Lately I’ve been on a real book reading jag. My television watching has dropped to almost nothing and my magazines are stacking up. I suppose it has a lot to do with the books on writing which I recently read. They really made me appreciate what an author can do.

I read a mix of fiction and non-fiction, but mostly non-fiction. Non-fiction appeals to my rational, analytical, learning mind. I can schedule my reading, leaving off and picking up at natural breaking points in the book. Unless it is a very complex subject I usually don’t have any problem continuing the chain of thought from where I left off reading. Non-fiction is well-mannered and adapts itself to my schedule.

Fiction is crack. Fiction is a mistress with a whip and me pleading for more. Fiction is forgetting how late it is because I ain’t gonna stop reading until my eyes cross and I pass out. Fiction is, “Awww, mom, just a few more minutes, please?”

Or at least good fiction is. Bad fiction, as well as bad non-fiction, is merely a waste of a finite amount of time. I am not one of those readers who feels compelled to finish a book no matter what. I’ve gotten halfway through a few books in my lifetime and said, “Enough is enough. This sucks and I’m not reading any more.” At least with bad non-fiction there are usually (but not always) a few good facts that you can walk away with. The only benefit of bad fiction is the knowledge that you may not care for anything else that the author has written and can avoid wasting that time. Well, I guess it also serves as an example of how not to write, too, if you are a writer yourself.

Reading fiction – good fiction – takes me out of my life entirely. I start to live and breathe within the story. I am compelled to keep reading because it is as though I am reading my own story and I must know how it turns out. My life is no longer my own; it belongs to the book and I MUST READ!

I have to admit that I tend to consciously avoid fiction. It can be very emotionally draining to be so involved with a book. The story stays in your mind even when you are not reading. It haunts your dreams and daydreams. It is as close to being obsessive as I ever get.

Some people would argue that that is the reason for reading fiction – escapism! Who would want to read a book that didn’t take you away from your normal, hum-drum existence? The only problem is that when you are done reading you have to go back to the real world. That’s tough when the book paints a world in which you want to stay, but then again, not so had when you were already anxious to crawl out of the book, and that does happen.

Even with all the emotional upheaval I’m still not ready to stop reading. I just wish there was more lifetime to spend doing it.

When I was in junior high school I had an English teacher who stood out from all the rest. Mr. Whitmer is probably long dead by now so I’ll never get a chance to thank him in person, but not only did he make the subject come alive, he was the first teacher who gave me the confidence to think that I could be a writer.

It was in his class that I developed a love of Robert Service’s poetry. His was poetry to be read out loud, and Mr. Whitmer obliged, possibly satisfying a frustrated dream to be an actor. He read The Ballad of Sam McGee with a drama that I remember to this day. I have several volumes of Service’s work sitting on my bookshelf. It may not be up to Shakespearian standards of excellence, but it certainly captures the mood and spirit of his subject matter.

I started out writing poetry. I turned out poem after poem, searching through the rhyming section of the dictionary when I got stuck for a word. I kept this up through high school, college, and beyond, though I was not quite as prolific as I was in junior high. Eventually I even thought some of my poems were good enough to be sent off for publication, so I submitted them to all the large circulation magazines which were still publishing poetry and to many of the small literary magazines printed on a mimeograph machine in someone’s basement. Some of my poems have been published, though none in the big magazines, and all paid solely with copies of the magazines.

I also wrote several short stories, including one for a creative writing class in college. The piece for the class actually won second place in the college creative writing contest and was published in one of the college’s publications, though I never got a chance to see it because I had to drop out of college after the semester of that writing class.

I’ve always felt awkward writing fiction. It has always felt strange to put words into characters’ mouths, and the dialogue has never sounded quite natural to me. It’s been some time since I had the urge to write fiction, but lately I’ve been reading a book by Steven King – On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft – and he’s got me thinking about giving it a try again. With all these years under my belt I feel a bit more confident that I might be able to create a world of fiction – dialogue and all – that might seem plausible.

Of course, as soon as I consider the idea I hear, “What the hell is wrong with you? Do you really think that you could stick to something like that? Doesn’t King say that you have to commit to writing a certain number of words a day? Do you really think you would do that? And if you really wanted to write, wouldn’t you have been doing it all these years? Not to mention, you’re not a people person, so how the hell do you think you can write about people?” Man, my muse is a real bitch.

All those questions are good, valid questions . . . unfortunately. But, hey, what have I got to lose? There have been plenty of writers who started their careers late in their lives. Why can’t I be one? And while King is a writer who knows his writing, and has actually taught it in a classroom, it doesn’t mean that all his rules apply hard and fast to every writer (though one would be foolish to disregard them entirely). I wear big-boy pants now and can make up my own rules, and pay the price, too, if I don’t follow them. Again, what have I got to lose? If I give up in the end, at least I tried.

