So, every day I think, "Gee, I should post a blog." Then I think, I don't have anytyhing to say and I don't post anything. And I suppose there's no reason I should feel guilty about it, because a blog is a voluntary thing; there's no compulsory posting. But I feel like since I have one I should post and post something significant.
I guess that I often have significant thinngs to say, but I'm afraid. Fear of Posting. Why? Gee, I don't know that I really want to go into this here. I think fear of posting is fear of writing is fear of being. I often feel that: afraid to be. Yesterday was really bad, with palpitations and nausea and the whole business...so when people say, "Don't be afraid, just be!" like in some New Age and Buddhist camps, I get really angry because they're missing the point.
I told myself I would write just whatever popped into my head for 20 minutes and I just looked at my timer and only three minutes have gone by. Jeez.
"Just Being" is supposed to give you this wonderful feeling of liberation--like, wow, I've thrown off the constraints of society and gotten to what's underneath and now I realise the truth of my soul. the "I never knew who I was" moment of Satori. But for me, it's not like that. I always knew who I was and hardly ever went along with what society planned for me. And that led to problems. How can you stand against that weight? Everyone's always so..."Wake up and be yourself and you'll be free and it's wonderful;" they don't get the weight. Of course, when I'm myself I'm also not like the groups of people who suddenly made their personal discoveries and are all happy about it. I don't fit into any group--mostly because i'm smarter than 99% of the people on the planet. I also don't swallow the simple reasoning that most folks are so eager to swallow. Primary Source woman, that's me.
Six minutes to go and I wonder if I can keep this up. My thought processes seem to go all over the place. But I guess that's what I get with being bi-polar. It astounds me that no one got this for 25 years, but everyone was too attached to his or her idea that I was just some kid acting out from....who knows what. I mean, why do you think kids act out, anyway? And people still really don't want to hear about it. You know, I e-mailed all my siblings when I got diagnosed (finally) and only one of them even replied?? You'd think that at least I'd hear a "I'm so glad you finally got some answers." but All I got was silence.
That's my family for you. silent and stagnant and I think mostly no one replied because if they acccept the reality of my illness they also have to start looking at some other dysfunctional things about themselves. I wrote one of my sisters some years ago about the abuse and neglect in my family and she wrote back saying it never happened. Can you believe that? I never was able to ignore the elephant in the living room but I guess for some people ignoring it is all that lets them survive.
Time's up.
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Sunday, January 21, 2007
Nearly Wordless
Since reading the book I mentioned in my blog od December 14th--okay, let's be out with it; it was The Virgin Suicides--I have been wanting very much to write some kind of rebuttal. Something from the point of view, not of a teenage voyeur with very little empathy, but that of one of the objects of his obsession.
You never understood the suicides, but did you ever ask? To you, we were a curiosity. We did not look like you, talk like you, dress like you. The state of our house brought down the property values in the neighbourhood and you may not have understood why that was important but you knew that allowing this to happen made us other in some undefinable yet irredeemable way. You know this because the culture you were born into--a culture of Debutantes and Country Club lunches, a culture we never were and never could be part of--had already shaped you. And this is a sadness: the lines between us were drawn before we ever met.
And so you taunted us in early days. When we were children in grade school together you pulled pranks, called names. We had no defense. No one stood up for us in that sterile universe. Teachers ignored it. Parents said "get over it." But who is so cruel as a child? And who suffers pain like a child who does not understand what is happening, why every day is a torture? Some of this taunting went on into high school. Barely a day went by that one or another of you did not let us know that we were not part of the ruling class. Even you, dear narrator, when I came into contact with you in shared activities, sneered down your long nose, called me names, joked about my shape and my looks. Some pain of your own may have led you to do this, I don't know. Or it may be, as my mother liked to say, that boys tease you because they like you. I could never understand that. I could never feel affection for someone who inflicted that kind of pain on me.
And then you say you tried to reach out? And were rebufffed and it was our fault? Put yourself in our position for a moment. After years of daily torment, how were we supposed to trust? How were we even to distinguish what was meant as a real friendly overture and what was meant to draw us, unsuspecting, into yet another trap? We suspected everyone by then. How not, when even a compliment on an outfit might, if accepted with thanks, led to gales of laughter, as if to say how stupid we were to believe? How stupid we were to think we might fit into a different circle? How stupid to trust.
