Books I read in 2015

2015 was not a banner year for reading for me. In retrospect, I should have embraced the way my reading patterns were looking early on (e-books versus paper) and adjusted accordingly. I didn't, and I ended up just reading a lot of mystery novels I'd already downloaded to my phone and not making much of a dent in my physical TBR pile. Oh well. Here is what I read by the numbers, following how I broke it down in 2014 and 2013. Not much comparative analysis is needed except to say that I read a lot less of everything. You can see what I read here on the 50 Book pledge page.

40 books

By genre

32 novels*
3 young adult
1 graphic novel
1 how-to guide
1 short-story collection
1 memoir
1 poetry collection

* 26 of the novels were straight-up mystery novels or thrillers....only six were what would usually be called literary novels.

By nation

7 Canada
2 Canada/U.S. (i.e. Canadians who live in the States, otherwise known as a distinction probably not worth making)
4 United States
3 U.K.
1 Japan

By gender

37 books by 14 women
3 books by 3 men

It turns out that almost all the books I read this year were in e-book format, either on my phone or on my Kobo. Only five of them were read on paper. This has got to be a new record for me in and of itself. But then again, this is the first year I've had an actual e-reader.

The books I flat-out enjoyed the most? Purity by Jonathan Franzen and Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel. The latter I picked up with some trepidation as for a number of years I've been working on a project prominently featuring a modern-day plague, and it is always nerve-wracking when another writer publishes something that seems as though it might be similar to your own work-in-progress. But apart from featuring a plague, the works are (of course) totally different and Station Eleven is a brilliant novel you should definitely pick up if you haven't already. (It is also on the Canada Reads longlist alongside Bone and Bread...cue squee. Station Eleven is so well imagined and the writing is so clean and the book just seems to contain so much in all the best ways. Purity by Franzen also shares all those qualities.)

But the book that had the greatest (in every sense) impact on my life? The wildly popular decluttering book The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up by Marie Kondo. Really, I cannot say enough about this book. It has helped me get rid of bags and bags of stuff, and though I am still not anywhere close to finished, given how much stuff I started out with, it has helped me enormously and put me on the right path (I hope) to managing all the material goods that share my space.

Here's to a book-filled and even more decluttered 2016!

Metaphysical Conceit watches the movie before reading the book

The movie is White Oleander, which I watched long time ago without knowing it was based on a book. I rewatched it a couple of years ago because I remembered really liking it, and I enjoyed it even more the second time. That was when I found out it was based on a 1999 novel by Janet Fitch, and I kept my eyes open for a copy until I finally picked one up at a secondhand bookstore.

The one I found is the movie tie-in version of the book, which I always do my best to avoid buying, but in this case, it's no more than I deserve, right?  

Movie tie-in cover --- one notch above or below Oprah's Book Club edition??

I read it on vacation in North and South Carolina. I felt like the movie does a good job of capturing the essence of the novel, although there are whole sections left out of the film for reasons of length. 

It's about a girl whose mother is an eccentric, self-centred poet who ends up convicted of murdering her ex-boyfriend. Her daughter is shuffled from foster home to foster home throughout her adolescence. It's sad and hopeful and full of fascinating female characters. 

Recommended!

January cures

I’m slowly reading The Little Friend. It’s unfortunate that there doesn’t seem to be much time for reading these days. I know that a major part of the reason I managed to read 50 books last year was largely because of the first five months of the year in which I was taking the subway every day.  It makes me a little sad to think about all the reading I was doing over the holidays and how the only book I’ve managed to finish in the past couple of weeks was Deenie. But that’s modern life these days– overly scheduled busy-ness. I was reflecting this morning that for someone who prefers to be at home, I definitely seem to spend a lot of time out of the house…

But it’s a hard thing to complain about when I’m doing so many things I enjoy. I met with my writers group this week, which was immensely helpful not only for the insightful feedback but also for the deadline to produce something. Deadlines are a gift! If I can stay on track to produce a story or a chapter every month for the rest of the year, as per my 2014 resolutions, I will definitely be in good shape to finish one of the things I’m working on right now. It’s so exciting to look at a project and realize that you’re past the halfway point to a complete first draft.

