Category Archives: Humor

September 13, 2013 · 9:31 AM

A History of My Life as Told by Books -OOPS!

So I was rereading the first post in this series when I came across this line: “I was a huge horse fan (as you will see in one of my next posts).”

And I was all like…What? What did I mean by that? Why did Past Me set me up to be so confused?

And then it hit me.

The Thoroughbred series! Created by Joanna Campbell! I had meant to talk all about those books and completely forgot about them!

So here’s a quick add-on to the previous post (Middle Years).

I read thirty-nine of these books, if memory serves. The bookshelf in my room was 75% Thoroughbred books and 25% Everything Else. I still own them, though I think I’m missing a couple, and I intend to reread a few someday. They were such an important part of my preteen/early teen years that I can’t imagine not going through them at least once, just for nostalgia’s sake.

In the end, I’m kind of glad I forgot to include them in my last post. Why? Because I devoured these books. I followed Ashleigh and several other characters as they grew from children into adults and had children of their own. I’m thinking that means this series deserves its own post. It illustrates how significant Thoroughbred was to me. More importantly, since we’re going through my life through the books I read, the first book I ever tried to write was a “horse book.” Before The Dreamcatchers, I essentially stole a bunch of ideas from Thoroughbred and tried to write a book. It didn’t work out, but I was determined to try again. And that is basically how I came to write The Dreamcatchers. It wasn’t my first attempt, but it was my first completed attempt. And, in a small way, A Horse Called Wonder started it all.

There. Now I truly am done with my “middle years.”

No Word of the Day. It’s the same day as the previous post, so you already got one.

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Filed under books, Humor, writing

Tagged as A Horse Called Wonder, author, Books, humor, Joanna Campbell, reading, Thoroughbred, writing

September 13, 2013 · 9:07 AM

A History of My Life as Told by Books – The Middle Years

Just so we’re clear, by “middle years” I mean like…middle school. Not middle age. I haven’t quite reached middle age yet.

Anyway, I want to say that this’ll be a short post, but I can’t because I know myself better than that. I do only want to concentrate on a few books, though. I’d like to list them in the order that I read them, but I don’t know if that’s possible. You will find all of them on my Books I Recommend page.

To the best of my knowledge, I read The Phantom Tollbooth and The Last of the Really Great Whangdoodles before I ever read The Outsiders, but I could be making that up. Memory is a funny thing, after all. One thing I know I read before all of those is There’s a Boy in the Girls’ Bathroom, and that seems like a great place to start since it will transition nicely from the previous post’s picture books to this post’s “chapter books.”

This book is special to me because it is such a fun read that is rife with literary analysis potential (or LAP) despite being a book for children. As such, I would probably use this book as a jumping off point if I ever had my very own Creative Writing or English Literature class to teach. I probably wouldn’t use it for advanced college courses, but it would work for any class that needed an introduction to story telling and/or close reading and essay writing. Why? Because the main character, Bradley, has a very clear character arc. There’s conflict. There’s symbolism. There’s even a foil for Bradley – Jeff, the new kid. All that aside, it’s just a really interesting book that tugs at your heartstrings.

The Phantom Tollbooth is a book that tells a very unique story. To label it a “kids’ book” would be an injustice. I believe people of all ages could read and enjoy this book. Since this is supposed to be a history of my life through books, I’ll briefly touch on that. I saw a lot of myself in Milo (the protagonist). When the story opens, we find out that Milo is a bored ten-year-old who always wishes he were somewhere other than where he is, who can never entertain himself with the tools he already has at his disposal. This rang true for me. My mother will tell you (please don’t contact my mother) that I was a difficult child to please. There were plenty of things that could entertain me, but none of them were what I wanted right then. I always went to her with that tired complaint of “I’m boooored!” If I wasn’t complaining about that, it was only because I was glued to the television. Playing outside was a thing of the past. I was, and still can be, a lazy person. Reading of Milo’s adventures, sadly, did not change me profoundly. But it taught me that maybe I should change, and that’s got to count for something.