Hmmm, where to begin, let’s see . . .

Once upon a time, in a galaxy far, far away . . .

I went to the bookstore today. I didn’t have anything else to do and I was in the area anyways. I also had a coupon for thirty percent off the price of one book – not a bad deal. I haven’t been reading much fiction lately so I wandered over to the “literature” section and browsed the titles. Some of them were familiar but others I had never even heard of the author, let alone the title.

After fifteen minutes of this, I decided to check out a different section of the store. As I made my way over there, I walked by a woman talking on her cell phone to a friend, apparently looking for a book recommendation. The last thing I heard her say (not that I was eavesdropping) was, “Yeah, but you want to like the book you spend your money on.” Bingo! A perfect summation of my feelings about fiction.

I read more non-fiction books than fiction, particularly history. While the writing style can make reading a joy or a chore, in non-fiction the author is obligated to present facts, at least as they understand them, and creative writing tends to take a back seat. As long as an author presents the facts to me in an accessible manner, the non-fiction book is a success. Fiction, however, is an entirely different ballgame.

In fiction, facts be damned; the telling of the story is the thing! It’s hard to find an objective way to evaluate a work of fiction. Each person brings something of their own self to a work of fiction, and a story will resonate with the reader or it will not. While a book being a “best seller” offers a moderate degree of assurance that it is worth reading, it’s not a one hundred percent guarantee. Who wants to spend good money on a book that one may find better suited as a doorstop?

The obvious answer? The library. To me, there is no more practical reason to visit the library than to read fiction. If you find the book you checked out is absolute dreck, you can just return it to the library, out no more money than when you borrowed the book. On the other hand, if you find you like an author enough to want his or her work on your bookshelf, you can hit the bookstore with confidence in your choices.

The only problem with the library is getting fiction that is just hitting the bookshelves. Usually you have to get on a list for the books that everyone wants to read “right now,” but personally, those books are far and few between. If I really want to read a book as soon as it’s published it generally means that I know that I will like it and want to buy it, so I do.

Taking a moment to check my library card, I see that it expired a year ago. I guess I need to stop by and renew it. Might as well follow my own advice and pick up something to read while I’m there, too.

Happy Fourth of July to all my fellow American citizens!

While I hope you all have a fun day today, I also hope you take a moment to appreciate the freedoms we enjoy in this country, thanks to the actions of some very brave men two hundred and thirty-four years ago. And remember, you have inherited their fight! Eternal vigilance is the price of freedom – do not fail our founders!

We had a hell of a storm yesterday evening. The wind came up and was blowing like a banshee and the rain was coming down horizontally so hard you couldn’t see fifteen feet in front of you, if you were stupid enough to be outside. It blew so hard against my windows that it forced the rain in through the cracks and left a puddle on the window sill.

There were no tornado sirens blowing, but that doesn’t mean anything if a tornado suddenly appears for the first time right on top of you. I was concerned enough that I started for the basement, just in case. Unfortunately, my power had gone out and it’s pitch black in the basement so I grabbed my flashlight. Hitting the switch, I found that the batteries were so weak that turning the flashlight on actually made it darker in the house. I grabbed another flashlight, but it was almost as bad. By this time the storm had lightened up just enough that going into the basement didn’t have quite the same urgency.

Gratefully, this was early in the evening, so even with the dark storm clouds it was still light enough to be able to walk around in the house without running into things. I managed to find my latest electric bill with the emergency phone number on it and by the firefly light of my flashlight managed to call the power company and report my outage. I’m smart enough to have one phone in the house that doesn’t run off the electric, but I suppose I could have used my cell phone, assuming the cell towers were still powered and unharmed.

So now what? No internet, no television, no computer . . . guess I’ll break out the book I’ve been reading. I pulled a chair up right next to the window and with that little bit of light and holding the book five inches from my face, I was able to read. Finally the rain let up, and as reading was getting more difficult as it got darker and there was no sign that the power was coming back on soon, I decided to venture out to WalMart to get some new batteries.

It was a wild storm, and every house I drove by was dark. In my neighborhood, where there are trees, it was a bit of an obstacle course trying not to run over the branches in the streets. I was hoping that WalMart had power still and that it wasn’t crazy busy with people looking for batteries. As I neared the road that WalMart is on I could see that all the businesses there had their lights on. Yay! I was shocked to find WalMart almost empty. Double Yay!