The January Cure on Apartment Therapy is continuing to inspire me. I haven’t completed all the daily assignments (some aren’t really applicable…and some are TOO applicable/impossible right now, if you know what I mean), but I’ve done a few and have gone above and beyond on some of the others. I did a quick reorganization on my closet after I finally switched up my summer and winter wardrobes, and now that my hangers are full of things I haven’t looked at (much less worn) in months, I’ve got that impatient, tingly feeling that suggests I might be able to get rid of a few more things soon. I have too many skirts where the waistline is at my hips (why??) that I never feel good wearing anymore.  And though there is something nice about my thrifted cashmere sweaters (um, mostly that they are super soft lovely cashmere), none of them are cut to fit in contemporary or flattering ways. You’d think the fact that I paid $1 for each of them would make it easier to let them go, but I get so excited about bargains and thrifty finds that sometimes it actually makes it harder.

The other good thing about organizing my closet – even with the rushed, incomplete job I did – is remembering what clothes I have and actually wearing them. This is another good reason to try to thin things out: so that I can actually see what’s there. It has been a major help to have most of my dresses temporarily packed away because I have a lot of them. (With dresses, it is definitely harder to concede that there are too many. There are just enough!)

I’ve still been taking a photo every day, but at least half of them are pretty mediocre or random selfies. This one probably seems equally random, but it was a lovely breakfast prepared by my husband last weekend:

The most important meal...of the week

Yum!! In other news, I am really ready for this cold weather to be over. It's so stabby cold and sunny bright out there that it reminds of me of Winnipeg. I can hardly wait for it to be -16 tomorrow, which is rather a sad observation.

My favourite book of 2014

There’s something wonderful and terrible about finishing what you’re sure will be your favourite book of 2014 on January 2nd. That’s when I finished The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt.

It’s wonderfully Dickensian, and I loved it from the first page. I had to force myself to put it down now and then so that I wouldn’t finish it too quickly. It’s hard not to feel that an ~800 page book ought to last longer than two days.

Read it!

Books I read in 2013

This year is the first year I've ever kept a list of the books I read, mostly thanks to joining Goodreads last December.  I took an inordinate amount of pleasure in tracking my progress in the 2013 Reading Challenge, for which I set a modest goal of 34 books. Modest --- and at the same time more than what I would probably have read in years past. It's hard to tell for sure, though, since I've never kept a list. 

Once I saw that I was on track for reading fifty books, I joined the 50 Book Pledge site, which has a very satisfying shelf graphic. 

You can see what I read here.

The list doesn't truly reflect the number of pages read in 2013.  I didn't include rereads as part of the count, which this year tended to be Victorian novels that I read here and there on my phone (it seems wrong not to count Dickens, even as a reread, but there you go). There are also some books (four or five) I abandoned halfway, which obviously are not part of the list either. A few of these abandonments were only because I lost track of the book in our multiple moves, so as soon as I find them they will likely make an appearance on my 2014 list!

A few of the books I read this year

The list is endlessly fascinating to me (a few of these titles I would have forgotten if I hadn't recorded them), and in case you're interested in the breakdown, too, it's as follows:

By genre:

4 poetry collections

4 short story collections

4 memoirs

4 graphic novels

7 children's/YA books

27 novels 

By nation:

21 Canadian

15 American

13 UK

1 Japanese

By gender:

16 titles by 12 men

34 titles by 30 women

And which was my favourite? Well, to tell you the truth, it's easier to pinpoint the disappointments. The newest Bridget Jones novel, for instance, was a let-down, though it was a decent enough companion during an endless flight delay. My Sister's Keeper, too, was generic in the ways you'd expect (though truly a page turner, in that I literally read it in a day). The Agatha Christie novel is probably the worst of hers I ever remember reading (maybe I should have stopped when I noticed the dedication to her dog), and the Neil Gaiman book, while interesting and genuinely a little frightening (!) is something I somewhat regret buying in hardcover. I seem to have petered out on the Jasper Fforde Thursday Next series, but only after the fourth book. I couldn't stop talking about the first three. 

