right?)

Ribbon for the ties (I bought a spool because it wasn’t that expensive, and I had a coupon.)

Pins for pinning the sheets together

First, clear a large floor space, and spread your sheets flat with the pretty sides facing in (the back of the sheet should be staring up at you), lining up the edges so it looks like a big sheet sandwich.

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Once you’ve got your seams lined up, you can start pinning. Pin all the way around three sides. I left the side that faces the head of the bed open.

Next comes the sewing. Trust me, if I can do this, anyone can do it. The hardest part is making sure you keep your seam straight while working with a rather large and unwieldy bit of fabric. I used the existing seams on the sheets as guides for keeping everything straight. When you’re sewing the two long sides, try to leave some extra fabric at the top on the side that will remain open.

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When three of four sides have been stitched shut, you can focus on the open end of your duvet. Fold over some of that extra material so that you can sew a finished seam. For this, your pinning will need to be a little more precise. Once you’ve pinned, you can sew your seams.

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Now, a machine would probably make this last part a heck-of-a-lot easier, but unfortunately, I ran out of white thread on my big spool just as I finished sewing the last seam. That’s why I had to hand sew the ribbons.

Most duvets have buttons or something fancy to close up the open end, but that’s just too high tech for me. I’ve never sewn button holes before, and I’m trying to keep this as simple as possible, right? So I cut six 6-inch pieces of my ribbon, and hand-sewed them at even intervals on either side of the duvet’s opening.

I wrestled for only a few minutes with the down comforter, but once I got it into the duvet, I shook everything into place and tied the ribbons at the bottom.

The result?

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My bedroom finally feels like it’s on its way to completion. I’m thinking some curtains are probably in my very near future, and who knows? Maybe there’s another project in there for me.

What I would have done differently

As with any DIY project, you live, and you learn. There are definitely some things I would have done differently here, and hopefully, you’ll benefit from my (limited) experience.

  1. I would buy all cotton sheets. One of the sheets I bought was made from polyester, while the other was all cotton. The poly one kept slipping, making it difficult to keep the sheets aligned while pinning AND sewing. Save yourself the frustration.
  2. Make sure you have enough thread to get you through the finished product, including those times when you have to rip out your sewing because you got off track.
  3. Iron your sheets before you start pinning. I didn’t actually think about that until after I started trying to pin and keep things lined up. Ironing first would have saved me a lot of time and frustration.

Got any suggestions? Have you tried a project like this in the past? Leave me notes; I need all the help I can get for future projects.

Reading Unpacked: How Reading Helps to Cure My Travel Envy

In his song “The Inner Light,” George Harrison wrote, “Without going out of your door, you can know all things on Earth.” I realize he adapted the idea from the Taoist Tao Te Ching and that he is actually speaking about enlightenment, but it sure does make me feel better when I see my empty suitcase shoved in the back of my closet.

The thing is sometimes I feel like everyone I know has been somewhere worth going to, and I can’t help feeling left out. Sure, I’ve been to some cool places:

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But the truth is I can’t help feeling like I’m missing out on something, like there’s this big wide world out there that I haven’t seen and everybody else has (maybe a little bit of an over exaggeration, but just go with me on this).

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Typically, when I start feeling a bit bored and blue, I turn to my books. What better way to forget your own petty annoyances than to get involved in someone else’s fictional ones, right?

Therein lies the Ah-ha! Moment when I realize I couldn’t be more mistaken about my lack of expedition experience.

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I am a firm believer that reading is the only way to get anywhere without going anywhere. Except maybe to the local library or bookstore. This one is my favorite.

Anyway, when I start getting travel envy, I think of all the places my books have taken me and feel an immediate sense of relief, not because I’m proving that I’ve been somewhere, but because my vision of what these worldly places should be is untainted by the experience of reality.

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 Take The Shadow of the Wind.

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It’s one of my favorites, a book I’ve returned to multiple times. In its pages I’ve wandered the streets of Barcelona with Daniel. I’ve seen its best parts. I’ve seen its dark parts, too, at least the way Zafon paints them. And I have to say that the Barcelona I see in my mind is one I have fallen in love with, especially the parts that may or may not really be there (like the cemetery of forgotten books—if you don’t know what it is, you should definitely find out).