It galls and offends me that you blame us for not recognising your interest. That you blame us for not giving up on pain that you inflicted. You are like a small boy who tortures a spider in a box and then writes about its reactions. And it galls and offends me that you have been lauded for this experiment. That no one has called you on not taking responsibility for your own part in the outcome. You could go to the Debutate Ball and forget all about what you had done; for us there was no forgetting, even now. It leaves me nearly wordless with rage. It sickens me in my soul that all your speculation has not led you to your own part and that it probably never will.
You want to understand the suicides (or the near suicides, for none of us actually did the act, although we thought about it daily and several came close)? Then think about what it is to be hopeless and helpless, with no one to stand up for you. Think about what it could be like to be tormented day after day in that hell of a private school and to have the adults around you only add to the torment by telling you that you're bad, that you;re not living up to your talents and potential and that the pain you feel is imaginary or worthless. That what is happening to you is not happening. There was no way out. In our perspective, there WAS no hand reached out. Even in your sorry book, the boys had no concern for the girls beyond the idea of them. The true girls were lost, ignored. You could not rescue us because you never saw us, and we knew that.
Suicide is not a selfish choice. It is not a choice at all. It is what you do when there is no other option: when the walls of your pain close around you so tight that you can't even draw a breath without knives stabbinginto your vitals and you would do anything at all to escape the pain. It has nothing to do with the others around you. They cease to exist. And lest you label this self-centered, let me say that if there had been any genuine concern shown, others would NOT cease to exist. You can recognise that. And hold it as a rope. Who wants to die if there is any other option open? If there's any hope that things might improve? But no one threw us a rope. They simply watched as we slipped farther and farther into a pit that we could not crawl out of.
We stuck together because we were the only ones who understood this. We shunned you because it was obvious that you didn't. And yes, we laughed at you behind your backs because you thought yourself enlightened, sensitive, artists, and all that goes with it. Yet you lacked the one quality that makes all those real: empathy. In the end, all you could to was wash your hands and get on with the blame. I hope it made you feel better.
You never understood the suicides, but did you ever ask? To you, we were a curiosity. We did not look like you, talk like you, dress like you. The state of our house brought down the property values in the neighbourhood and you may not have understood why that was important but you knew that allowing this to happen made us other in some undefinable yet irredeemable way. You know this because the culture you were born into--a culture of Debutantes and Country Club lunches, a culture we never were and never could be part of--had already shaped you. And this is a sadness: the lines between us were drawn before we ever met.
And so you taunted us in early days. When we were children in grade school together you pulled pranks, called names. We had no defense. No one stood up for us in that sterile universe. Teachers ignored it. Parents said "get over it." But who is so cruel as a child? And who suffers pain like a child who does not understand what is happening, why every day is a torture? Some of this taunting went on into high school. Barely a day went by that one or another of you did not let us know that we were not part of the ruling class. Even you, dear narrator, when I came into contact with you in shared activities, sneered down your long nose, called me names, joked about my shape and my looks. Some pain of your own may have led you to do this, I don't know. Or it may be, as my mother liked to say, that boys tease you because they like you. I could never understand that. I could never feel affection for someone who inflicted that kind of pain on me.
And then you say you tried to reach out? And were rebufffed and it was our fault? Put yourself in our position for a moment. After years of daily torment, how were we supposed to trust? How were we even to distinguish what was meant as a real friendly overture and what was meant to draw us, unsuspecting, into yet another trap? We suspected everyone by then. How not, when even a compliment on an outfit might, if accepted with thanks, led to gales of laughter, as if to say how stupid we were to believe? How stupid we were to think we might fit into a different circle? How stupid to trust.
It galls and offends me that you blame us for not recognising your interest. That you blame us for not giving up on pain that you inflicted. You are like a small boy who tortures a spider in a box and then writes about its reactions. And it galls and offends me that you have been lauded for this experiment. That no one has called you on not taking responsibility for your own part in the outcome. You could go to the Debutate Ball and forget all about what you had done; for us there was no forgetting, even now. It leaves me nearly wordless with rage. It sickens me in my soul that all your speculation has not led you to your own part and that it probably never will.