The Interestings stands out among the novels I enjoyed the most in 2013, maybe partially due to length, as I spent some time with it. I remember loving Juliet, Naked and finding it hilarious, though at this point I couldn't tell you what it was about! In terms of contemporary novels, Malarky and Our Woman has probably lingered the longest in my memory, especially considering I read it in January. The Juliet Stories, too, was beautifully written and has stayed with me in unexpected ways. I sobbed throughout most of the astounding February, and The Fault in Our Stars made me cry a little, too. It pretty much lives up to the hype. The Wayne Johnston novels both made me laugh and laugh, as did Where'd You Go, Bernadette? by Maria Semple. 

The book I may have been quoted as saying I wished would never end is The Making of a Marchioness by Frances Hodgson Burnett, who not only wrote beloved children's books (including my all-time favourite A Little Princess) but a number of books for adults, as well. From a (guilty pleasure?) narrative point of view, this one truly has it all: rags-to-riches, romance, a murderous plot, all wrapped up in a delightful Victorian package. Even writing about it kind of makes me want to read it again.  

My best discovery of the year is Margaret Drabble, whom I've never read before. I also read my first Judy Blume! (My mother confiscated the only one I'd ever started.) I'm sure I'll read more. 

I also liked how many funny books I read this year. I might not look like a very diverse reading list (certainly it pales in comparison to those of many librarians and reviewers and full-time writers I know, especially in terms of numbers), but many of these books were outside of what I might normally have read in the past (Serious Canadian Novels). 

Most of all, this year I read almost entirely for pure enjoyment (not to bolster something I was working on, or for a panel or for a review I needed to write, etc.), and I really loved almost all of it. Even the handful of books I didn't love were still pretty okay (say, three-star books). Just looking at this list makes me pretty happy about 2013.

I'm not sure what goals I have for next year, though I'm tempted to say Read Exactly Whatever I Want. (This remains, to date, the greatest thing about not being in school. I still savour this freedom, even after having it for so long.) It would be nice to read a little bit more poetry, as I'm always really happy when I'm in the middle of a collection. I also wouldn't mind reading one really great non-fiction book that isn't a memoir.

What are your reading goals for 2014?

Winnipeg moments

I feel like there’s more to write about than this Winnipeg trip, but what I want to write about is less of any actual thing and more about that expectant, spring-y feeling of possibility that seems to be in the air right now…in spite of Montreal’s continuing iffy weather.  Maybe I just feel that way because I’ve come to the end of a long string of public writerly responsibilities (which are really wonderful to have, but which weigh on me heavily), and I feel like I might be able to get back to some happy medium of actual writing and seeing friends, neither of which seems to have happened very much in weeks and weeks.  In other words: hurray!  It truly does feel like school is out, and me with it.  Maybe that’s really all there is to say about it, so… done!

This past weekend, I went to Winnipeg to give a reading at McNally Robinson as part of the Thin Air Winnipeg International Writers’ Festival. I view this trip as a landmark in that it is probably the first trip in my entire life where I did not overly stress out about packing for it in advance.  (Yes, it’s only a weekend trip, but that hasn’t stopped me from insane packing stress in the past.)  I spent almost no time packing and my suitcase was even really light (especially for me)….until this happened:

A fundraising book sale for the Thin Air festival...can't beat those prices!

My friend K enabling me.  Her hubby A. carried their adorable baby 

while my books got wheeled over to the hotel.