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I’m sure the real Barcelona is lovely. I even wanted to go there for awhile (I still haven’t ruled it out.). Then I realized that going there would force me to sacrifice the city I’ve constructed for myself because you know what they say: once you’ve seen something, you can’t unsee it. And I’m just not sure I’m ready to relinquish the fictional city I love for a real city I honestly don’t know much about. Call it fear. Call it rationalizing. Whatever.

There are a lot of reasons for a lot of people to disagree with me about this. They’ll say it’s a cop-out, that I’m just trying to find a way, any way, to make myself feel better for being state-bound. I suppose there’s probably some truth to that. If someone handed me a plane ticket and said, “Go,” I don’t think I’d say no. But that’s not really the point, is it?

The point, my friends, is this: we are unbelievably lucky, those of us who know what it is to see so clearly in our minds something we’ve never actually seen in real life, because when resources or circumstances prevent it, we are still able to whisk ourselves away to stories, lives, and places infinitely more interesting than our own. So I’m not suggesting a forfeiture of travel in favor of the couch in the living room (although that couch is pretty darn comfy and doesn’t require a passport or a suitcase). What I’m saying is that the stories we read are both a consolation and a prize, but not a consolation prize. They allow us the pleasure of experience AND the beauty of imagination. And who knows? Sometimes what we imagine can feel as good as the real thing.

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Wonderstruck: A Review

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Several years ago, I inherited a children’s literature course from a teacher who was retiring. To make a long story short, she was generous enough to provide her syllabus since I had nothing, nada, zilch in the way of course prep. Scanning the reading list, I noticed Brian Selznick’s The Invention of Hugo Cabret, and I was so stoked for the semester.

Selznick visited Memphis my last year in grad school, and I missed the opportunity to see him (darn you, stupid job). I always regretted not being able to hear him read and speak because I admire his work so much.

When he released Wonderstruck in 2011, I immediately added it to my TBR list, no questions asked. Now, here we are in 2014, and it was finally at the top of my stack.

Selznick’s books are nothing if not behemoths, but their heft is well worth the extra forearm strength it takes to tote them around.

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The books’ content is mostly composed of beautifully crafted illustrations done with pencil on watercolor paper (as per the frontispiece). Selznick’s ability to manipulate light and shadow in his work is helpful to his intended audience, as light and shadow often guide the reader’s attention when it might otherwise have been lost. He also has the uncanny ability to use his characters’ eyes to radiate emotions as powerfully as real people. My favorite illustration in Wonderstruck is a depiction of Rose’s mother, who is angry that her deaf daughter has come, unaccompanied, to visit her in the city. The mother’s back is turned away from the reader in the illustration, but we are able to see her angry reflection in the mirror on her dressing table. Masterful!

Ben’s story in Wonderstruck felt very familiar to me, as I couldn’t help comparing his story to Hugo’s. There are quite a few similar elements: a young boy searching for his place in the world, trying to connect himself to family members who are no longer present, a rediscovered familial connection that might have been lost if the main characters had behaved as their guardians wished them to, a benevolent friend who provides information without realizing it and without whom the connections would never have been made.

While some readers may find the repetition story elements to be tiresome, I think the technique works really well in Selznick’s work. Children who love The Invention of Hugo Cabret will find the themes reinforced in Wonderstruck, and sometimes reinforcement acts as the equivalent of validation.

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The coolest thing about Selznick’s books (depending on who you ask and on what end of the eBook vs. pBook spectrum they’re on) is that he doesn’t make his books available electronically. That’s right. You can’t download Hugo or Wonderstruck. Read more about that here. When you consider that the illustrations make up the biggest part of both books, it makes sense for the author/illustrator to be biased towards an actual physical product. As a lover of both e- and pBooks, I find it sort of comforting that there are authors who are willing to hold out in favor of ink and paper (or, in this case, pencil and paper), and there is something intrinsically satisfying about watching a child’s self-esteem blossom after realizing he can finish the whole thing on his own.

