For my birthday, my DH surprised me with 20 hard copies of my novel. He worked with Alessandro to get the cover printed right and the final result is a work of beauty. When I uncovered the pile of books DH had carefully arranged on the kitchen table, I felt pure joy. Looking at the shiny cover made me ecstatic, but when I actually held a copy in my hands, I had an out of body experience. This is what happiness looks like:
And, this is me signing copies. Do I look the part or not?
Recently, among many of my friends there’s been lots of talking about juice dieting and today, by sheer coincidence, I found an artist who does foodscapes. I was impressed by his work and I wanted to create something in the same spirit. This is my humble attempt. Enjoy your juice!
Yesterday everything was perfect.
Today I woke up to an outlandish scenario. There are no words to describe what I saw when I opened my eyes. I am still shaking at the vivid memory…
Something warm, and yellow-orangey in color viciously touched my skin. I can barely talk about it; you will forgive me if I skip to a few hours later, when I had to leave the house to drive my kid to school. I couldn’t let him, my precious little boy, take the school bus. What if the driver went crazy? On the road, we witnessed the first signs that the illness had already touched several minds. People were shielding their eyes, and changing lanes without even noticing it. Driving back was even more dangerous. I barely made it home.
Now, my kids and I are barricaded in the basement, safely surrounded by the familiar humid darkness. Two hours ago, I last heard from my husband. He was stuck in his office, watching horrified as hordes of people wandered at street level. He told me about the vacant eyes, and the addled expressions…
My daughter has found an old battered radio. A confused voice is giving suggestions on what to do until this inexplicable phenomenon lasts. I shiver. The voice says that it will continue until Sunday. I cry.
From outside I can hear little kids, lost to the world, enslaved by this madness the voice on the radio called… the Sun.
Nanowrimo and November have come and gone in a month, in real life. Our planet (last time I checked it was still called Earth, in English at least) has moved around its star (the Sun in case you are wondering) in a discreet fashion. Our moon (Earth’s only satellite called in the aforementioned language the Moon, no comments here…) has shyly illuminated our cold and snowy nights. And everything happened in a blink of an eye for this humble ECReader Nanowriter who has been busy reading (whatever arrived from my Library Express), and writing (the famous 50,000 words). Time is inconsistent and subjective for people like me. It takes two years of my time to write 50 words, when for you gentle reader (don’t worry I haven’t forgotten to formally acknowledge you; it is just that for propriety’s sake I had to put some distance from you and the title) just mere minutes have ticked away in your watch. And while the whole world is rocked by I-said-that you said-that-I-said leaks about human stupidity, I am thankfully (hence the season) far away, engaged in a long journey to infinity and beyond. Nevertheless, it would be nice to have company along the road. Said that, I humbly hope you enjoy my writing, gentle reader.
The stack of books is gone. I know, it doesn’t sound right. Today, in full Nanowrimo’s* madness nonetheless, I finished the last book I was reading (unfortunately nothing worth writing about, even if I hadn’t pledged my alliance to Nano for the rest of the month) and I dropped it at the return box of my Library Express. I have gone through the whole stack of books and now I feel utterly bereft. Thankfully my Kindle has my other stash ready. First on the list is Clockwork Angel by my absolute favorite author, the great Cassandra Clare. This is the book I have been saving for last (remember, I already told you about the Library Hater, aka the procrastinator), and my Kindle’s battery is low (instant karma?). I have written my daily quota of words for my Nanowrimo project already, and I feel good. I deserve to start reading Clockwork Angel so I can write the review for you (I am that good). Meanwhile I will clean my writing and post an excerpt from my soon-to-be-finished 50,000 words extravaganza. Happy and prolific weekend to everybody out there.
*finally the website is running!
Right. I was mapping the various degrees of ECRS. I already talked at length about the Omnivorous Serial (O.S.). Now let’s confront a more serious and socially destabilizing form of ECRS: the Library Hater (L.H.). The L.H. is a procrastinator, and doesn’t seem to realize that checking out thirty books at the same time is conducive to massive heartburn and sleepless nights. The L.H starts reading the book he/she thinks is the less appealing, reserving the favorite authors for last. (The same way you, gentle reader from Rome, leave the top of the rosetta *bread for the last bite. The examples vary accordingly to regions, states, and whole countries. Today I felt nostalgic. And I have always been partial to a freshly baked rosetta with mortadella.) Woolgathering aside and coming back to more serious thoughts, what happens next to the naïve reader is that (few weeks after in real life, but just seconds for the L.H.) the Public Library sends a courtesy mail asking for the books back. The procrastinator waits until the eleventh hour, and few minutes after that, to renew the lease of the books, and discovers (dramatic music playing) that it isn’t possible. Someone else has requested the same books (how did they dare!—Eddie Izzard’s voice in the background) and therefore the L.H must release them. Several things occur at once: the L.H curses the Public Library and its unfair policies. He/she tries to read as many pages as possible to reach the end of the chapter. Then the L.H. has a sudden and violent bout of Tourette (due to the realization that the story that has sucked big time until three pages ago has finally become interesting). The L.H. tries a last desperate effort to check if pressing again the renew button of the Public Library’s web site will change the status of the books. No. It doesn’t. Finally the L.H put the books inside several plastic bags (normally it rains outside and the books could get all mushy and sad) and drives to the place where he/she normally gets his/her fix (the same Public Library that has been smitten to crumbles few minutes before). The ordeal is repeated in the same order as soon as the Public Library’s website acknowledges that it has received the books, and the L.H requests the same titles again. The moral of the story is that the L.H. never reads the novels he/she really wanted to read in the first place, since they are always buried under a whole stack of other books. You know what they say about the definition of madness…
*Typical Roman bread looking more like a turtle than a rose. Deliciously hollow inside. Fill it as your heart desires.