I know my husband and I need to go through and prune our collection…and I know we just paid a back-breaking sum to clean the ones we have, but I couldn’t help myself.  This was actually the restrained pile because as I was browsing I noticed a bunch of books (mostly CanLit) that I’ve purchased over the years and STILL haven’t read.  With my selections this time I tried to take into consideration a) what I will actually read  and b) what is not likely to be available at the university library (hence the inclusion of more than a few mysteries/thrillers/YA books).  Unfortunately, I was so excited about my purchases that I actually managed a faux-pas of plugging the used book sale while at the bookstore for my reading (doh!!)  But in my experience, book lovers aren't deterred from buying new books by the prospect of buying used books at some point later, so I hope no harm was done.

Thanks to some very accommodating friends, I was able to pre-schedule seven separate hang-outs over the course of the weekend, along with the planned bookstore reading. I saw new babies, new houses, and shared a cup of bacon.  I had the most delicious homemade brunch in St-Boniface, a wonderful salad at Prairie Ink, and gin and tonics in Wolseley.  I dished with poets, fiction writers, graphic novelists, and above all, loved all the low-key hanging out and catching up with friends. I miss you, Winnipeggers!  So nice to see you all. The reading itself went well, I think, and at least was not entirely populated by people I know.  Most importantly, there were people there (never a guarantee!).  Thank you so much to everyone who showed up!!

Check out this amazing display!!! McNally Robinson is the best.

Me and the indefatigable G.M.B. Chomichuk, just before the reading.

Before the reading, I had a nice dinner and chat with fellow Banff alumnus and brilliant novelist (and reviewer, as previously blogged here) Joan Thomas, whom I'm sorry I didn't get a picture with because she was looking lovely and so summery.  On the other hand, it gives me an excuse to post this photo instead, from a few years back, that I don't think I ever blogged:

Hanging out in the Rideau Hall bathrooms

 at the Governor General's Literary Awards (2009?) 

The few parts I’ve been reading from Bone and Bread at different events didn’t seem to be quite long enough for the time I needed to fill, so I decided to read a section that I haven't read aloud in ages.

I last read it at the QWF mentorship reading many moons ago, and I remember hearing my voice high, tight, and probably near-hysterical sounding.  Definitely my worst reading ever.   For some reason, the section felt so strange and raw and interior, and I could sense it wasn’t connecting with anyone in the audience.  I think it’s possible the readings or some selections of them were being recorded for broadcast on the radio (and this might have contributed to some extra nervousness), but I’m sure they wouldn’t have used mine.                     

So I was happy I decided (at the very last minute…while standing at the podium!) to read that part and kind of own it, for lack of a better term.  It might not have been the most brilliant delivery in the world, but it wasn't awful, which was the previous baseline.  I don’t think the passage has changed at all (if so, only very slightly) in the intervening years, but I’ve changed, and the way I was able to read it in front of an audience has changed, and that makes me really happy.  

The next three photos below all courtesy of my friend Greg Chomichuk (you can follow him on Instagram here):

 Me in conversation with the lovely Charlene Diehl, 
the warm heart at the centre of Thin Air

 Signing stock at McNally Robinson

After the reading, I went out with some friends, most of whom used to be part of a writing group I was in that grew out of a class with Dennis Cooley at the University of Manitoba.  At least four people from our class have now published books (some more than one), and I expect that list to grow in years to come. 

Writers group alumni! (Can Lit quiz: can you spot the 

experimental Canadian poet and critic?)

All in all, it was the perfect trip (including being bumped up to first class on the way in!!) except for a small hiccup in calling a cab to pick me up from the Neighbourhood Bookstore and Cafe, which was so neighbourhoody it didn't appear to have a street address! The guy who was working asked me to check my receipt and then ran outside to look, to no avail. And apparently if you only provide an intersection, the taxi company doesn't actually dispatch you a cab...although they don't tell you that until you call back fifteen minutes later after being eaten alive by mosquitos and getting anxious about missing your flight.  