You want to understand the suicides (or the near suicides, for none of us actually did the act, although we thought about it daily and several came close)? Then think about what it is to be hopeless and helpless, with no one to stand up for you. Think about what it could be like to be tormented day after day in that hell of a private school and to have the adults around you only add to the torment by telling you that you're bad, that you;re not living up to your talents and potential and that the pain you feel is imaginary or worthless. That what is happening to you is not happening. There was no way out. In our perspective, there WAS no hand reached out. Even in your sorry book, the boys had no concern for the girls beyond the idea of them. The true girls were lost, ignored. You could not rescue us because you never saw us, and we knew that.
Suicide is not a selfish choice. It is not a choice at all. It is what you do when there is no other option: when the walls of your pain close around you so tight that you can't even draw a breath without knives stabbinginto your vitals and you would do anything at all to escape the pain. It has nothing to do with the others around you. They cease to exist. And lest you label this self-centered, let me say that if there had been any genuine concern shown, others would NOT cease to exist. You can recognise that. And hold it as a rope. Who wants to die if there is any other option open? If there's any hope that things might improve? But no one threw us a rope. They simply watched as we slipped farther and farther into a pit that we could not crawl out of.
We stuck together because we were the only ones who understood this. We shunned you because it was obvious that you didn't. And yes, we laughed at you behind your backs because you thought yourself enlightened, sensitive, artists, and all that goes with it. Yet you lacked the one quality that makes all those real: empathy. In the end, all you could to was wash your hands and get on with the blame. I hope it made you feel better.
Friday, January 19, 2007
Took The Plunge
Remember a couple posts ago when I mentioned that credit is dangerous? Well, I have succumbed to the evil. Today I ordered the Grey Larsen Preferred Irish Flute by Australian flutemaker Terry McGee. This model is based on a 19th century American flute, lighter and with smaller finger holes than your average Irish flute. Which is good for me, because I have really small hands and have never been able to manage a simple system flute before.
Here it is. Isn't it pretty? I sure hope I can play it because it's a large investment... I sure hope it's okay to own this instrument even if I can't play lightning fast and never ornament like Matt Molloy. All the doubts about my worth as a musician and my worth in general--what I deseve and what I desire--are tied into this purchase. I was, after all, brought up never to buy anything I couldn't pay off within 30 days. (I was also brought up to think of my family as dirt poor and one step away from the homeless shelter, which wasn't true, but never mind).I have to wait until the middle of next month for it to be shipped. I hope by then I will have become accustomed to the idea and not so freaked when it arrives that I hide it in the closet--or hide myself in the closet--and never touch it. I have been known to do this.
But I have high hopes. This is something I'm doing for myself. The only agenda is my own agenda, and I think it's a reasonable one. I just want to play. I don't have psycho band members breathing down my neck that I have to learn to do everything because they don't do their own work and I have to be able to cover for them. I don't have to listen to the...weird pressure couched as compliments: "You're so talented you can do anything but I'm worthless so I'm not even going to try. By the way, we need to be a headline band; you can make that happen, can't you?"
Well, enough of that. Maybe some day soon I'll tell the real and true story of BSS since, five years after the fact, I think I finally have enough perspective to know just what happened with that. In the meantime, though: I bought a flute! I think I'm happy about it.
Monday, January 8, 2007
Today I am a Bitch...
Tomorrow I have to have a medical procedure that requires me to stick to a clear liquid diet today. That means broth, jello, clear juices, coffee, tea. I think this is a plot to distract me from the reality of the procedure. I am not a fan of medical procedures--especially not the ones, like this one, where they knock you out. Well, who is, really? Some people suffering a really odd psychiatric disease that I can't remember the name of, that's who. Anyway, all I can think of is the clear liquid diet and how hungry I'm likely to be by the end of the day and how crabby the very idea of this makes me. I know some people do this voluntarily from time to time--juice fast, they call it--but not me. I get sick. I pass out and get migraines and start throwing up convulsively. Why I would do that when I HAVEN'T eaten is something I don't understand at all.
I have made my jello in wine glasses in the hopes of making it more interesting. I am not even allowed a dollop of whipped cream on top. This is really depressing me. And I can't figure out why the cat is sitting at my feet staring up at me, as she does when I have something she wants. "It's JELLO," I have told her, but she doesn't seem to hear me.
