Five Reasons Why Writers Should Belong to Book Groups

"Reading is the whetstone on which a writer hones his sword."

(Writer's Little Book of Wisdom by John Long)

On my way home this past week from our monthly book group meeting, I thought of how many different views of a story entered into our discussion. This month, we read The Elegance of the Hedgehog by Muriel Barbery. For me, a wonderful read! For some others in the group, not so great! But, then, the beauty of the group is sharing differing opinions and feeling comfortable enough to express them.

My particular group is not composed of writers. In fact, I think I'm the only writer who attends. Each member brings a unique perspective to our discussion. If you are a writer, joining a book group is a great way to build skills.

By being part of a book group, you can learn more about:

1. Character and Motivation:
We ask each other what motivated this character. And was this character believable? Why did the author choose that particular motivation and was it strong enough to carry the reader through?

2.  Analytical skills:
Sharing your views about what you've read enhances your skill to step back and view the book as a topic of discussion. Attaining that distance helps much more than the solitary pursuit of studying other authors.

     3.  Plot and structure:
No author can get a poor plot past a book group's collective eyes! We ask: was there enough action, enough conflict? Did the ending work for us? We question what theme the author intended us to take away from the story.

     4.  Voice and point of view:
The Help by Kathryn Stockton was a classic example of how to use voice and point of view to tell a spell-binding story. She did a masterful job of using dialect, as well, to bring her characters to life.
   
     5.  Marketability:
For aspiring writers, there's nothing better than learning what other readers like. Part of our discussion always involves how easy or difficult it was to get caught up in the book and why. Most of us are pretty committed to finishing the book so we can contribute at our meetings, so it's really telling when the consensus is that something didn't work to draw us in.
    
So, consider joining a book group to help hone your skills. I recommend looking for one that reads all types of genres.

Here is a list of some of my favorites from our group:

          To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
          The House of Sand and Fog by Andre Dubus
          The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd
          The Life of Pi by Yann Martell
         The Color of Water by James McBride
         The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night by Mark Haddon
         Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides
         Master Butcher's Singer's Singing Club by Louise Erdrich
        Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen
                                              A Thousand White Women by Jim Fergus

In Search of Shampoo

"How can I control my life when I can't control my hair?" Author Unknown

It all began innocently enough last January. We were getting ready to head south for the winter and one of my last tasks was my usual haircut. I'm not sure why, but I asked the hairdresser, "Do you think I should consider changing my hairstyle?" Maybe it was the cumulative effect of seeing myself in that hairdresser dull drape with the same short hair style for nearly fifty years. Is it time for a change?

"A bob," my hairdresser said, "it's a cut for all ages. You'd look good in that style." She said it would take about seven months to complete the transition. Being away seemed the perfect time to start. The first couple months were uneventful, with an occasional shaping to keep it in some semblance of order.

As my style change advanced, I began to realize a woman's relationship with her hair can be a complicated thing, and I begin to question whether how one chooses to wear it says something about where she is along her life journey. My daughter, Christina, believes a woman who never changes her hair is leaving it in the era where she was most happy.

Hmm. That's interesting. I first cut my hair short when I started nursing school (see picture). I know I'm much less serious these days than I was then, much more content with life, but let's face it, age 19 is a pretty exciting, carefree time in our lives. Or is that I'm merely older and less passionate about life now? I hope not.

In 1985, Hubert de Givenchy wrote in Vogue magazine, "Hairstyle is the final tip-off whether or not a woman really knows herself."(for more hair quotes, go to http://www.quotegarden.com/hair.html)  Sorry, Hubert, but I don't want to believe that. And yet...

And so, I began my pilgrimage of growth. Hair, that is. In the past, I paid little attention to my coiffure. Once I combed it in the morning, I figured it was on its own. Suddenly, I now find myself checking every mirror to make sure the ends are smooth, not sticking out in all directions. When I wake up in the morning and sit up in bed, I can see myself in the large mirror directly opposite my bed. My hair is definitely beginning to look just like that of the caricature on the vase my granddaughter, Julia, gave me about five years ago. Does she have some sort of forecasting power, I wonder?

                   
I'm noticing the color, too. Again, something that never concerned me before. It's white, has been since I was in my 30's so I've never seen white hair as part of my own aging, but now, I notice some yellow tinges creeping in. Not blonde, much more like slightly used dish water. Most likely it's due to the annual flushing of our water lines here on our island, but somehow, that never bothered me as it does now. This hair thing is getting more and more complicated.