Even the employee couldn't figure out where it was.

A la prochaine, Winnipeg!

Bone & Bread is a Cityline Book Club pick!

I was really thrilled to find out that Bone & Bread is the latest Cityline Book Club pick! It's a six-week online book club, which is a relatively new feature on the show's website.  The first book they picked was Will Ferguson's Giller-winner 419, and it seemed to generate lots of interesting discussion.  You can win a copy of Bone & Bread by commenting here with your last great read.  

Speaking of book clubs, I'm Skyping in to my first book club on Sunday night and I'm nervous but excited. I really hope it turns out to be light and fun and interesting rather than awkward and intrusive.  I've never succesfully managed to be a member of a book club myself (as soon as I "have" to read something, I suddenly don't want to), but I can imagine that having the person who wrote the book turn up in one's midst could prove to be uncomfortable...as though you suddenly have to ask an insightful question, or pretend you actually liked it when you didn't, or say, actually read it all the way to the end instead of blowing it off to see the latest Star Trek movie (which, incidentally, was pretty enjoyable).  

But I think it will be fun.

----
 
The unpacking, cleaning, and other wrangling of our possessions continues, albeit it at a slower pace that I would prefer.  There's just so much.  And even if they are things we decide to get rid of, we (I?) still feel the need to clean them first.

The de-smokified books still smell a little bit smoky, a bit musty, with a sweeter overlay of some sort of cleaning product (or ozone? does that smell?).  Basically, they smell a lot like library books now, which I think is okay.  I like the smell of library books. 

  Some unpacked but totally disorganized books.

Looking at that wall of books makes me feel like we've made a lot of progress until I turn around and see all the packed boxes of books that are still remaining:

 Boxes of books

In other news, my choir is doing a benefit concert for Head and Hands on June 9th, so there are a ton of upcoming rehearsals, which is wonderful except for all the unpacking it means I won't be doing.  

 

And in just a couple of weeks, I am heading to Winnipeg for an event at McNally Robinson with the lovely Charlene Diehl!  Winnipeg, can we hang out?? 

high hopes and other things still standing

[I'm sorry for the slowness of this update, as I know people are concerned.  I've been writing this post since yesterday...I fell asleep in bed while writing the first part last night.]

Last night when we left the chill of the street in our pyjamas to go to the neighbours', there were massive amounts of smoke billowing out of all of our windows, and huge flames visible on both sides of the building on the second floor, including the apartment directly below ours.   It seemed unreasonable to hope for much, though as I lay awake trying to sleep, I did let some hope creep in around the sides.  Maybe the papers inside the filing cabinets would be okay.  Maybe the enameled cast iron pots would make it through.  

                   

The third-floor windows are ours.

Here's the story on CTV, the Montreal Gazette, and the CBC (where I grabbed the video).

In the morning, I discovered my stepdaughter had been thinking the same way.  Maybe, she said, Blue Bunny (her beloved stuffed rabbit, companion since birth) would have made it through, somehow.  Maybe, I said.  But I don't think we should be too optimistic.   No, she agreed, he's probably burnt to a crisp.  

Well, he wasn't burnt to a crisp, through he was in a half-collapsed kitchen, smoky and waterlogged, and one trip through the washing machine still hasn't gotten the smell out.  But Blue Bunny lives!

Rescued friends.

In fact, though it looks like a tornado has ripped through the middle of our place, many of our belongings have been spared (although they all have severe smoke damage, and it remains to be seen whether it will be a) possible or b) economically feasible to have the smoke removed).  

Based on my blog post the night of the fire, Steph at Bella's Bookshelves started the most generous campaign to help me rebuild my library, but I am happy to say that somehow the books have survived, apart from smoke damage.  I am also touched beyond belief by all the supportive messages and offers of help I have received.  If I haven't had a chance to write back to you personally yet, please know your thoughts have made a difference in this stressful time.  