So a warning to all: I am a bitch today and I am a bitch tomorrow. For the day after, I don't answer.
I have made my jello in wine glasses in the hopes of making it more interesting. I am not even allowed a dollop of whipped cream on top. This is really depressing me. And I can't figure out why the cat is sitting at my feet staring up at me, as she does when I have something she wants. "It's JELLO," I have told her, but she doesn't seem to hear me.
So a warning to all: I am a bitch today and I am a bitch tomorrow. For the day after, I don't answer.
Saturday, January 6, 2007
Dangerous Credit
When I was in my 20s, I ruined my credit rating several times over. This did not matter to me at the time, as I figured I wouldn't live past 25 or so, and if I did I would never be in a position to buy a house or a car or make any of those major purchases that seem to come with adult life. I figured myself for a scrimp and save ghetto rat for my entire life, doomed to poverty forever.
This has changed. Somehow, when I wasn't looking, it changed.
It used to be I'd get credit card offers. You know the kind: "you give us $200 and then we'll send you a card with a $200 limit, ha ha ha." And even THOSE turned me down.
Then five years ago we took a trip to Boston. We convinced our bank to give us a card with a really small limit, "just for emergencies." And we did pretty well with it. Well enough to get a credit rating that allowed us to refinance our mortgage (my parents bought the house, in case you're wondering). I went to buy some socks at a department store. "Would you like to apply for our card?" the cashier asked. Usually I'd say no, but I thought on a lark, "Why not?" And they GAVE it to me.
This was the beginning. I now have a WHOLE BUNCH of plastic: most of it cards with very small limits. But last week I hit the big time. I had decided to respond to one of those offers I'm always getting in the mail, because the rate was about half that on any of my other cards. I got the card, it came...and the credit limit was.....well, I about fainted. I had originally meant for this card to be used for balance transfers ONLY....but with that credit limit I'm all of a sudden seeing things I've wanted for a long time come within my reach. That Irish Flute. That Martin Guitar. What do I do? I have a hard enough time thinking it's all right for me to own more than one pair of jeans! And now I'm thinking of buying musical instruments because I want them??? When I have a practically new silver flute and a perfectly servicable guitar already? It's the work of the Devil, it is--making you want material things. Therefore, credit cards are agents of the Devil.
Hee Hee. I'll let you know what I buy.
This has changed. Somehow, when I wasn't looking, it changed.
It used to be I'd get credit card offers. You know the kind: "you give us $200 and then we'll send you a card with a $200 limit, ha ha ha." And even THOSE turned me down.
Then five years ago we took a trip to Boston. We convinced our bank to give us a card with a really small limit, "just for emergencies." And we did pretty well with it. Well enough to get a credit rating that allowed us to refinance our mortgage (my parents bought the house, in case you're wondering). I went to buy some socks at a department store. "Would you like to apply for our card?" the cashier asked. Usually I'd say no, but I thought on a lark, "Why not?" And they GAVE it to me.
This was the beginning. I now have a WHOLE BUNCH of plastic: most of it cards with very small limits. But last week I hit the big time. I had decided to respond to one of those offers I'm always getting in the mail, because the rate was about half that on any of my other cards. I got the card, it came...and the credit limit was.....well, I about fainted. I had originally meant for this card to be used for balance transfers ONLY....but with that credit limit I'm all of a sudden seeing things I've wanted for a long time come within my reach. That Irish Flute. That Martin Guitar. What do I do? I have a hard enough time thinking it's all right for me to own more than one pair of jeans! And now I'm thinking of buying musical instruments because I want them??? When I have a practically new silver flute and a perfectly servicable guitar already? It's the work of the Devil, it is--making you want material things. Therefore, credit cards are agents of the Devil.
Hee Hee. I'll let you know what I buy.
Wednesday, January 3, 2007
Modern Technology
Don't you hate it when something that's supposed to make your life easier makes it harder and harder until you just want to bang your head against the wall with frustration?
I was trying to add pictures to my profile yesterday. I have an account with one of the free photo hosting services; I thought, "No problems!" Well, I was wrong. Every photo link I used I got some kind of error message, from "incoherent code" to "this link does not exist." (Does not exist?!?!? I was just THERE!)
