Book club at the White House

Mary mentioned to me that the President's reading list included one of the books I read and mentioned on the blog. I was surprised for several reasons.
A. Mary actually read and remembered what I blathered about a book I read...that it was written by a guy who wrote for The Wire even. (And going back to read the post, I am clearly not a book critic or reviewer. As I recall, I really enjoyed reading this book and it's a little hard to tell from what I wrote. Still, I think Mr. Price will be OK.)

B. I read it in April. I can't remember what I read last week.

C. This time, I was able to pull the title (Lush Life) but not the author, from the stack of books that have occupied my brain. (Maybe he was buried under Jim Butcher/Harry Dresden. I am so eclectic, right?)

D. And now a president's reading it too? So, like, if I were invited up to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue when I'm in the neighborhood, I could discuss with Mr. President the benefits of telling the story from so many points of view, how dialogue contributes to character development and story, or maybe even what makes a hero a hero? Right. After I managed to stop giggling the nervous laughter of someone completely outclassed and outsmarted and outcooled, we could totally talk books. We have this one in common.

E. Still, we have this one in common. And I could read the others in time for the book club. Really, I could. I think. If Mr. President can do it in a week (I think someone said 300 pages a day), I probably can too. I don't have the world to run, but I might have to turn off the television.

Here's the list:

The Way Home by George Pelecanos

Hot, Flat, and Crowded by Thomas Friedman

Lush Life by Richard Price

Plainsong by Kent Haruf

John Adams by David McCullough

And if you search the internets, you can find a collection of posts on what this list means, why it isn't true but a spin developed by Obama's people, a comparison of Obama to Bush (more literary) and Clinton (a little less literary), and one critic even fears Obama might turn out to be another "drippy dreamer" (Jimmy Carter if I read the story correctly) because of the amount of fiction on the list instead of improving nonfiction that men his age should read (I'm going to go humor, but it's hard to tell sometimes).

I say:
This is another reason I'm glad not to be the leader of the free world. I reads what I wants, when I wants. I don't even have to tell 'em what I'm packing for vacation if I don't want to.

And how cool would it be to one of those 5 writers?

I should thank Laura Castoro for this overlap since she read part of Lush Life in a workshop and I was hooked from there. Probably she should be in the book club too. Then she could talk to him and I could sit in the corner and just be. And listen.

And also, I'm completely available for book club discussions, Mr. President. Seriously. Just give me a week or so to catch up. And 2 or 3 hours to kill the nervous giggles. And could we start with the Pelecanos book? I'd sorta already decided to check it out. Or Plainsong will work. I'm a little more drippy dreamer myself and choose fiction first, especially when I'm on vacation.

I have a vacation coming up...I should see what that have at the library. Just in case I need to be ready quickly. I'll probably tell you what I'm reading, but don't judge me for it, 'k?

Or if you like your books pretty...

The theme of this book conversation is "Try it. You might like it."
After the writing workshop I attended, I was curious about Laura Castoro's books. She's published 39 of them, and I, voracious reader and all, hadn't read any. And she's a local. And she's very funny in person, very likable...so even though I don't as a rule read "chick lit", not because of excessively high standards or anything 'cause I like a good romance or teenage vampire book just as much as the next girl but more because I want a happy ending and that just isn't always guaranteed with chick lit as I understand it and there is a whole lot of pink involved usually and I don't usually go for pink. Was that a complete sentence? I'm not going back, moving forward.

Here's the copy from Amazon to tell you the story of "Icing on the Cake."

The author of A New Lu (2005) returns with a tale of two businesses run by one woman. After her husband left her for the much younger Brandi, Liz Talbot throws herself into her burgeoning venture, the No-Bagel Bakery. Liz is hoping, despite the lingering fear of all things containing carbs, that her store will succeed nationally and be made into a franchise. But ex-hubby Teddy manages to throw a wrench in her plans when he has a fatal fall while on a mountain bike ride with his new wife. Liz is stunned to learn he hasn't changed his will, leaving her in charge of Talbot Advertising, the company they built together. Brandi is none too pleased, and immediately gets an injunction, forcing the unlikely pair to work together. Castoro's winning tale of a woman coming into her own in midlife will no doubt make fans of readers searching for novels that go beyond the usual focus of chick lit.

And I enjoyed this as much as I hoped I would after hearing Laura Castoro. Liz is funny, her life is funny, and she ends up with a guy called TRD (until they all know his name). And any time the hero looks like The Rock's Dad (or just an older version of The Rock), I'm in. Liz is a woman of a "certain age" (47 if you were wondering) who is building her life after divorce, dealing with adult kids and a mother who's not quite as adult. I laughed, I learned about spray tans, the dangers of paper swimsuits, and baking bread, and Liz triumphs in the end...having her cake and eating it too.

(And Liz enjoys a few steamy episodes with TRD. That's a warning for some and a selling point for others. Take it as you will.)

Laura is taking part in the Arkansas Literary Festival, so if you're local you can check her out on Sunday afternoon.

I Heart Writers. And words. And also books.

I'm not sure how many of you around here remember this, but I resolved to write my version of the great American novel (or maybe just something that could be published by a small publishing house and sell maybe 3 copies, because surely I know 3 people who'd take my book if I bought it and gave them a copy. Right?). I think I've decided that I'm more of a storyteller than a writer, and one doesn't really preclude the other, but to me the difference has to do with imagination. I tell stories about things that have happened to me. I have less confidence in my ability to create people and inflict some of those same experiences on them. Still, this post has nothing to do with that, so never mind.

This weekend, I did something new in my quest to get my writer's hat screwed on straight. I went to a workshop, sponsored by a local writer's group. And I had Such. A. Good. Time! Really. I did. A great time. There's just something about being surrounded by people who love books and stories and words and this was a room of 50 such people. And the leader was Laura Parker Castoro, a writer from Pine Bluff (that's Arkansas) with 39 published titles. Like, published so that you can check them out from the library or buy them on Amazon. How cool would it be to enter your name on Amazon, my favorite place in the world, and turn up a list of books with your name on them? And she's a real person and everything.

I am a dork. It's OK for us all to admit that. And people who have books out there in the world that people buy leave me a little tongue-tied. (Anybody remember my B&N encounter with Debbie Macomber? I'm pretty sure I don't make a good impression either. Still, Emilie Richards did tell me about a house for rent down the street when I threatened to move to Virginia to be close to all the Pat and Emilie fun, so maybe all hope is not lost. I think I improve on closer inspection. I didn't try my chances with Laura Castoro. Pine Bluff is pretty close. She might worry.)

It was a good day, with conversation on character, dialogue, and plot. She illustrated her points from her own books and from best sellers. And there were critiques of a few short stories. Thank goodness I missed the deadline because the writer had to own up to the story...after the critique. In front of 50 people! Actually, in front of 50 writers! And as I have some idea of the skill of the writer sitting next to me, I'm not sure those stories were representative of all the skill in the room. Flashes of my college Creative Writing course came back and I was reminded why I should never write anything. Ever. Even though those experiences went well...there's always the threat of the next one. Or worse, an unspoken critique, consisting of laughing and pointing. That one's mainly in my head but I think it keeps me from the keyboard.

Fired up by the day, I did manage to write an impressive 909 words though. I'm just burning right through it. Maybe the great American novella is a more likely goal. And a year...well, why rush mediocrity? Or greatness? I figure I've got a 50/50 shot.