(Re: stress. It is possible I might have said something along the lines of 'This week couldn't get any more stressful"...between the two talks I have to prepare and give, plus three readings/appearances, a 24-hour trip to Ottawa, and a charity photo shoot...  well, anyway...I was wrong!  Thanks, Fate, for taking me up on that.) 

We were able to get into the building yesterday and today, and we grabbed a few things.  The acrid smell is terrible, though, and it is hard to breathe.  After a little while, my head hurt and I started to find it difficult to think clearly or make decisions.  At least half of the photos I took today were unusable and blurry.

The floor.  There's a carpet under there somewhere.

More of the living room floor.

The living room.

The kitchen.

More of the ex-kitchen.

I'm not sure how it worked out this way, given all the books we have (in my previous blog post I estimated 16 bookcases, but it is actually more like 20, though some of them are small ones), but none of them were touched by fire or water.  They seem to mostly have been out of range of the disaster, except for the smoke.  Anyone who has read Steph's blog post (I know the original post was re-shared several times without the update) and wants to help, I would ask you not to send me any books.  Your kind thoughts mean so much already, and right now, we are just coping with what we need to do to save the ones we have.  (Literary agent Denise Bukowski left a kind comment saying that it would probably be more helpful to me to buy a copy of one my books, and I certainly can't argue with that.)

More kitchen disaster, but with a bookcase still standing.

We had nine bookcases in the hallway. Only a few books fully trashed. Points for picking out the CanLit titles.

The fire started just after 10:30 p.m.  We were watching television when we heard a very loud banging on the door.  When we went to see what it was, we saw thick smoke billowing in under our front door very quickly.  We woke up my stepdaughter, unlocked the back door and headed down the fire escape together.  The neighbours who had banged on our door were already out there. In a way, I'm proud that I did not stop to grab a single thing.  We all got downstairs in less than two minutes, and by that time, the smoke was coming out the back door.

Of course, in the long night when I was sure everything was gone, I had a pang about not saving anything. Besides the obvious practicalities (wallet, phone, computer), here are the things of mine I thought about and wished I had been able to save: 

• a painted book of illustrations from my wedding, made by my friend Kathleen, which I've been meaning to scan for months and months, in case anything should happen to it

• some love notes from my husband 

Given that I have always been a pack-rat, someone who is extremely sentimental about parting with belongings, it interested me to note that these were the only things it really made me cry to consider losing, out of a whole overstuffed apartment full of stuff.  I'm going to try to remember this fact, going forward.

Some other things I really, really regretted the possibility of losing:

• a necklace my husband gave me for our first anniversary

•  a small David Milne watercolour that had been gifted to us

• my childhood books

• some stories I wrote when I was a kid 

But all of these things are fine.  We have lost nothing that matters, and all in all, we are unbelievably lucky.  Of the four units in the building, ours is the only one that is not completely destroyed --the two bedrooms are basically fine, except for severe smoke damage. Given the 90 firefighters it took to put out the four-alarm fire, it seems nothing short of miraculous.  They did an amazing job preserving what they could.  I am so grateful to be alive, so grateful to have somewhere to go (we're staying with my in-laws), and so touched by the outpouring of support from friends, family, acquaintances, and even strangers.  We're part of an amazing community.

Books and a blaze

I hardly know what to call this post or what to say.  It's after 4 a.m. and I'm in our neighbours' basement.  I can't sleep.  I am trying to type quietly on this wonderfully clicky keyboard to keep from waking my husband.

This morning I was worried about what I had planned to say to the Books and Brunch Breakfast audience at the Sheraton.

 Book & Breakfast: a wonderful literary tradition in Montreal.

The event turned out to be lots of fun, and I was so relieved to be slotted first so that I could actually enjoy what all the other writers had to say.

 Signing books afterwards.

But this was what happened later...

 A fire in our building. We were in the upper floor.