About the time I was about to tear out my remaining hair, I noticed another option right there on my "edit profile" page. "Learn more about free photo hosting!!" it bugled. "Okay," I though, "Let's learn more. Learning can't hurt anything..."
WRONG!
You'd think I'd have learned by now that "Want to learn more?" is 'netspeak for, "You are about to be taken to some strange download site with no idea if you can ever get back to where you want to be. This site will tell you all the great ways their program will make your internet experience more fun, but will not actually tell you how it works or what it even does. The only way to figure that out is to download the thing and run a few trials. By the way, downloading this 'free' software may commit you to a year's membership in some weird cell phone ringtone site at the low price of $29.95 per month which will be charged directly to your phone bill, sucker."
Okay, I thought, I'm woman enough to understand these things and figure out a program after I install it. I read the fine print. I can always uninstall. And it would be cool to just beam my pictures to my blog. So I downloaded the thing. Actually, I downloaded it twice because for some reason Netscape won't let me sign onto Blogger, so I have to use Explorer, but then when I picked "Download," both Netscape and Explorer downloaded the program. More competition between companies, I guess, but not my concern.
So I install the software. NOW we're getting somewhere. This looks cool. All you have to do is make a task called blogbot your buddy, send it your photos and then you can open your blog and send the photos directly there. I like the sound of this. I go through the steps and some to a sign-in screen. I sign into my Blog.
"I'm sorry, you have entered an invalid password or you are not allowed access to this Blog!" the computer tells me in that annoying Star Trek Computer voice it has in my head.
I click the help link. Actually, these should probably be called, "Help--You Wish," but never mind. It tells me to clear my cookies and try again. I do so, no change. THEN it tells me to enable my cookies. Hey, I just cleared them! No matter, I still can't sign on through Blogbot. As a last resort, I reset my password. Now I can log into my Blog but I still can't send it pictures.
I reflect on the irony of the page title: Blogger--Out of Beta and Running Great!
I may try to send pictures through Imagshack later, but it's been running so slowly today that I think it's having a nervous breakdown. Until then, no real pics. I'll be busy banging my head against the wall.
I was trying to add pictures to my profile yesterday. I have an account with one of the free photo hosting services; I thought, "No problems!" Well, I was wrong. Every photo link I used I got some kind of error message, from "incoherent code" to "this link does not exist." (Does not exist?!?!? I was just THERE!)
About the time I was about to tear out my remaining hair, I noticed another option right there on my "edit profile" page. "Learn more about free photo hosting!!" it bugled. "Okay," I though, "Let's learn more. Learning can't hurt anything..."
WRONG!
You'd think I'd have learned by now that "Want to learn more?" is 'netspeak for, "You are about to be taken to some strange download site with no idea if you can ever get back to where you want to be. This site will tell you all the great ways their program will make your internet experience more fun, but will not actually tell you how it works or what it even does. The only way to figure that out is to download the thing and run a few trials. By the way, downloading this 'free' software may commit you to a year's membership in some weird cell phone ringtone site at the low price of $29.95 per month which will be charged directly to your phone bill, sucker."
Okay, I thought, I'm woman enough to understand these things and figure out a program after I install it. I read the fine print. I can always uninstall. And it would be cool to just beam my pictures to my blog. So I downloaded the thing. Actually, I downloaded it twice because for some reason Netscape won't let me sign onto Blogger, so I have to use Explorer, but then when I picked "Download," both Netscape and Explorer downloaded the program. More competition between companies, I guess, but not my concern.
So I install the software. NOW we're getting somewhere. This looks cool. All you have to do is make a task called blogbot your buddy, send it your photos and then you can open your blog and send the photos directly there. I like the sound of this. I go through the steps and some to a sign-in screen. I sign into my Blog.
"I'm sorry, you have entered an invalid password or you are not allowed access to this Blog!" the computer tells me in that annoying Star Trek Computer voice it has in my head.
I click the help link. Actually, these should probably be called, "Help--You Wish," but never mind. It tells me to clear my cookies and try again. I do so, no change. THEN it tells me to enable my cookies. Hey, I just cleared them! No matter, I still can't sign on through Blogbot. As a last resort, I reset my password. Now I can log into my Blog but I still can't send it pictures.
