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What is home anyway? It's the four walls around you, whatever they are. A house, an apartment, a telephone booth (if you're Superman). It's the place where you can scratch when it itches, wherever that is.

It's a region sometimes. Home for me used to be Arkansas, where they have gorgeous azaleas like these pictured. For many years as the plane landed at Little Rock National Airport (don't get me started on THAT), I felt I was coming home. As I strolled in my parents' neighborhood and saw the familiar houses, I felt I was home. I still think of the Ashcrafts living next door and the Isenmans over on the next street and the Jackman house is still the one on the corner, even though those families are long gone (and in some cases dead).

OH, I'M NOT GOING TO BE MAUDLIN.

But I realized that it's not home any more. It's too different. The stores aren't right. The lanes of traffic aren't right. Right near my family's house is an intersection where someone decided to paint four lanes going across. The only problem is there isn't room for four lanes. There might be room for three. So when you come barreling down the rather steep hill toward this intersection and you get into what seems like the left lane to turn into my parents' street, you will notice that OHMYGODTHEREISN'TENOUGHROOM. Just a little blood pressure elevation to add variety to your day.

See, I don't accept the last twenty years of development in Little Rock. All those stores and malls and Arby's and McDonald's out in the west part of town? I don't accept them. I don't know how to get there anyway.

Meanwhile, I've lived in New England for lo these many years and it should be my home. It should. But you know, I pronounce "ant" and "aunt" the same. This will never be my true home. It's funny when you head back to Massachusetts from Arkansas. The people are so different on the airplane. They all have laptops and books. They're quiet and look like they have advanced degrees from a better school than where you went. I'm not exactly at home here either.

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I have just returned to my house. It looks like a shack. I'm exhausted and don't have time to unpack. I'm going to kill all airlines with my bare hands.

More later
love,
becky

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I will not be posting for a while as I mourn the loss of my mother.

love,
becky

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Do you ever try to accomplish something right before the buzzer? JUST before you have to stop, do you rush out there and try for one more? I do and always have. Right now, before the massive Paper Influx begins, I am trying to suck down as many pleasurable novels as I can.

I read Robert Crais's WATCHMAN and swallowed it almost whole (one day).

I read PRIEST by Ken Bruen in less. Oh man, is this ever a good book. I HOWLED even though it's dark and depressing and leaves little hope. This guy orders a whiskey and leaves it sitting. You are on edge the whole book to see if he will relent.

I'm reading SCANDAL OF THE SEASON by Sophie Gee and it's delicious. I needed to know more about Alexander Pope, anyway. Sophie is on faculty at Princeton and I hope Joyce Carol Oates is friendly to her. I love her too.

Let's see, what else. Oh yes. TRAVELER by Ron McLarty and it was excellent. You know, I have to say it violated one of the cardinal rules that I have learned about writing. Make your beginning compelling and interesting. His was not. But oh gosh, am I ever glad I stuck with it.

This is just to commemorate summer and the silliness.

What possessed me to do this?

I do not know.

Does it go with the Dairy Queen poses? The attempts at Winslett/DiCaprio verisimilitude?

I think not.

A Big Truth: the difference between mid-August and mid-September is vast.

A moment of silence on that.

A bientot

love,

becky

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Toni McGee Causey has written a book I look forward to reading. You've got to love someone who has as bad a day as this gal has in Bobbie Faye's Very (very, very, very) Bad Day . Here's a taste of how it goes.

Bobbie Faye Sumrall is a dead-broke Cajun living in a broken-down trailer in Lake Charles, Louisiana. When criminals demand Bobbie Faye's Contraband Queen tiara-- the only thing of her mama's she inherited-- in exchange for her good-for-nothing brother, Bobbie Faye has to outwit the police, organized crime, former boyfriends, and a hostage she never intended to take (but who turns out to be damn sexy), in order to rescue her brother, keep custody of her niece, and get back in time to take her place as Queen in the Lake Charles Contraband Festival (think Mardi Gras, with more drinking and pirates). Luckily, she knows how to handle guns, outwit angry mama bears, drive a speedboat, and get herself out of (and into) almost every kind of trouble. If only that pesky state police detective (who also happens to be a pissed off ex-boyfriend) would stay out of her way . . .

