Readin' n' Writin'

In the third grade, I selected a book from the school library called "Mickey Mouse Sees the USA." It was illustrated. I struggled through this literary epic, it was the first book I remember reading myself. My Mom had read "Horton the Elephant," still a memorable favorite, to me, but the Mickey Mouse book was my own achievement. I remember being very proud.

In the sixth grade, every one was reading the "Black Stallion" series. I was no exception. I refused to read "Black Beauty" because it was written by a woman. The girls loved it, but none of the boys would read it. I devoured the Hardy Boys and a number of other books.

Early in high school, I read "Of Mice and Men," my first venture into serious literature with no happy ending. I was taken by George and Lenny with their tragic lives lacking advantages I had. This began a literary "moody period" which would last into my college years. My children would claim that it lasted through their college years, but that is another story. I enjoyed Hemingway, more Steinbeck and a smattering of westerns. As a senior in high school, I tried some Shakespeare, but found a play was harder to read.

The point is, I read. Maybe even more so, my parents read. I remember a variety of books by their night stands and a full book case at home. Some of their books now sit in my bookshelf. Strangely, my parents never went to the library. If they wanted to read something, they bought it. My first real job was in a bookstore in Modesto, California. I was 13 and paid $1.00 per hour. It was magical, except for trying to make change.

The combination of my primal employment and my parents buying or borrowing books led me to believe that to read was to buy. I did check out books in high school, but after that I bought exclusively. Checking a book out of the library is like having an acquaintance. Buying a book is like having a friend to visit whenever you'd like and it is easier to quote favorite authors. My purchases now fill a room and are spilling over into other rooms. My wife gently suggests that it may be time to donate some books to a cause. Which of my "friends" do I want to give up? The question is enhanced by the fact that in my older years I have developed a tendency to forget which books I own and occasionally purchase duplicates. When I discover my error, I quickly pass the duplicate onto one of my children or gift it to someone outside the household.

I was a sophomore in high school when I was assigned to write a short story. I concocted it, separate it into three parts (I, II, III), made the plot complex and included a surprise ending. It was a page and a half hand written. My Mom thought it was a high school masterpiece. I was sure it would win a prize of some sort. My English teacher was confused by the three parts (I, II, III) and I received a C+ for my efforts. It was a typical grade for me. Someone once said C students rule the world. I have not found that to be true.

I fell in love with writing. Dad had been a newspaper reporter after he graduated from high school and good writing was considered an art form in our family. Secretly, I think being a reporter was Dad's favorite job. Dad was very good at what he did and loved, when traveling, to compose and send postcards which would humor and amuse his friends. He wrote several short stories when he was in high school. The most famous of these was "The Red Rose Method" in which a letter writer shares his efforts to woo a beautiful young lady with red roses. It doesn't work. He is spurned. Throughout the story, he discusses his efforts with the girl next door, seeking her advice, and, in the end, sends one last letter stating that he is tying the knot with the girl next door. It was a fun piece and I'm sure, if Dad had tried, it could have been published.

I've never been published and never hope to be. The world of blogs gives anyone who enjoys writing, and I do, an opportunity to express themselves. Anyone who would like may read. At the last look, I had five followers. No crowds have come clamoring for more. I kind of like it that way. Those who read don't expect much and get what they have paid for. I get tactile keyboard therapy and that is good. If I come across a copy of the "The Red Rose Method," I will post it here, but I think it has been lost to the dusty deterioration of the bottom of saome box. Dad should have put it on papyrus!

For those of you wondering about 'rithmetic, we don't go there. I'm still trying to balance a checkbook.

A book review: Pride and Prejudice

Just a little over a hundred years ago, Mark Twain made the following comment about Jane Austen. The first reference is to another author. Twain was aware of gender differences. "To me his prose is unreadable -- like Jane Austin's [sic]. No there is a difference. I could read his prose on salary, but not Jane's. Jane is entirely impossible. It seems a great pity that they allowed her to die a natural death."
- Letter to W. D. Howells, 18 January 1909

Mark Twain was a cynic. I am not a cynic. I do not have such strong feelings about Jane Austen's works, although "Pride and Prejudice" is the only book of hers that I have read or will ever read. I read "Pride and Prejudice" because I have a wonderful and lovely daughter-in-law who's opinion I trust. She loves Jane Austen's books and has read each a number of times. I just had to see what it was all about, so I decided upon "Pride and Prejudice," which is supposed to be Austen's best.

Now, finally to the review. I thought it would have been better if Austen had included some fist fights and several explosions. For any who think that I may not have finished the review, this is the end.