I reflect on the irony of the page title: Blogger--Out of Beta and Running Great!
I may try to send pictures through Imagshack later, but it's been running so slowly today that I think it's having a nervous breakdown. Until then, no real pics. I'll be busy banging my head against the wall.
Tuesday, January 2, 2007
THE LIST, 2006
I read a lot. I mean, I read A LOT. More than anyone I know. Reading is not just entertainment to me. It's part of my job and part of my identity. I read anything and everything, from street signs and cereal boxes to novels of considerable length. Though I tend to prefer science fiction and fantasy, I do not limit my reading to that genre. Children's books, YA lit, straight literature, non-fiction, romance....they all have a time and a place. So I feel a certain...authority on the matter of books and words. And I think making my choices public is not just stroking my ego, but perhaps could convey information. And THE LIST was born.
THE LIST is just that: a list of the books I have read in the last year. It may not be a complete list--I'm limited by what I can remember and what comes back to me as I walk around the house staring at our bookshelves. This year's list has over 50 authors on it. That means I remember reading at least one book that I can name by that author. By a few authors I've read many more books, whole series' worth.
THE LIST is NOT a list of reviews or a statement of worth. It's just a statement that I read these. However, although I VERY seldom abandon a book, there are some. So you can be fairly assured that if a book appears on this list, it has SOMETHING to grab the attention, even if that something is being so bad it's funny (I don't think any of the books on this year's list fit that bill, but I couldn't swear to it).
So, without further ado:
THE LIST, 2006
Albert, Susan Wittig: The Cottage Tales of Beatrix Potter: The Tale of Hilltop Farm, The Tale of Holly Howe, The Tale of Cuckoo Brow Wood
Bleeding Hearts, a China Bayles Mystery
Alexander, Lloyd: The Book of Three, The Black Cauldron, The Castle of Llyr, Taran Wanderer, The High King
Aronson, Marc: Witch Hunt: Mysteries of the Salem Witch Trials
Brashares, Anne: Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, The Second Summer of the Sisterhood, Girls in Pants
Brust, Stephen
Vlad Taltos: Jhereg, Yendi, Taltos, Teckla, Phoenix, Athyra, Orca, Dragon, Issola, Dzur The Khaavren Romances: The Phoenix Guards, Five Hundred Years After The Viscount of Adrilankha: The Paths of the Dead, The Lord of Castle Black, Sethra Lavode Brokedown Palace
Card, Orson Scott
Women of Genesis: Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel
Carey, Jacqueline: Kushiel’s Scion
Carr, Caleb: The Italian Secretary
Chase, Truddi: When Rabbit Howls
Cherryh, C. J. The Faded Sun: Kesrith, Shon’jir, Kutath
Clavell, James: Shogun
Cooper, Susan
The Dark is Rising: Over Sea and Under Stone, The Dark is Rising, Greenwitch, The Grey King, The Silver on the Tree
David, Peter
Legions of Fire: The Long Night of Centauri Prime, Armies of Light and Dark, Out of the Darkness
Diamant, Anita: The Red Tent
Drennan, Kathryn: To Dream in the City of Sorrows
Dumas, Alexander: The Count of Monte Cristo
Eugenides, Jeffery: The Virgin Suicides
Farmer, Nancy: The House of the Scorpion
Fisher, Jude
Fool’s Gold: Sorcery Rising, Wild Magic, The Rose of the World
Godden, Rumer: In this House of Brede
Goodkind, Terry
The Sword of Truth: Wizard’s First Rule, Blood of the Fold, Stone of Tears, Temple of Winds, Soul of the Fire, Faith of the Fallen, Pillars of Creation, Naked Empire, Chainfire, Phantom
Green, Hannah: I Never Promised You a Rose Garden
Greeno, Gayle
The Ghatti’s Tale: Finder’s Seekers, Mindspeaker’s Call, Exile’s Return
Ghatten’s Gambit: Sunderlies Seeking, The Farthest Seeking
Grisham, John I’m going to cop out here and just say I read everything he’s written because I don’t feel like remembering all the names!
