The Book of Helen Facebook Page

Hey, if you haven't "Liked" my facebook page, The Book of Helen, I could use a few more likes.  Also, I posted there for the first time in ages, so there's a new piece to read there.  Additionally, if you've read The Book of Helen, it would mean a lot if you left a review.  Finally, if you haven't read my first foray into Historical Fiction, you're missing a treat and I hope you'll consider, if you like my renditions of non fiction, what I can do with an icon of beauty and flaws like Helen of Troy.

Thank you.

A Review!

Cheryl over at The Book Connection graciously agreed to review the first chapter of my book.  I hope you will go over and give a read.  Having done book reviews briefly, and now only very occasionally, I appreciate that it takes a lot of time to review anything. Reading for enjoyment is one thing. Reading for someone else is another.  It's a process that requires attentive reading and time, and then reviewing takes additional thought and work to craft a fair assessment of the work.  Stamping your own opinion on a book affects your reputation and friendship, the trust your (blog) readers have in you of your ideas about things.  It is an endorsement, and thus requires some degree of risk on the part of reviewers, that their readers will trust their referral. 

So I am grateful to all those who sink in the time to review The Book of Helen, and for their words.  Thank you.

Click here to see Cheryl's thoughts on the first chapter.  I'm still tripping the happy dance.  "She liked it! She liked it!" 

Self Reflection Corrections upon Being Reviewed

The humor blog people have spoken. I have been reviewed.

My stories are too long.

“Too many notes.” Said the Emperor.
“Just cut a few and it will be perfect.” –lines from Amadeus the Movie in case any of Hillary’s people are reading this and want to accuse me of plagiarism.

So I’m off to read Emily Dickenson and Ernest Hemingway.

She wrote short poems.
The guy wrote short sentences.

They liked periods.
They were famous.

You have to read these folks in High School.
They were and are respected authors of note.

The trouble is, neither of them ever was very funny.

Emily Dickenson made Adrian Monk look like a Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader for Extroverts. I remember one episode of “Saved by the Bell” where some female –(does it really matter which?) explained that every Dickenson poem could be set to the tune of “The Yellow Rose of Texas.” It kind of ruined my chances of taking Emily Dickenson seriously, though that may have been a side effect of having watched an episode of “Saved by the Bell.”

“Because I would not stop for Death, He kindly stopped for me…”
I could just hear the banjo in the background.

Reading poetry like Ginsburg’s “Howl” and Robert Lowell’s stream of consciousness stuff, I always felt reminded of my own shallowness. Being reminded that one is an inch deep is not fun. So I complained, “How come there aren’t any happy poets?” I mean, Sylvia Plath committed suicide and so did her husband. The plurality of poets we studied were sensitive cool people that drank wine and coffee and water from the tap. They thought serious thoughts and never laughed, though they might snicker at something mundane or pedestrian.

Like banjo players and bright colors and Texans.

So when I got to college, I was an English major without the “cool factor.” Like being a member of the literature “Pep squad,” instead of the cheerleaders…or band….or drill team. At least I was a major in the subject, so it wasn’t like I was in the flag corps, or a twirler.

I had to read "To Have and Have Not." It made as much sense as the movie.

I remember reading “Bartlby the Scrivener” in junior year.

Maybe it was immaturity on my part, but I never saw Bartlby’s “I would prefer not to.” As a cry for help or an indication of the deep depressed feelings he harbored. In humor, you can say, “I didn’t get the joke.” and everyone understands that humor is subjective and thus open to interpretation. In serious literature, there isn’t any equivalent, “I didn’t get the gravity.” It’s just presumed that any failure in comprehension rest with the limitations of the reader and not the writer.

In this case, that was probably true, but even 22 years later, I feel no compelling need to revisit the work to figure out what I missed.

I also remember that every junior that tried using that line "I would prefer no to." to get out of writing a theme on the story was told “No.”

The highlight of that English class section was watching Greg Brady star in the film version as Gingersnap. It was his one attempt at “serious acting” and that was comedic in its own weird way. One could wonder…what would come next…Greg Brady as Johnny Bravo as…anyone in a Faulkner novel. Such a feat would render Faulkner even more incomprehensible than it already is, at least for me.

Maybe I’d get the great ones better if I took up banjo and worked Hemingway's story to the tune of Gilligan’s Island…mememememememe…ahem.

“You can Call Me Ishmael….

For I hunt a big white whale…

He took my leg

Now it’s a peg!

And here’s my tragic tale…”

Alas, I remain a happy poet. My angst is insufficient to my muse, oh, the woe...

Editor Husband: "Hey Sherry, Melville wrote Moby Dick and Bartlby the Scrivner, not Hemingway."

"Holy Cats! You're right. I'm so embarrassed....
Okay, maybe more of my problem with literature rest in my own wee brain than I thought."

for serioiusly good humor, try http://www.humor-blogs.com/ or http://www.claypigeonmag.com/! Short. Pithy. Clever. Fun. Probably more Accurate.