I was obsessing again . . .
This blogroll thing -- namely, the difficulty I have in keeping up with our blogroll on a daily basis -- has been weighing on my mind. And, of course, I have come up with a solution that won't do much to solve that problem.
But it will improve the blogroll.
And so we add to our official roll the weblogs of two of our favorite writers, both contributors to R&W Blog — R.J. Keller and Jennifer Weber. Their sites are, respectively, Ingenious Title To Appear Here Later and I’m Having A Thought Here.
I figured we might as well add them. I read them all the time, anyway. To make room (mostly in my reading schedule), I’ve shifted philosophy of art to our inactive list and said goodbye to Riding with the Top Down.*
R.J. Keller, whose novel, Waiting for Spring, we are serializing by chapters here, is in real life a Maine resident named Kelly Hewins who lives in a small town with her husband, two children, a family cat, and works overnight in a local convenience store when she isn’t writing a novel, screenplay or blog entry.
Although not a native, I lived in Maine some years as a child in its small towns and as an adult in one of its cities, and not only Hewins but the characters in Waiting for Spring come across to me as real Mainers. The state isn’t just some quaint place with simple but happy natives. There’s a lot of sadness in Maine — and that gives rise to some of the best, and smartest, humor I’ve experienced. It is, as they say, wicked.
Just read Hewins’ three-entry series May 13-18 called ‘No Pants Lady,’ an account of an early-morning patron at the convenience store. The title gives you the premise, and Hewins’ ability with words gives you the bitter and sweet of life in small-town Maine.
(You also may be as amused as I was at some of her cultural references ranging from “Law & Order” and “South Park” [Cartman’s ‘authori-tah’] to Alfred Hitchcock’s ‘MacGuffin’ and the Fuller Brush man, something I used to be briefly in one of my aimless years.)
Jenny Weber, whose poetry we published and wrote about in our May 15 entry, is one of those Southern belles — Columbia, S.C. — in whom, I learned while living in Savannah, Ga., one should not confuse gentility and charm with tractability.
The woman has both a backbone and an attitude. She tells her readers right at the top of her weblog that it “doesn’t pretend to be rocket science so if that’s what you’re looking for, go to www.NASA.gov. Also I have a tendency to be sarcastic, so if that kind of thing distresses you or causes you to become dyspeptic, you might want to go and see if the Easter bunny has a blog.”
Then, always the charmer, she adds: “But I sure hope you stay.”
Much of her blog writing is about her family — her husband, Greg, their four children and two grandchildren — and much of it is delivered with a gentle humor. It’s that gentility that produces some of the humor — for example, when she caught me off guard in a June 6 entry about seeing her first Chicago Cubs game at Wrigley Field in 1982 when she was pregnant with their first daughter:
Other than the fact that I had no desire to go to the game in the first place, I remember exactly three things about that day: (1) I was nauseated and retaining water; (2) it was approximately 105 degrees in the shade so we made every effort to stay out of the shade; and (3) we parked in Wisconsin to avoid paying what they charged for parking near the venue.
I smiled at her discomfort and lack of desire to be there, and parking in Wisconsin seemed funny, too, but I missed the zinger about the temperature until I reread it. I think Greg may have paid for that ‘every effort to stay out of the shade.’
Today’s new offerings in Works:
• Chapter Eight of R.J. Keller’s Waiting for Spring: Tess is disturbed to see Brian’s younger sister hanging out with an unsavory guy in a sports bar and then finds herself approached by an equally sleazy one. She feels it’s time to paint again, to put some fresh life on canvas.
• Chapter 20: Shrader Street of Gerard Jones’ Ginny Good: After their first acid trip together, Gerard and Ginny take a new apartment in San Francisco and host a variety of roommates and other strangers.
– Sid Leavitt
NOTES:
*I enjoy RWTTD, but it’s a webring of nine women writers, and our two additions make that category disproportionate on a blogroll that is supposed to be diverse. Besides, the RWTTD writers blog a lot about their work, and when it comes to women writers who write about writing (whew), we’ve got the best — Bernita Harris. As for philosophy of art, it’s been quiet since Jan. 2, a long pause even for philosophers.
By the way, the subhead on the scroll at top is borrowed from the old TV series “Night Court” in which a young judge played by Harry Anderson is occasionally visited by his father, a former mental patient played by John Astin. The father’s stories about his past weird behavior, told with Astin’s goofy grin, always end with, “but I’m feeling much better now.”
Posted in Uncategorized |
June 19, 2008 at 7:28 am
An entirely undeserved compliment, Sid, but very nice of you. Thank you.