So far I’ve loved everything I’ve ever read of Selznick’s. The stories and plot lines are tightly woven, and he doesn’t allow the reader to get distracted, an important quality in a text intended for children. His illustrations are more expressive than many similar books in the genre, and he provides his readers, both young and old, with a sense of comfort, of knowing that someway, somehow, we all belong, and we all have a purpose, accomplishing not just the goal of children’s literature but of capital-L Literature as well.

Have you read The Invention of Hugo Cabret or Wonderstruck? What did you think?

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What I Learned When I Crawled

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Not this past weekend but the weekend before (sorry…I’m a bit behind. Must be the cold weather? Anyway…) Matt and I decided to go to the First Saturday Art Crawl in Nashville. We had no clue what to expect, never having talked to anyone who’d been, but by the end of the night, both of us were so very glad we went. My only regret of the evening was that I didn’t bring my camera. There are some things (lots of things, actually) to which an iPhone camera cannot do justice. For that reason, I apologize for the photos in this post; they are not what they should be, and next time I’ll know better.

The concept for the art crawl is really simple: local art galleries open their doors to folks interested in local art culture. There’s a little bit of everything to see, from photography to oil-on-canvas to abstract to sculpture. You name it. The best part about the whole evening: it’s free.

Yep. We were able to spend time downtown touring some beautiful galleries, and the whole night cost us only ten dollars (typically that’s what you’d spend in parking downtown, but the meter fairies were on our side that night, and we lucked out and didn’t have to pay anything). We started out in the convention center. Neither of us had ever been there, and since that’s where we parked, we figured we’d check out Hatch Show Print first. The museum looks like an authentic production studio (maybe it really is? I should have asked), and some of the wood blocks were cut back in the thirties. There’s something nostalgic about seeing today exactly what someone would have seen back then. Matt and I particularly liked a Purity Dairy cow print for our kitchen. We love anything that comes with its own story. The original design for the print was intended to teach art students about the art of woodblock cutting.

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From there we took the (free) trolley over the to Arcade, which is where most of the action took place. The energy was almost overwhelming, so many people, so many galleries, so much to see. I didn’t know where to look first. So I didn’t. I smelled instead.

Matt and I didn’t spend our money that night on art (although we did see several pieces, like that cow, that we’d like to get pretty soon if they’re still available). No, we spent our ten dollars on the food. The Arcade is full of yummy local places to eat, and there’s a little bit of everything, like Greek food, pizza, doughnuts, and this place.

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I don’t know much about Sophie Isabella’s the Royal Wedding Cakes, never having been in need of a wedding cake in Nashville before, and typically they close at four on Saturdays. But they stayed open the night of the art crawl, and I was more than happy to indulge my cupcake habit there. Let me tell you: if you ever have the chance, you should check them out.

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I am a self-confessed lover of cupcakes (read more about that here), and I like to try new places every chance I get. So far Matt and I have developed quite a taste for The Cupcake Collection, but the cupcakes we had from Sophie Isabella’s were top-notch as well. They weren’t as sweet as the cupcakes at The Cupcake Collection, so if subtle is your favorite kind of sweet, these are awesome. Now, no more cupcake talk. I promise that’s not the only thing I think about.

Some people would probably say that I’m easily overwhelmed, that it doesn’t take a lot to Wow! me. Maybe that’s true to a certain extent. But the truth is that I’ve lived in places where culture and expression aren’t valued, at least not as much as they ought to be. I know what it’s like to crave a night of entertainment, interaction, and exploration, and those of us who live in (or near) Nashville have the opportunity, at least once a month, to realize that kind of night.

Being a member of the community means knowing what’s going on, not just politically and economically but culturally as well, and Nashville’s art scene is very much alive and kickin’. When stuff like the Art Crawl is made available to us, we owe it not just to ourselves but to our city as well to get out there and find out what’s happening and to support our neighbors in their attempts to put something beautiful into the world.

Have you ever art crawled? Do you have any tips for our next one (because we will DEFINITELY head back

When Around the Bend Doesn’t Matter

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Middle Tennessee is home. It always has been. Matt and I agreed a long time ago that we wanted to end up here somehow, and after a LOT of rambling around the country chasing Uncle Sam’s dream, we’ve finally managed to get here. While we’ve had the opportunity to live in different kinds of places (El Paso and Richmond, VA are vastly different, let me tell ya) and to visit a lot of places (Washington DC, Carlsbad Caverns, the Grand Canyon, New York City), both of us are glad to finally be home, couched in the foothills of the Smokey Mountains.