And here's a little bit about Toni:

Toni McGee Causey lives in Baton Rouge with her husband and two sons; a Louisiana native (and Cajun), she has nearly completed a double masters at LSU. She's placed in top tier screenwriting contests, published many non-fiction articles and edited a popular regional magazine. To support her writing addiction, she and her husband Carl run their own civil construction company. Bobbie Faye is the first in a three-book deal with St. Martin's press on a pre-empt; the chaotic, rollercoaster thriller world of Bobbie Faye owes much to Toni having way more experience than she'd like to own up to in the world of trouble-shooting, disaster-prevention and survival.

And take a look at these reviews, folks.

“Causey doesn't miss a beat in this wonderful, wacky celebration of Southern eccentricity.”
-- Publishers Weekly (starred review)

“This hyperpaced, screwball action/adventure with one unforgettable heroine and two sexy heroes is side-splittingly hilarious. Causey, a Cajun and a Louisiana native, reveals a flair for comedy in this uproarious debut novel.”
--Library Journal (starred review)

“Move over Stephanie and Bubbles you've got major competition tracking north from the Deep South. Bobby Faye might have had a very bad day but Toni McGee Causey is going to have a very good year. With Causey's debut novel (A Griffin Trade Paperback Original), Bobbie Faye's Very (very, very, very) Bad Day, Bobbie Faye Sumrall is out to capture both the hearts of spunky women everywhere and the minds of men ready for a challenge.”
-- Deadly Pleasures

“It's about time women had an Amazon to look up to… Bobbie Faye is a hurricane-force heroine who makes this novel the perfect adventure yarn.”
-- The Tampa Tribune

“This is an action comedy novel that will delight fans of the Ya Ya/Sweet Potato Queens genre. The pacing of the book will take your breath away.”
-- The Advocate

“If you like Janet Evanovich, if you’re looking for a lot of unlikely action (when is the last time someone you know escaped a burning boat by lassoing an oil rig?), or if you’re simply having a bad day, go out and find Bobbie Faye. She’s an outrageous hoot.”
-- The Times Picayune

“There are many things to love about this book --- the plot, the pacing, the dialogue --- but my own favorite element is the characterization… But if you want a short description of this great novel, think Die Hard in the swamp. And Bobbie Faye? She's a titanium magnolia.”
-- Bookreporter.com

A bientot

love,becky

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What's the old joke about the guy who is hitting himself on the head with a hammer? Why are you doing it, someone says. Because it feels so good when I stop.
Chitta-boom.
Mind you, I didn't get sick on purpose. But I sure appreciate feeling good when it is over. This illustration shows a sunrise, folks, not a sunset and it's supposed to indicate a rejuvenation, a starting over, and not to suggest Gothic spires of Dracula's castle, which is the other thing that it looks like.






I hate to say it, but my old friends, lovely delicious grapes, may have been at fault. I admit to overdoing it a bit where they are concerned. Last weekend I took them with me on my travels, ten bucks worth (that's a lotta grapes, dear reader) and have been pounding them down ever since. Both Stop and Shop and Hannaford's have good ones just now and they were only 97 cents a pound at Han's.





HOW COULD I RESIST? Meanwhile, the last bunch I had were rather evil looking--huge, eyeball-size globules from some malaria-infested jungle, brimming with tropical bacteria. Tasty, though.





Okay, enough about that already.





The optimism is palpable in class the first week. I always ask students to say where they are from and the very first young man said "I'm from Athol and I hate it." All right!!! Tell us how you really feel!! This led to other people saying they really did like their hometowns and it was turning into a civic lovefest by the end of the hour. ATHOL, WE LOVE YOU!!!!







This shot is very far from my reality. First of all, I don't wear a white coat, although maybe I should. Maybe I would look like a medical doctor and get kowtowed to, which could be satisfying. Then again, someone could ask me why they had a pain in their head and I'd have to answer. FROM YOUR HUGE PROTRUDING BRAIN--I'D GET THAT LOOKED AT IF I WERE YOU.

I don't think I've ever seen a student dressed up in nylons and a skirt. They pretty much arrive right from bed, in their pajamas sometimes with bed hair. The girls are usually a bit more kempt than the young men, but not always.

I'm just under 40,000 words on the nun book, which I will have to put aside for a while
A bientot
love,
becky

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