My twitter page appears to be working again. Am I the only person who can't access their twitter page at least 50% of the time - because I keep noticing that other people are still updating their pages on the days when I am struggling to get anything to post?
If my twitter page is actually still working in the morning - and that seems to be a big if lately - then I'm going to be posting tomorrow's book over there in the morning. I'm going to start posting it over there from now on - but with my twitter page only working part of the time, I can't guarantee that the book will be posted every day.
Today's book, "Here at last is the book "Jo" wrote. Generations of fans have longed to plumb the romance, hinted at so captivatingly on the pages of Little Women, Alcott's autobiographical classic. Now, after nearly one hundred fifty years spent among archived family documents, Louisa May Alcott's debut novel finally reaches its eager public. Set in an English country manor, the story follows the turbulent fortunes of Edith Adelon, an impoverished Italian orphan whose loyalty and beauty win her the patronage of wealthy friends until a jealous rival contrives to rob her of her position."
Shallow thoughts:
- I picked today's book because it was short - there I said it, I'm lazy and I wanted to read a short book. Actually it was so much that I wanted to read a short book, but that I needed to because I decided it was time to organize my entire life. In other words, I lost the DVD remote and it was either get more organized or spend the rest of my life living a Dallas-free existence - and who am I kidding, that second one isn't even a real option. As of this moment, eight hours into the organization attempt, I still have not located the remote. But I know it's just got to be there somewhere.
- I got halfway through today's book and had one of those "Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap, I think I already read today's book" moments - resulting in a desperate search through my blog archives list to double check. I believe that's the second, or third, time that's happened this year. Common sense would probably tell a person, at this point, that maybe I should actually check the blog archives before I sit down to read a book - what a novel idea (I swear, I did not make that lame joke on purpose, I didn't even realize it until after I wrote it.) I actually did begin making a book schedule a few days ago, because I'm kind of tired of trying to figure out what I'm going to read on the day I'm reading it. I need to get more organized about this blogging thing (how sad that it took me 7 1/2 months to figure that out.)
- I have a certain affection for all Louisa May Alcott books - even the ones whose plot I don't care for, like today's book - because it was Louisa May Alcott who filled my head with wonderful thoughts of what it would be like to get a book published. Well, to be fair, L.M. Montgomery helped in that department as well. But it was in a Louisa May Alcott book that I read a scene involving someone getting an acceptance letter in the mail, which led to me having some pretend time on the way to my own mail box. I knew, even a a child, that I wanted to be a writer - and so, from the age of 8 until about 13, I would practice getting my first acceptance letter. And when I say practice, I mean I would fold up a piece of paper, stick it in an envelope, put it in the mailbox and spend ridiculous amounts of time going to the mailbox and pretending to open that very exciting letter. And I'm afraid to have to tell you dear readers, that I didn't just discretely do this once and then be done with it. No, I would often spend an hour or more, going back and forth to the mailbox. I'm sure the neighbors were all looking outside thinking What the hell is she doing out there? But I didn't care what they thought, because I was too busy trying to decide whether I would respond with laughter or tears (I eventually settled on a mixture of both), walking slowly back to the house to tell people or running (I decided walking would be best, because even though the moment would be exciting, I wanted to think I would still handle it with grace and running just didn't convey that enough), and whether I would tell people in a quiet voice or yell out "I'm an author, I'm an author," like Jo March did in Little Women (definitely quiet voice, because I'm not crazy about the word author.) As you can see, I've always been just a little bit odd.
- Despite my great affection for Louisa May Alcott, I didn't like today's book all that much. It was awful - but it lacked the warmth and charm that Little Women has, and I had a hard time getting in to the story. I also had some seriously issues with one of the main characters, Edith. I'm pretty sure I was supposed to be rooting for her, but she was such a doormat that I spent the whole book feeling like I wanted to slap her around a few times and tell her, "Grow a spine." I don't enjoy weak characters, not even the ones that I'm supposed to admire because they're so sweet and good (which is why I could never stand Mary Ingalls.) My recommendation would be to skip this book and read Little Women instead.