Hanauer, Cathy: My Sister’s Bones
Hobb, Robin: Shaman’s Crossing, Forest Mage
Jakober, Marie: The Black Chalice
Keyes, J. Gregory: Dark Genesis, Deadly Relations, Final Reckoning
Kadohata, Cynthia: Kira-Kira
King, Stephen The Dark Tower: The Gunslinger, The Drawing of the Three, The Waste Lands, Wizards and Glass, Wolves of the Calla, Song of Susannah, The Dark Tower Insomnia
Carrie
Lackey, Mercedes: The Fairy Godmother, Children of the Night
LeGuin, Ursula K.: The Beginning Place
L’engle, Madeline: The Other Side of the Sun, A Wrinkle in Time, The Wind in the Door, A Swiftly Tilting Planet
Lindholm, Megan: Alien Earth
MacGregor, Kinley: Knight of Darkness
Mahy, Margaret: The Other Side of Silence
Meyers, L. A.
Bloody Jack: Bloody Jack, Curse of the Blue Tattoo, Under the Jolly Roger, In the Belly of the Bloodhound
Miller, Rand & Robin (With David Wingrove): The Myst Reader
Mondimore, Francis Mark: Bipolar Disorder: A Guide for Patients and Families
Moning, Karen Marie: Spell of the Highlander
Myracle, Lauren: TTYL
Nix, Garth: Mister Monday, Grim Tuesday, Drowned Wednesday, Sir Thursday
Paige, Robin: Death on the Lizard
Paxson, Diana: Ancestors of Avalon
Pike, Christopher: Master of Murder
Plath, Sylvia: The Bell Jar
Plum-Ucci, Carol: What Happened to Lani Garver
Rice, Anne: Interview with a Vampire, The Vampire Lestat, Queen of the Damned, Memnoch the Devil, the Vampire Armand, Tale of the Body Thief, Blackwood Farm, The Witching Hour, Taltos, Lasher, The Feast of All Saints, Merrick, Servant of the Bones, Ramses the Damned
Rowling, J. K.
The Harry Potter Series (again): Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, The Prisoner of Azkaban, The Goblet of Fire, The Order of the Phoenix, The Half-Blood Prince
Schreiber, Flora: Sybil, the True Story of a Woman Possessed by 16 Personalities
Snicket, Lemony: The End
Stevenson, Robert Louis: Treasure Island
Stone, Irving: The Agony and the Ecstasy, Passions of the Mind
Wolff, Virginia Euwer: The Mozart Season, True Believer
Woolfe, Virginia: Mrs. Dalloway
Wynne Jones, Diana: Howl’s Moving Castle, Castle in the Air
THE LIST is just that: a list of the books I have read in the last year. It may not be a complete list--I'm limited by what I can remember and what comes back to me as I walk around the house staring at our bookshelves. This year's list has over 50 authors on it. That means I remember reading at least one book that I can name by that author. By a few authors I've read many more books, whole series' worth.
THE LIST is NOT a list of reviews or a statement of worth. It's just a statement that I read these. However, although I VERY seldom abandon a book, there are some. So you can be fairly assured that if a book appears on this list, it has SOMETHING to grab the attention, even if that something is being so bad it's funny (I don't think any of the books on this year's list fit that bill, but I couldn't swear to it).