The ECReader’s life is hell on heart. Nobody can really understand the horrors he/she is forced to endure every day. The ECRS is a freshly discovered syndrome, and as such hugely underestimated. I have decided to shed some light on the matter and clarify the way ECReaders are classified. I will try to categorize the different types of ECReaders as best as I can (depending on which way my inspiration leans). Today I will describe the most common type: the omnivorous serial. Keep in mind, gentle and discriminate reader (yes I know, it’s always you I am talking to) that the average ECReader is everything, but discriminate about his/her reading habits. The ECReader is normally omnivorous by definition. Anything goes. Today can be romance (every reference is purely random), tomorrow can be speculative science fiction, next week it’s going to be fan fiction, a month from now the ECReader will have finished the whole body of work of some unknown Monica La Porta (just saying), while at the same time passing through the enlightening and funny biography of a shoe seller (Tony, I didn’t find happiness since I hadn’t lost it to begin with, but thank you for the ride). The ECReader must find his/her fix wherever. The ECReader can’t afford to be picky, therefore he/she is omnivorous. Having the ECRS is also conducive to being a serial reader. Once the omnivorous ECReader finds an author of his/her liking, the poor addict, already starving for more of the same, immediately seeks any scrap of paper published by the aforementioned writer. The ECReader is a collector at heart, and can’t sleep at night knowing that his/her library( aka the traveling stack of beloved paperbacks which doesn’t seem to find peace on earth—but mostly inside the house) is missing an important piece. Although the syndrome can be quite expensive to treat, and life is unfair—no insurance pays for the Amazon bills (the ECRS Foundation is working on that)—there are little subterfuges that help relieving the strain on the domestic finances. One of those lifesavers is renting books from the nearby Public Library. Another is swapping books between friends, but depending on the level of ECRSism (new term I am testing here for the first time) is not always recommended. Borrowing and lending books can be an alternative only among the lighter ECReaders. As you can see, there are several branches of the ECRS that need to be further studied. I promise to give the problem the importance it deserves ( in other words, it takes some time and effort by my side to invent things). I will be back with new and improved terms, and even more wonderful ,fantastic (read the adjective as in: detached from reality; not as in : awesome), psychedelic (that’s what I was looking for), theories. Be tuned. And drink some tea. Always drink some tea when in doubt.
It has just been brought to my attention that there is a category of ECReaders who suffer from painful relapses in the awful realm of quotidianity. (I am aware that the word “quotidianity” doesn’t exist in English—at least in the opinion of the Oxford Dictionary, among others—but I found the notion offending, and being the just person that I am, I couldn’t let it pass. In case you are wondering “quotidianity” means regarding the uninteresting daily life.”) I have also decided that the term ECRS’s for excessive compulsive readers wasn’t correct, and therefore I changed it in ECReaders. But I am digressing. My original intention was to examine the brutal world of all the poor ECReaders who are forced to stop reading. It is cruel and unusual. As if we could stop being who we are. We are born this way. There are no rehabilitation camps for us (although it seems that electric shock has been used to cure other “syndromes” with fairly good results. The loss of short term memories seems a good trade off in the opinion of a certain part of American society. But none of the victims…I meant subjects…has commented on the matter). A recent testimony of an ex-ECReader, who wishes to remain anonymous (but we are going to call her “I Wish I Could Girl”, for the sake of humanizing the subject), brought me to tears. The poor being doesn’t have time to read due to social circumstances generally known as offspring of the male gender. There are no words eloquent enough to express the agony of I Wish I Could Girl. We are with you. Don’t give up. The ECRS Foundation will organize a parade to raise donations (in form of babysitting hours) to help the cause of all the I Wish I Could Girls in the world. You are not alone. Meanwhile drink some tea.
I read between books. Beside my bed there is a stack of books fresh from the Library. The stack is always there. I keep adding a book as soon as I finish reading one. If I am traveling I check if my Kindle is charged every five minutes. It’s called Excessive Compulsive Reading Syndrome (ECRS). ECRS’s are part addicts, part romantics, and one hundred percent certified detached from reality. There is no literature about this syndrome, mostly because I just invented it, and also because I didn’t have time to write about it. I intend to rectify this slight. ECRS is not fatal, but is not curable either. Furthermore, significant others of ECRS’s will suffer along their houses, offspring, and pets, because they are not: knights in shining armors, manors, geniuses, mythological creatures. It is proved (by my intensive study on the subject) that buying flowers, chocolates, strings of black pearls, can help the ECRS’s in connecting with this plane of existence, otherwise known as nowadays Earth. 
Just recently (as in right now I am writing it) it has been also suggested that breakfasts in bed, romantic gateways in Cancun, sensual courtships, and the occasional love letter, can improve the ECRS’s symptoms. Avoid at all costs to approach the ECRS’s when the time is not right (it changes every month if the patient is not regular). Soothing words, warm chocolate, and skillful massages, will help if, having discarded the professional warning, the contact has already happened. When in doubt administer freshly brewed tea at regular intervals. Beware of the times when the Library Express is under maintenance and Saturn is in opposition . Just run away.
Monica La Porta 