It’s hard for me to put into words what made The Last of the Really Great Whangdoodles so special to me. I suppose if I had to put it in a nutshell, it was the imagination. Julie Andrews painted a picture with her book, one that you can briefly glimpse when you look at the cover. She built a fantasy world with creatures never before heard of, and made you want to believe in them. I read this book again and again. I’ll still read it, once I’ve whiddled down the pile of as-yet-unread books I’m working on. It’s a really great adventure with thought-provoking, three-dimensional characters and a world I wished I could visit.

Ah yes, The Outsiders. I had to read this book for my eighth grade literature class, and I dragged my feet the whole way. I had already learned to dread assigned reading. Even if it was just a paltry two chapters a day, it was too much. I’d read the synopsis on the back and decided I wouldn’t like it. Then I started reading. And suddenly I couldn’t stop. The assignment was to read from chapters four to six? I read to the end. Part of it was that I had fallen head-over-heels in love with the boys in the book. I was twelve or thirteen at the time, right? It happens. The other part was that it opened my eyes. It’s almost cliche to say, but I had a very black-and-white view of the world when I was younger. Smoking=Bad. Gangs=Bad. And so on. When I saw that this book was about gang members, I didn’t understand how it could also be about good people. I just couldn’t grasp it. I swear this is true. Reading that book made me rethink many of my preconceived notions about the world and other people. It really, truly did. And I reread it many times after that.

So that’s it for that period in my life. I’ll probably do one more post about the more recent years and then call it quits.

Word of the Day: Paltry (adj) – Ridiculously or insultingly small.

A History of My Life as Told by Books – The Early Years

I’ve wanted to do another post for a while now, but I recently caught a cold that has left me quite angry at the way my immune system is running things. You’d think after more than twenty years of practice it would’ve gotten its act together, but no. So here I am, kinda feeling crappy and wanting to write a blog post, so I’m going to take the easy way out. I’m going to give you a brief history of my life using the books that I remember most fondly. We’ll be starting, obviously, with my early childhood.

My younger years were populated with picture books like any other kid’s. I grew up with the company of such characters as Amelia Bedelia and Aunt Isabel.

I learned to bake bread…

…well, maybe not. I don’t think we ever did try any of the recipes included in the book, but boy did they sound tasty! That’s got to count for something.

The most vivid memories I have are of Bill Peet’s wonderful stories, namely No Such Things and The Whingdingdilly, though How Droofus the Dragon Lost His Head was later thrown into the mix.

I was a huge horse fan (as you will see in one of my next posts). Still am. The horse-things on the cover of No Such Things appear later in the book, and my mother used to make black-and-white copies of their pages so we could color them in with our own designs and patterns. I’m sure she even has some of those pictures saved somewhere.

I have another memory of when I was first learning to read. There was a picture book about two sisters that I was reading to my mom. I don’t remember the title or even what happened in it, but I remember coming to the word “any” and guessing correctly that the “a” was pronounced like the “e” in “pet” and not like the “a” in “cat.” Which sort of leads me to something else…

I think the point of children’s books is that you are supposed to learn a lesson from them. And maybe I did, without even realizing it. I certainly learned to love reading. And maybe Stephanie’s Ponytail did teach me that I should be proud to be my own, unique self.

I don’t remember what Elizabeth and Larry taught me, but it did make me laugh.

I even read it out loud to my first grade class. They laughed, too.

These books didn’t necessarily shape my childhood, but they were an important part of it. I could really go on for hours about all the ones I read and loved.

Winnie the Witch taught me that you shouldn’t try to change others, and that thinking outside the box can help solve your problems…

I read my brother’s Magic School Bus books…

It took us two nights, but my mom and I loved every minute and every page of The Best Loved Doll…

These books will stay with me for a long time. And I hope to be able to read them to my own children one day. So that maybe when they’re all grown up they can blog about it. Or whatever futuristic equivalent they’ll have.

It makes me very happy to share these with you. Below I am pasting some more covers of books I remember and love, just because I believe they deserve to be recognized. If you think I left out any good ones, you should let me know.