Nonfiction Character Sketches

She wears her thin hair in a bun. She has homemade granola wrapped in sandwich bags and these inside tin boxes (from the dollar store) to give as gifts on Christmas. Her favorite subjects include: fundamentalist Christians, the Kabalah, my father, and the evils of Wal Mart. When she talks about something that she feels strongly about, her intensity can spread like infection, but it can also be so intense that it's terrifying, much like an out-of-control fire. If someone has an idea that she doesn't agree with, they'd better have a defense prepared.

He's cute when his brother isn't around. When he smiles, his dimples turn into quotes around his mouth. He paces around the house, looking down at his feet as though he's deep in thought. He wants to have fun and to be funny. "You're not the boss of me" and "That's stupid" are two of his favorite sayings. He is excellent at entertaining himself: legos, puzzles, and books keeping him occupied for hours. He talks to himself while in the bathroom. Every morning he plops the advent calendar marker into the pocket marking the next day: December 22. Three days until Christmas.

He's tall and skinny, but his stomach is as flat and hard as a board. He's always smiling and moves his hands when he talks. He talks about everything; God, his parents, tomatoes, "My Side of the Mountain" and other books, and trees. He hikes whenever possible, although finding time to do so is like finding water in the desert--it can happen, but probability is highly unlikely. He visits Idaho whenever he can, and the Kasino Club is his favorite bar; he swing-dances with strangers. He can also waltz, dance goth, and dance dirty. Like his range of subjects, he wants to live in a range of places.

Stealing because it's the right thing to do

This is a true story told to me by someone connected with my family.

So I’m standing in Yelena's kitchen, and she’s sitting on this white, royal-looking chair next to the back door. We’re both eating some of this stuff she made; it’s like a cookie made of almonds and marshmellows drowned in chocolate and then frozen. It’s crunchy and sweet and the marshmellows make it squishy. Abby, the golden dingo, keeps sitting in front of me raising her paw begging for a handout.

“So I noticed that Isabel has all this new stuff, and I asked if she’s been stealing it from Walmart,” she said. “At first she said no, but then she said yes. She said, ‘Oh but mom, I only steal stuff when I see a manager being mean to an employee because I don’t think they should be treated that way.’”

“So did you tell her it was wrong to steal?” I asked.

“Oh yeah. I told her that stealing shit from them just hurts the people making the stuff in other countries. They notice how much money they’re losing on the stuff that’s being stolen, so they lower the price and pay the workers less money, so they can get away with it.”

“Wow, a normal parent would have just said that stealing is wrong and they could go to jail for doing it.”

“Yeah, well, a normal kid would have said , ‘well I’m just doing it because you won’t give me money.’”

Falling in

Yellow leaves swamping the driveway
quick hikes in the setting sun
and cool nights reading about the west
boil a feeling that makes me want to
rip out my hair and
leave marks in the wall
grab on and hold tight
until it lies still as a rotten stump


But I see wheat hair
lake-clear eyes
legs strong living branches
voice an energetic wind
words staggered as an outcropping


I fall into the feeling


your hands on my face


fingers like twigs pulling at my hair

and sink into you like quicksand

More afraid of letting go than falling

in

Vines

Vines. I am like a vine. I do not grow straight up. I learn to lean on others to reach my place in life; I try not to destroy these objects which I lean on. I just wrap around them and climb. I don't necessarily know what I want right away, so much of my time is spent winding my way through ideas until I choose a tall live one for climbing.

Sometimes I sprout many leaves of thought, and other times it's only a beautiful flower or two, without much in terms of body. I am very talented at writing flowery metaphors and scenes, but sometimes this skill is a hindrance, as it can make it difficult to get my thoughts across.

Fire Love

Love: Terrifying and alluring.

If it was a sure thing, there would be no allure.

If it was caught in a net like a dying butterfly, it would be buried and forgotten. It needs to fight like a hornet, struggling to find a way out, unsure of whether or not it should use that painful stinger.

It is a dance where he is pulled into my space and I push him out of it. We switch places.

It's when sometimes we join, and sometimes we go our separate ways.

Always he is on my mind and I can't shut it off like a mere lightswitch.

It is a dazzling dangerous fire that has crept beyond the fireplace and is creeping across the floor, intent on destroying everything.

Without those flames, the cold would creep in and under the sheets.

I'd rather it threaten to burn the house down than go out and leave only darkness in its wake. Just another writer writing, trying to keep the cold away.

My couchsurf/trip to Idaho blog!

Click here to see my cross-country blog: http://couchsurfingusa.blogspot.com/

White Cat by Holly Black

BOOK ONE

WHITE CAT

From the back page:

Cassel comes from a family of curse workers — people who have the power to change your emotions, your memories, your luck, by the slightest touch of their hands. And since curse work is illegal, they're all mobsters, or con artists. Except for Cassel. He hasn't got the magic touch, so he's an outsider, the straight kid in a crooked family. You just have to ignore one small detail — he killed his best friend, Lila, three years ago.

Ever since, Cassel has carefully built up a façade of normalcy, blending into the crowd. But his façade starts crumbling when he starts sleepwalking, propelled into the night by terrifying dreams about a white cat that wants to tell him something. He's noticing other disturbing things, too, including the strange behavior of his two brothers. They are keeping secrets from him, caught up in a mysterious plot. As Cassel begins to suspect he's part of a huge con game, he also wonders what really happened to Lila. Could she still be alive? To find that out, Cassel will have to out-con the conmen.

Holly Black has created a gripping tale of mobsters and dark magic where a single touch can bring love — or death — and your dreams might be more real than your memories.

My review:

Whenever someone tries to tell me I won't figure out what it is they're lying about or hiding, I have to try to think about all the things they could possibly be talking about. So when I read the above description of Holly Black's new book "White Cat," (book 1 in what may turn into a series) I had to try guessing what would happen. She tricked me a few times--but I figured out one deceit a few chapters before I think she'd have liked. This is a book for mystery fanatics and Young Adults alike--it's got plenty of action, with calm points, as well as some healthy suspense.

The characters are fun and untrustworthy and you won't know whether or not you should like Cassel--I wasn't sure either when I began the book. Give it a chance and read this excellent new book by Holly Black. I don't want to say too much or I might give something away. It's also difficult for me to write a long review of a book I have few problems with.

Holly Black has written children's books ("The Spiderwick Chronicles"), graphic novels ("The Good Neighbors"), and Young Adult books (three book about faeries: "Tithe," "Valient," and "Ironside"). The sequel to White Cat is out and a third is on the way. If you haven't read anything by Black, now is your chance--she has a number of short stories published in anthologies as well. Find one!