Once I found the flashlight section, I went a little crazy. I got a new, big, 6-volt lantern battery for my big flashlight, but then I bought a new, small LED flashlight and an LED headlamp.- you know, the kind you strap on your head so your hands are free. I had always thought about getting one but never really had a reason to, or so I thought. I also picked up four pre-charged rechargeable AAA batteries, too, just in case the power was off for a long time.

Getting home, I was glad to see that the power was still off. Yeah, it would have been easier if the power was on, but what fun is that? Then I would have felt like I wasted my money! The first thing I did, because it was easiest, was replace the lantern battery. Ah, now I could see. Using that light, I put the batteries in the new, small LED flashlight. After many attempts I finally got them in right (hey, the illustration on the battery carrier wasn’t particularly clear – I’m not a dummy, you know, though I’ll have to admit I was starting to feel like one.) Bingo – nice, bright light in a small, compact handy form, and I don’t have to worry about D-sized batteries anymore. Now, on to the headlamp.

Needless to say, I should have put the batteries into the headlamp first. What a thing of beauty that headlamp is! Holy Mackerel! The things I don’t know I need until I have them. Once I had the headlamp powered up it was time to open the door to let some cooler air in (no power = no air conditioning, and besides, the temperature had dropped more that twenty degrees in a matter of minutes) and sit down and read. The headlamp worked like a champ!

The power was still off by the time I needed to get my contacts out for the night, so I headed off for the bathroom with my headlamp on. This is when I could have kicked myself for not having purchased a headlamp before. All the times that I went camping, the one thing I absolutely HATED to do was take my contact lenses out at night. Trying to work in the light of a flashlight, which I couldn’t hold because cleaning my contacts takes two hands, was always a bitch. I was always scared to death that I would drop a lens and not be able to find it, too.

What a revelation the headlamp was. It was as if I had the room lights on. All I had to do was my normal contact lens routine – no muss, no fuss, and done in short order. What a help that headlamp would have been during those camping trips, and not just for contact lenses. Sometimes I needed to cook in the dark. The headlamp would have made that a snap. As these old eyes get older, available light becomes more of an issue as I need more to be able to see well. While I don’t think I’ll be whipping the headlamp out in a dimly lit restaurant, it’s not a bad idea. I guess maybe one of those pen lights on your keychain would be a good idea for that kind of thing.

Anyways, I’m sold on the headlamp idea. Thinking back over the times in my life when I was working on something that needed two hands for the work and one to hold the flashlight (plumbing under the sink, working under the car), I wish I had one back then. At least now I do. Too very cool.

The storm? Well, it left a lot of people without power for quite some time. There are plenty who still do not have their electric restored yet. I was fortunate to have only lost a few branches from my trees, but many lost whole trees. My power came on shortly before I was heading to bed, so it was only off for about five hours. Not too bad considering the very widespread outages. So I survived the storm and acquired some neat, new toys, too. It could have been worse.

Ah, the first day of summer – how I hate to see this day come. Why? Because it means the days are going to be getting shorter now. Damn. Why can’t days just stay as long as today for a couple of months before they get shorter? How depressing. (Like I need one more thing to be depressed about, and yes, I do know why the days can’t stay long. It’s depressing, not stupefying.)

Actually, it doesn’t really start to get bad until about September, but it sure goes downhill quickly after that. I’m just not a short daylight hours kind of guy. I certainly could not survive the long, long nights of Alaska’s winters, though it might be kind of fun to experience the long, long days of summer. I’ll have to try that sometime. In the meantime, I’ll just brace myself for another long, dark winter here. I’m such an optimist.

I like birds. I’m no expert on them, nor am I one of those people who will go “birding” just to see what birds I can find. However, I do enjoy seeing birds that I have not seen before and today I saw a new one. I just happened to have my camera with me and managed to get several really bad shots of the bird, a couple of which were good enough for identification. Not that this bird was really hard to identify. If you’ve ever seen an Indigo Bunting, you will know what I mean. They are hard to miss. Still, as hard to miss as they may be, this is the first time I’ve seen one.

A week or two ago I even saw my first Baltimore Oriole, close to where I found the Indigo Bunting. I heard a bird song that did not sound at all familiar and finally tracked the bird down. I didn’t have my camera with me then, but I came back the next day and managed to snap enough (poor) pictures to identify it, with the help and assistance from my bird expert, Maggie (who is also very much the better photographer than I). Very exciting stuff.

I feed the birds at my house. Mostly they are House Sparrows (as well as other types of sparrows – I haven’t sorted them all out yet) and Brown-headed Cowbirds, and of course the obnoxious Common Grackles who like to take over and scare all the little birds away. The American Goldfinches and House Finches are well in attendance right now, too, as well as the passing Cardinal, Black-capped Chickadee and Red-winged Blackbird. My hummingbird feeder has gone untouched this year so far. Last year I had one hummingbird coming to it, but he seems to have lost his way this year. Bummer.