Having lived in Memphis for a few years, I know what it’s like to love a city and to want to claim it as your own. I dearly love Memphis and cherish all the time I spent there. Naturally I wanted to replicate the sentiment when we got back to Nashville, so I immediately set about developing a plan of attack. My mission was simple: find the places I could call my own, the places I would love and frequent. It’s taken awhile for us to get the opportunity to really settle into our exploration, but for the last few weekends we’ve finally gotten the chances I’ve been waiting for. And Nashville has yet to disappoint.

We started with an evening at Ugly Mugs.

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I’d read about this place during my search for potential favorite coffee houses, and it turned out to be pretty cool. Located in the East Nashville neighborhood, it is situated down the street from Jeni’s Splendid Ice Creams and The Wild Cow, a vegetarian restaurant (also super-tasty). Matt and I ordered our coffee (call me boring: I got a pour-over decaf), and Matt chose a drink called The Hoodie, a combination of cinnamon, honey, espresso, and milk. He always orders exactly what I didn’t know I wanted.

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It’s common knowledge that weekends are Live Music nights in Nashville (wait, that’s every night), and Ugly Mugs is part of the party. In the all-too-short time we were there, we heard three really talented acts. If I hadn’t been so excited to be there, I might have paid closer attention to their names, but I was so enthralled by the experience of being exactly where I wanted to be, exactly how I wanted to be there that I completely missed out. Sorry, guys. I’ll catch ya next time.

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For our next excursion, we ventured into yet another neighborhood of note. The Germantown historic district has received a lot of the TLC kind of attention over the last few years, and now it’s a reasonably quiet hamlet nestled in the middle of metro Nashville. I went there, initially, for one reason: The Cupcake Collection. A few months ago I had the chance to sample their strawberry lemonade cupcakes, and man oh man, I couldn’t wait to get my paws on some more.

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This time I tried the plain lemon cupcake, and as I knew it would be, my yearning for spring was fueled by the sour sweetness. Memphis has Muddy’s, a bakery I dearly love, and their cupcakes have been my favorites for years. But The Cupcake Collection gives them a run for their money. Being a cupcake fiend I’m stoked to have something so scrumptious so close.

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As entertaining and delicious as our adventures have been so far, I have to say that the most impressive part of them has been what they’ve shown me about myself and the life I want to live.

When you can honestly say you love your own life, that you wouldn’t trade it for anyone else’s, then you know you are truly blessed. And I wouldn’t. I have come to realize over the last few weekends that even though my life may not always be ideal, it is mine, and it is the life I love. Sure, there are things I’d like to change, and things could always be better. But they could also be worse, so that’s something. Looking at the places I’ve been and the opportunities I’ve had, the people I’ve met and love, the people who love me, I cannot imagine any other life but this one. Being able to see things from this perspective has given me a greater appreciation for experience and the lessons to be learned from it. It has inspired me to focus not so much on where I’m going and what’s around the bend, but on how I am going to get there and who is going to go with me. Of course, a cupcake every now and then doesn’t hurt.

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I know I’m not the only person who’s had these ah-ha! moments (at least I hope I’m not). So tell me: where are you going? How will you get there? And who will you take along for the ride?

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The Group by Mary McCarthy

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This year marks the fiftieth anniversary of Mary McCarthy’s The Group. Set in the 1930s, the book follows the lives of eight girls as they enter the real world after graduating from Vassar. Think Mona Lisa Smiles meets Mean Girls but wittier and with more biting social commentary.

It’s fairly easy for us to look back with mild condescension on previous generations as being stuffy and overly conservative. However, McCarthy’s depiction of life for the women in The Group is far from what we might consider prudish. McCarthy deals with birth control, infidelity, homosexuality, sex, and, of course, love in no uncertain terms. Readers are reminded of the decade in which the story unfolds only by way of the characters using graduation years as identifiers (i.e. Vassar ’31), making it easy to forget that the story was not written more recently.