This is a photo I found on Twitter.  We are lucky to have escaped unharmed, and I pray that is the case for everyone in the building as well as the firefighters who worked to put it out.  We left with only the clothes on our back - no phones or car keys, and in my case no ID or wallet.  It is terrible to contemplate the possibility of losing everything we had, but compared to what we might have lost, it is nothing at all.  We are fortunate, too, that we have people who can take us in, and an empty apartment we're moving into in a few weeks.  It might stay unfurnished for longer than planned.

Thank you to those of you who have sent supportive messages on FB, Twitter, and elsewhere.  

There is the urge to grieve and be thankful at the same time.  I'm not sure what else to say right now.  We may know more tomorrow if anything is salvageable, though more likely it may take a few days before anyone is allowed in.

(I keep thinking of the books... how between us we had at least 16 overstuffed bookcases, and if the flames made it in, they'd go up in a flash.  And if they didn't burn, they'd be soaked through by the firehoses.) 

when books disappear

I've been thinking about the strange luck and wonderful luck Bone and Bread seems to be having in terms of coverage leading up to its release, and I want to try and get done some of the thoughts that have been swirling around over the past couple of weeks.  Since I'm about to leave for the airport to head to Toronto for the launch, now seems as good a time to post this as any!

Part of what enables the kind of fearlessness and lack of self-consciousness necessary to writing is the ability to forget that anybody is ever going to read it.  It also helps with keeping expectations low, which I think is important for the writing life.  But some of the coverage and general interest from people I know is forcing me to swerve out of this admittedly somewhat delusional course of thinking.  And it brings me to some unnerving destinations...  

Already spotted in the wild... (Indigo in Montreal)

Will anyone actually like it?  Will people's expectations be so high that they're bound to be disappointed?  This is a completely immobilizing type of thinking to have while writing, and one that I would say is not generally recommended.  But now that the novel is making its way out into the world, and there is absolutely no way to change anything at all, I'm occasionally seized with stomach-churning bouts of uncertainty.  Why didn't I think about what people like reading?  What if it's too /sad/complicated/political/emotional? Why didn't I write something else...something funny, or about a man??  Or a dog or a war or or or or......

Then I breathe and remember there's nothing I can do.  Some people -- people whose opinions I value deeply -- have read it and liked it.  Not everyone will like it, and that's okay.  Even if almost nobody likes it, it isn't even the end of the world as long as I can keep writing.  (I suppose whether I can keep publishing is a somewhat different matter, but one that it is probably equally unproductive to consider.)

So many books are released every season, and all of those books represent years of work and sacrifice on the part of the writer, and additional careful work and effort on behalf of the editor and the publisher. Most of them have already achieved certain standards of excellence.  I don't know what the acceptance rate is at literary publishers, but I would be surprised if it were very different from that of literary magazines, which often hover around 1-2% of work submitted.  So most of what makes it out into the world in the form of a book has already been vetted again and again, by people whose lives revolve around literature.  People who know what they're doing.  And there are so many excellent books/movies/tv shows/articles/responsibilities competing for our attention.  It kind of feels like a special kind of magic any time a book makes it through the maelstrom of the daily media barrage and the craziness of everyday life and finds its way into the hands of a reader.  Any time I meet somebody I don't already know who has read my short-story collection, it feels like nothing short of a miracle.  And I'm grateful.

People compare books to children all the time, and although I know there are lots of obvious reasons why it isn't a perfect analogy, there's still something to it.  All the books on the marketplace are special to somebody, there are good reasons for buying and reading all of them.  They're all different and unique and contain a world of their own...but chances are that most of them won't stick around forever, or even for very long.  Most books go out of print sooner or later.  Some get released, receive excellent reviews, then disappear.  Some get released, receive almost no reviews, then disappear even faster.

All of this is to say that I'm grateful for this chance that Bone and Bread seems to have.  I hope it finds its readers.

See some of you tonight!
xo