In the winter the Juncos (slate-colored variety) return. The White-breasted Nuthatches, though here all year, seem to be more noticeable in the winter. Cardinals are here year round, too, as are the Black-capped Chicadees and Sparrows. Some people feel about House Sparrows the same way they feel about weeds, but I like them. Their mindless, constant cheep, cheep, cheeping is a cheery sound to me. It’s a sound of life.

So that’s more posting about birds than you care about, but then again, I doubt that anyone cares about anything I post here, so ask me if I care. I do care, however, about the birds. Life sure would be much duller without them around.

I just flipped on the television to check the online schedule and briefly found myself watching one of those “House Hunters” shows on HGTV for a few minutes. Just as I was about to turn the television off again, the prospective buyers walked into this huge family room with a two-story ceiling. I shuddered.

Why do people like rooms with cathedral ceilings? To me they make a room very cold, with no sense of coziness no matter how the room is furnished. Almost invariably such rooms are also noisy, particularly if carpet and drapes are absent. HELLO, HELLO, HELLO . . . hello, hello, hello . . . ECHO, ECHO, ECHO . . . echo, echo, echo . . .

Give me a rambling ranch house any time, with ceilings certainly no higher than ten feet. Maybe I’m just reliving my life as a bear and want to curl up in my own little den, but such a house is so much more inviting than those two-story monstrosities that waste half the floor space with vaulted ceilings. That rambling ranch has so many more opportunities for discovering neat little nooks and crannies and twists and turns than those cold, cookie-cutter McMansions.

Of course, I am talking about a custom-designed ranch home with a decent amount of floor space; not some one-story, 50’s rectangular box slapped down on some suburban rectangular lot. Then again, maybe comparing my ideal rambling ranch house with a McMansion isn’t fair. Maybe the McMansion is really just the evolutionary successor to that rectangular ranch – the 50’s on steroids, or at least the ostentatious great cousin of the 50’s ranch.

Anyways, give me a Prairie-style ranch with a nice inglenook over a Biltmore estate with ceilings you can only paint with the use of scaffolding. But that’s just me.

Good grief! Something is wrong with this picture. I just received a new 8GB Toshiba USB flash drive that Amazon was offering for only $14.99 as a “Lightning Deal,” and a good deal it is. Picking up the sealed, plastic package that everything seems to come in today – and that you need a chainsaw, hardhat with face shield, and cut-proof gloves to open – it felt awfully heavy for a thumb drive. Hmm, seems awfully thick, too.

Well, no wonder. Inside the package, besides the drive and packaging copy, are four – count ‘em, four! – folded, multi-page tomes, one of which is a user guide and the other three being warranties. Being a detail-oriented kind of guy, I just stacked, compressed and measured them; they are 3/16” thick, more than half as thick as the flash drive itself.

Having once been in printing, I bet the stupid flash drive probably cost less to produce than the packaging, including literature. I guess I can understand the user guide if someone has never in his life used a USB flash drive, but three massive warranties? Like I am going to bother sending a fifteen dollar flash drive anywhere to get it replaced if it goes bad. It would cost me more than that in packaging, shipping and aggravation than it would to just order a new one.

I guess I can understand it in this age of legal “gotcha”-ism. After all, most of the warranty stuff is explaining how they are not liable for the loss of any data you stored on the flash drive. I guess they have to allow for idiots who think all data storage devices are 100% reliable, 100% of the time. Still, it speaks volumes about the ridiculous lengths to which manufacturers must go today to protect themselves. In the end, all it does is drive up the price of things. Oh well, what else is new? Kind of reminds you of “defensive medicine,” doesn’t it?

I helped my father-in-law fill out his census form today, but it was different from the form I filled out. At first I couldn’t figure out why it was different. It asked the same questions, but it was a three panel form as opposed to my multi-page version. Then I noticed – it was in English only. My form had English on the left side of each page and the same questions in Spanish on the right side.

This was really interesting. Obviously the government did a bit of racial profiling in their mailing. I’m not sure why they think that the town I live in is more Spanish speaking than the town my father-in-law lives in (his town actually has more Spanish speakers), but obviously they do. I wonder if it was even more fine-grained than just a city by city bias. I wonder if they reviewed names associated with the exact address (even though it was addressed to “resident”) and sent the Spanish forms to addresses that had certain last names.

I’m not suggesting any kind of conspiracy or anything. I’m just curious how they determined who got what form. Oh, and by the way, I did get my follow-up letter, in English and Spanish, making sure that I filled out the census form and mailed it. Three mailings for one census instead of just one. A nice little windfall for the post office.