One girl’s sexual awakening, another’s struggle with her tortured artist husband, and yet another’s jaunts around a much more accepting sexual climate in Europe reinforce the cliche that times change, but people don’t. We watch as the girls struggle to maintain the social class perpetuated by their parents, but we also learn that the only girls who are truly happy seem to be the ones with the simplest lives, the ones who have strived more to be themselves instead of concentrating so forcefully on being different from their mothers, which has really made them just the same.

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I don’t mean to suggest that the girls always got along well with one another. College was a tumultuous time for many of them, and cattiness, apparently, is an unavoidable biological (it seems) disposition from which even Vassar girls cannot escape. The struggle for the position of authority as well as membership in the desirable group begins early for the girls, and it never really ceases, although it does become more of an undercurrent than a preoccupation.

I first learned of The Group through the book club at Parnassus Bookstore. It was chosen for last month’s book club read because of its anniversary, and I was immediately intrigued when the hostess talked about having read it for the first time when she was in college. She then, reluctantly, admitted that she wasn’t even sure how she got her hands on it, as it was considered more than a little risqué, even in the ’60s. Call me captivated. I love a good banned book as much as the next girl. I jotted down the title and author and quickly moved on to the next book on my stack, which happened to be 11/22/63 by Stephen King. Coincidentally (or not, if you’re into that kind of thing), Jake, the narrator, also makes reference to The Group (his girlfriend reads it), though no one comments in detail on its content. It will suffice to say that King’s choice of literature for Jake’s girlfriend is deliberate and appropriate. (If you haven’t read 11/22/63, I also highly recommend that book but for completely different reasons.)  So I eventually made my way down to the library and checked out this copy:

They just don't publish books like this one anymore. This well-thumbed copy has belonged to several different libraries and has been "annotated" in crayon on the first few pages.

They just don’t publish books like this one anymore. This well-thumbed copy has belonged to several different libraries and has been “annotated” in crayon on the first few pages.

I was not disappointed.

Coincidentally, Getty Images recently launched this picture collection of women in leadership and professional positions in an effort to inspire us to change the way we think about women in general. If you haven’t had a chance to browse the photo gallery, I suggest that you wander on over to their site and do so. It’s totally worth it. But I think it’s equally important to remember that efforts to change the perception of women and their capabilities have been ongoing, that women have, for decades, been trying to overcome the obstacles placed in their professional and personal paths. I don’t mean to be a gender crusader here, but in honor of Mary McCarthy’s The Group, I think it’s relevant and appropriate to give a nod to those who went seeking change before us.

Have you had a chance to read The Group? What did you think?

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Ta-Da and Finally!

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I am so happy to introduce the new Just Joywriting! While the last three years have seen quite a few transformations, none has been quite as expansive as this one.

In the beginning, I was a timid writer, scared to put any real work into the world and reluctant to believe anyone would care if I did. I can’t say that I’m any less reluctant to believe now, but I’m not nearly as timid as I was. In fact, with each update I’ve been more confident in my content. If you can’t say it on the Internet, where can you say it, right? But there was still something missing.

I didn’t realize until recently that what I really wanted was a lifestyle blog, a blog that reflected not just my life but its possibilities. That’s when I realized it was time for a major overhaul. And so Just Joywriting has been reborn. Now you’ll see more about reading, more about writing, more about living, and more about doing. There’ll be book reviews and notes about the writing process (maybe even a story or two). There’ll be posts about Nashville and my attempts to “bloom where I’m planted” (thanks for the advice, Mom). There will be DIY posts, including the good, the bad, and the absolutely horrible.

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Over the last few weeks, I’ve looked at quite a few different blogs and bloggers, and I’ve found some awesome inspiration (here, there, and everywhere, a little bit of this and a little bit of that). No two blogs are ever the same, and I’m not attempting to mimic what I’ve seen already. But these blogs have shown me possibilities that I hadn’t explored before, and for that I am immensely grateful.

I think sometimes we are so focused on where we’re going that we forget to notice how we’re getting there. That’s not the sort of story I want my life to tell. More than anything I plan to focus on what makes my life beautiful because these are the things that make the journey worthwhile to begin with.

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So wish me luck as I learn more about life, blogging, and a new city, and join me when you get a minute! I’d love to hear from you.

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