My first encounter with anything sci-fi was at the age of seven. After having re-read The Wonderful Wizard of Oz several times, I was ready for more. Social circumstances, a father and an uncle avid sci-fi readers, made possible for me to get acquainted, at such an innocent age, with the incredible futuristic worlds penned by Isaac Asimov. Laying around the house there was this copy of a book with a brown cover. The art on it, my father explained to me, depicted a robot. It was shaped like a pile of conjoined boxes. Right then I didn’t think that the robot-thingy was pleasant to the eye. Thankfully my father went on on explaining what the word robot meant. I was swept away. I, Robot was a book that opened my mind, and freed my fantasy.
Kids studying at school. Beagles napping at my feet. Lovely husband gathering food for the family. I am looking outside at my window, and all I can see is green. Fall hasn’t happened in my backyard, yet. Olive green, sage green, murky green, frog green, emerald green. Few pale yellow leaves dot the shining sea of green grass. My mind goes back in time and I remember the first book I have ever read, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. It was spring, a roman spring, white sun and windy clouds dancing on the sky, and I was in first grade. I spent three afternoons outside, sitting on the tiled floor of the terrace with that little battered book few centimeters from my nose (I discovered soon after that I needed glasses). I remember the powerful feeling of being able to read all by myself. I haven’t stopped reading ever since. What about you? Which one was your first?
I am listening on my red Zune, I’d rather be with you by Joshua Radin.
The best climate for a writer is in Seattle. It is a known fact. I am sitting on my couch, steaming mug of tea by my side, pastoral landscape (aka small suburban backyard with grazing beagles) outside my window, and there is nowhere else I would rather be. Unless it is Cancun. But I wouldn’t be writing in Cancun. I proved my point. Seattle and its idyllic surroundings are also conducive to extensive reading. It’s a common side effect to the greenery and the lack of vitamin D. On the bright side if you have access to a public library it won’t bankrupt you. The general appearance of your abode could suffer for it, but closing your eyes normally does the trick. It also helps to have a husband sympathetic to the cause. Bribing the said husband with liberal amounts of free time to finish Halo: Reach further helps the said cause. But enough of digressing about cloudy skies and lovely companions. Since it’s Monday, here is my suggestion for this week: Grammar Snobs Are Great Big Meanies by June Casagrande. I have never had so much fun reading about grammar before. Like the author says, the book is a guide to language for fun and spite. And lots of fun it is reading about punctuation and conjunctions, when the chapters start with titles like Semicolonoscopy, or Copulative Conjunction: Hot Stuff For The Truly Desperate. On the shared possessive, Casagrande explains the rule asking questions about asses and crawling bugs. Although it sounds unorthodox, Casagrande’s approach to the intricacy of good grammar has its merit. After you have laughed for half an hour, I assure you that you will never forget the rule again.
I am listening on my red Zune, Rosas by La Oreja de Van Gogh.
Hi, my name is Monica and I am a book-addict. If it weren’t for the rest of the world barging on my personal space I could read for days without interruptions. Quite annoyingly the dishes need to be washed on regular basis , the kids need to be fed following a breakfast-lunch-dinner pattern, the dogs need to go outside to do whatever otherwise they would do inside. In other words, life gets in the middle of undisturbed reading. To keep reading without feeling a bad human being, I have decided to justify my addiction, publicly. I will write about what I read. One lucky book every week will receive my unconditioned attention. It sounds like a solid plan. I feel better already!
The previous writing has been sponsored by my husband’s dishwashing services.
On a complete unrelated note, the sky outside is cyclamen-violet.