So, without further ado:
THE LIST, 2006
Albert, Susan Wittig: The Cottage Tales of Beatrix Potter: The Tale of Hilltop Farm, The Tale of Holly Howe, The Tale of Cuckoo Brow Wood
Bleeding Hearts, a China Bayles Mystery
Alexander, Lloyd: The Book of Three, The Black Cauldron, The Castle of Llyr, Taran Wanderer, The High King
Aronson, Marc: Witch Hunt: Mysteries of the Salem Witch Trials
Brashares, Anne: Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, The Second Summer of the Sisterhood, Girls in Pants
Brust, Stephen
Vlad Taltos: Jhereg, Yendi, Taltos, Teckla, Phoenix, Athyra, Orca, Dragon, Issola, Dzur The Khaavren Romances: The Phoenix Guards, Five Hundred Years After The Viscount of Adrilankha: The Paths of the Dead, The Lord of Castle Black, Sethra Lavode Brokedown Palace
Card, Orson Scott
Women of Genesis: Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel
Carey, Jacqueline: Kushiel’s Scion
Carr, Caleb: The Italian Secretary
Chase, Truddi: When Rabbit Howls
Cherryh, C. J. The Faded Sun: Kesrith, Shon’jir, Kutath
Clavell, James: Shogun
Cooper, Susan
The Dark is Rising: Over Sea and Under Stone, The Dark is Rising, Greenwitch, The Grey King, The Silver on the Tree
David, Peter
Legions of Fire: The Long Night of Centauri Prime, Armies of Light and Dark, Out of the Darkness
Diamant, Anita: The Red Tent
Drennan, Kathryn: To Dream in the City of Sorrows
Dumas, Alexander: The Count of Monte Cristo
Eugenides, Jeffery: The Virgin Suicides
Farmer, Nancy: The House of the Scorpion
Fisher, Jude
Fool’s Gold: Sorcery Rising, Wild Magic, The Rose of the World
Godden, Rumer: In this House of Brede
Goodkind, Terry
The Sword of Truth: Wizard’s First Rule, Blood of the Fold, Stone of Tears, Temple of Winds, Soul of the Fire, Faith of the Fallen, Pillars of Creation, Naked Empire, Chainfire, Phantom
Green, Hannah: I Never Promised You a Rose Garden
Greeno, Gayle
The Ghatti’s Tale: Finder’s Seekers, Mindspeaker’s Call, Exile’s Return
Ghatten’s Gambit: Sunderlies Seeking, The Farthest Seeking
Grisham, John I’m going to cop out here and just say I read everything he’s written because I don’t feel like remembering all the names!
Hanauer, Cathy: My Sister’s Bones
Hobb, Robin: Shaman’s Crossing, Forest Mage
Jakober, Marie: The Black Chalice
Keyes, J. Gregory: Dark Genesis, Deadly Relations, Final Reckoning
Kadohata, Cynthia: Kira-Kira
King, Stephen The Dark Tower: The Gunslinger, The Drawing of the Three, The Waste Lands, Wizards and Glass, Wolves of the Calla, Song of Susannah, The Dark Tower Insomnia
Carrie
Lackey, Mercedes: The Fairy Godmother, Children of the Night
LeGuin, Ursula K.: The Beginning Place
L’engle, Madeline: The Other Side of the Sun, A Wrinkle in Time, The Wind in the Door, A Swiftly Tilting Planet
Lindholm, Megan: Alien Earth
MacGregor, Kinley: Knight of Darkness
Mahy, Margaret: The Other Side of Silence
Meyers, L. A.
Bloody Jack: Bloody Jack, Curse of the Blue Tattoo, Under the Jolly Roger, In the Belly of the Bloodhound
Miller, Rand & Robin (With David Wingrove): The Myst Reader
Mondimore, Francis Mark: Bipolar Disorder: A Guide for Patients and Families
Moning, Karen Marie: Spell of the Highlander
Myracle, Lauren: TTYL
Nix, Garth: Mister Monday, Grim Tuesday, Drowned Wednesday, Sir Thursday
Paige, Robin: Death on the Lizard
Paxson, Diana: Ancestors of Avalon
Pike, Christopher: Master of Murder
Plath, Sylvia: The Bell Jar
Plum-Ucci, Carol: What Happened to Lani Garver
Rice, Anne: Interview with a Vampire, The Vampire Lestat, Queen of the Damned, Memnoch the Devil, the Vampire Armand, Tale of the Body Thief, Blackwood Farm, The Witching Hour, Taltos, Lasher, The Feast of All Saints, Merrick, Servant of the Bones, Ramses the Damned
Rowling, J. K.
The Harry Potter Series (again): Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, The Prisoner of Azkaban, The Goblet of Fire, The Order of the Phoenix, The Half-Blood Prince
Schreiber, Flora: Sybil, the True Story of a Woman Possessed by 16 Personalities
Snicket, Lemony: The End
Stevenson, Robert Louis: Treasure Island
Stone, Irving: The Agony and the Ecstasy, Passions of the Mind
Wolff, Virginia Euwer: The Mozart Season, True Believer
Woolfe, Virginia: Mrs. Dalloway
Wynne Jones, Diana: Howl’s Moving Castle, Castle in the Air
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