So I trek over the bridge to the mainland in search of shampoo, the kind for silver hair. I've seen it before, even bought it once or twice on sale. Funny how they never call it shampoo for gray or white hair. Another sign of ageism in advertising. That discovery is reinforced when I notice even the lady getting into the tub with the side door on the TVadvertisement is younger than the real women who need this assistive device, as are those lucky ladies on the Viagra commercials.

See how this whole hair thing is mushrooming. Ah, if only my hair would grow as fast. I am beginning to ask myself: why a change now?  Is it to prove some sort of flexibility point or only my exceptional stubbornness in not knowing when to fold this whole hair quest?

Back to my search for shampoo. CVS has lots of shampoo, as does Walmart. None for white, excuse me, silver hair. Target wins the variety award, hands down. More than one long aisle is full of shampoo – for coarse, curly, fine, oily, limp, dull, dry, damaged, stressed, or straight hair. Flavors, too. Lemon scented, strawberry, watermelon. It's possible, I think, to end up smelling like a fruit salad just by shampooing your hair. Such variety, but no shampoo for silver hair, none to get the yellow out, though, lots for blonde hair that needs a lift.

As I drive home from my fruitless shampoo search, I wonder whether my quest is really for shampoo or a new style. The journey, for sure, has led me to a greater awareness of how women perceive themselves and how self image and worth are affected by our image driven media.

I think about all the brave women who have shaved their heads in defiance of the impending loss of hair as a result of chemotherapy for breast cancer. I think of my granddaughter, Grace, who at age 13, grew her hair long enough to donate it to Locks for Love ( http://www.locksoflove.org/).  And the absolutely beautiful young woman with alopecia who is running for Miss Delaware. She definitely has a strong sense of self.

Their courage in the face of  adversity inspires me, and I think, perhaps my search for shampoo isn't really that at all, but a seeking for something much more than a simple bob.

For more information on how to donate hair for women and children with illness, go to: http://www.pantene.com/en-us/beautiful-lengths-cause/default.aspx.  or http://hair.lovetoknow.com/Donating_Hair_for_Cancer_Victims

The Elusive Nature of Satisfaction

 Most mornings, unless it's raining, I hop on my bike and ride to the south end of our island. It's a good way to start the day and get my daily exercise. Today, I hesitated. We're in the midst of one of those beastly heat waves unrelieved even by the usual ocean breeze. No, I decide, better to go since the day will only get hotter.

I grind out the miles on the way down and when I turn to ride back, the wind picks up, its full force in my face. For a moment I welcome the blessed hint of coolness it brings, then, dissatisfaction begins to set in. I have to work harder now to peddle the remaining two miles.

A bit of remorse hits me. How hard it is for me, and others, too, I think, to ever be fully satisfied! And if we manage those moments of complete peace with who and where we are, how hard it is to hold onto that satisfaction.

As I ponder my ungratefulness, Mick Jagger's "I Can't Get No Satisfaction" plays in my head. I've always loved that song , but never really incorporated it into my psyche before as a social statement. Mostly, I connected it with dancing and sex (or the lack thereof!). Now the song lyrics buzz in my head to tease, to torment, and to remind me of the elusive nature of satisfaction .

From there, my mind drifts to Goldilocks and The Three Bears. Am I destined to constantly find my life too hard or too soft, and never just right? How about you? Do you, too, find yourself often stuck in the land of "no satisfaction?'

While I push my bike into the garage, I recall buying it several weeks ago. It's a hot pink $99 Schwinn from Walmart's. What a bargain! Of course, at the time, I groused about the fact that Schwinn bikes are now made in China, but then, isn't almost everything else?

The fact this was my first brand new bike hits me. What strikes me even more is the realization I never hungered for a new one, or put it on my Santa list as a child. Only one "rich" boy In our neighborhood had a shiny, new bike and he was considered an "outsider." How could I envy him since he and his family seldom attended neighborhood parties? Maybe I should have felt sorry for him, but that never occurred to me, either. Partly due to "kid" callousness, and partly because his parents "imported" playmates from some other place.

Now, for a moment, I'm truly satisfied as I realize my childhood was such that I didn't need a new bike to be happy or to belong. If we could recapture the wonder of our early years, perhaps, we could take an unreserved joy in that sudden, swift, cooling wind in our face. And ask why was Goldilocks so worried about too hot or too cold porridge. After all, wouldn't it cool or couldn't she warm it up? Who would ever eat porridge anyway?

(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction, http://www.keno.org/stones_lyrics/satisfaction.html.