June 19, 2008 at 8:23 am
Undeserved? Are you kidding? Bernita, you’re the best.
All of which elongates my wind for the following discussion about the word ‘compliment’:
I’ve always been a little uncomfortable with the word because way, way in the back of my mind is the implication that a compliment may be based on an untruth — that it, in fact, may have a component of flattery to it. And sure enough, as I browsed the Online Etymology Dictionary, I found that the word’s Latin root is complere, meaning “to complete,” as in “to complete the obligations of politeness.”
So there it is — something done out of obligation. And this is my long-winded way of saying that no ‘compliment’ — at least in that sense — was intended. Or, as we used to say in the newspaper business: We don’t make up the news, we just report it.
That’s all I was doing. But I am flattered that you would thank me for it.
So thank you, and continued best wishes.
June 19, 2008 at 9:42 am
So, how is this writing thing going for you, Sid? You know, it’s never to late to take you back into the flock, especially when you have experience selling the Fuller line. LOL
June 19, 2008 at 3:36 pm
Dan, I just checked out the Fuller Brush page, and it was like going back in time. The brushes still look to have that same high quality, and the personal care products look great, too, although they’re different from those I sold during the Kennedy administration. In those days, the company made an aftershave — an aquamarine color, as I recall — that came in a squarish bottle with a medallion on it. Smelled great. I loved that stuff.
By the way, I think I noticed it at the time the acquisition happened, but I was happy to see on your page that Stanley Home Products is now part of the Fuller system. We used to consider the Stanley people more serious competition than even the Avon people.
The reason my Fuller experience was brief had nothing to do with the products or the company — great quality, great training — but because, as I said in the post, I really was aimless in those years. So aimless that Uncle snapped me up into the Army.
So thanks, Dan, for stopping by our door. Always glad to see the Fuller Brush Man.
June 19, 2008 at 5:45 pm
I just want to say here that seldom have I encountered a more generous, supportive and sincere gentleman than Sid Leavitt. In addition to his immense talent as a writer, Sid consistently demonstrates a willingness to promote and encourage writers who write simply because they must. The value of this to the writer is immeasurable.
As for me, when it comes to writing, I am completely devoid of credentials except for the pressing need … nay, the compulsion … to write that grips me more tightly each day. If you can call that a credential, which I doubt.
I certainly do not belong in the company of stellar writers like R.J. Keller, whom I greatly admire, or even Sid himself. I have learned so much from them both, and indeed from all the writers featured here. I wish I had more time to read and re-read each and every word.
But like the prophet crying in the wilderness, a writer is ecstatic when even one human soul listens. Sid, thank you for listening. I owe you a great deal.
~Jenny
June 19, 2008 at 5:47 pm
Wow, Jenny, I am speechless. Not only do you call me a good guy, but then a comparison involving Isaiah.
I know you’re not comparing me with the prophet, but I was brought up in an Old Testament-type church. Unfortunately, if I were crying in the wilderness, it wouldn’t be about making the highway straight but about filling its potholes of intolerance.
At any rate, your words are too kind. In fact, there’s a lot of kindness in your weblog. Which is one of the reasons it’s now on our blogroll.
June 19, 2008 at 6:48 pm
You go a long way towards filling the potholes of intolerance, Sid … an endeavor that, in its own fashion, helps to make the way straight. And it is much appreciated!
June 21, 2008 at 1:52 pm
Sid is the man.
As much as he likes to compliment us for what we do, I think he’s the one who deserves the kudos for the stable of writers he’s gathered under his banner.
June 21, 2008 at 2:52 pm
Oooo, I like being the man. Or, as the cyberspace cognoscenti would say, teh man. (What is up with that, by the way?)
Anyway, thanks, Steve. You’re teh man, too.
June 21, 2008 at 3:47 pm
lol@sid
Yeah, I hate what teh internets has done to English, too.
June 22, 2008 at 11:34 am
Thanks a million, Sid! What a “wonderful welcome home from vacation.”
Please let me echo Jenny Weber’s words about Sid:
“…seldom have I encountered a more generous, supportive and sincere gentleman than Sid Leavitt. In addition to his immense talent as a writer, Sid consistently demonstrates a willingness to promote and encourage writers who write simply because they must. The value of this to the writer is immeasurable.”
Try as I might, I couldn’t have said it better myself.
June 22, 2008 at 1:17 pm
Gee, now I’m a good guy in stereo.
Well, thanks, R.J., and welcome back.
June 23, 2008 at 6:52 pm
And that’s the first and only time I might have written something better than you could do, R.J.!