Recently, I’ve been thinking about why I blog. I don’t really have a talent for writing, so why even blog?
Years ago, I read Elie Wiesel’s The Gates of the Forest. In it, there is a story of Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov, founder of Hasidism. It’s something like this:
When his people were threatened with grave danger, Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov would go to a certain place in the woods, light a fire, say a certain prayer and the danger would be averted.
Years later when the people were again threatened, his successor went to the certain place in the woods and said, to God “I know the place int the woods; I know the prayer, but I don’t know how to light the fire. This must be enough.” It was and the danger was averted.
Amanda Stevens is one of my favorite authors. March 29, her new book in the Graveyard Queen series, The Visitor, is due for release. Because of devastating circumstances, it has been a long time between books. So I’m re-reading the first three books in the series before the release date.
The main character, Amelia Gray, is a graveyard restorer in the South, mostly the Charleston area. The ambiance of the series is creepy, charming, mysterious, filled with Southern well-mannered gentility, laced with suspense and Spanish moss, with an underlying core of something rotten. Very evocative of Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. At the heart, this series is a Gothic era ghost story set in present day. Also, think of Turn of the Screw or Woman in Black.
For maximum effect, I turn out the lights and read on my Kindle Paperwhite. I love the downlight feature!
“The sleek, coppery locks that donned her head this morning …” Her hair put her head on this morning? Or perhaps padlocks put her head on this morning.
“Good thing she didn’t wear much make-up. It would slide off her face faster than a double scoop of ice cream in a five-year-old’s hand.” Where do I start with this one? Images of a five-year-old with ice cream in its bare hand. Images of ice cream sliding off the woman’s face. Images of a five-year-old sliding off the woman’s face.
Going to the Kindle home page, deleting the book, and walking away now. I know the book was free, but may I get a refund please?
I’ll admit it. I read a lot of what is often called “trash” — romance novels, paranormal romance, cozy mysteries and chick lit. You know, the basic escapism fare. My life is real enough; I don’t want to read about someone else’s drama.
For my escapism tastes, I blame Jane Austen, Elizabeth Bennett and Mr. Darcy. I also blame my paternal grandmother and my favorite bands, including but not limited to: Kings of Leon, matchbox 20, Maroon 5 … Hey, gotta blame someone, right?
I fell in love with Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy at a young age; ergo I love reading romance novels. Because I must like the characters if I’m going to bother reading, I am likely to read a series if the author has written a series. I don’t heart permanent goodbyes, even if the people are fictional. If Pride and Prejudice had been a series of books, I would have read them all.