Particles of Literature

The Bright Idea Conference did not fall with-in my schedule or means so in lieu I went to see author Jodi Picoult who was visiting West Michigan in March for the One Book One Community Program.

My first observation of the evening was those in attendance were 98% women. Where are the male readers? Don’t males enjoy reading dramatic books with modern themes? I guess that’s a question for someone other than me to answer. It was a large audience of approximately 600, at the West Shore Performing Arts Center in Holland.

Although the crowd was large and the author was somewhat funny, I wasn’t really that impressed. It was more of a commercial thing to sell her books than anything. I was looking forward to her talking about My Sister’s Keeper but she spent very little time on the feature novel, and more time on her other books, especially her newest release. I had no idea she had written so many other novels - 12 total. She also was not very accurate, in my opinion, when she was discussing Dante Alighieri’s Inferno, which she references for her next novel the 10th circle. She does have podcasts on her website. :o)

Overall I wasn't all that pleased with the driving all the way to Holland simply for a promotional event for the authors numerous novels. I did, however, enjoy reading My Sister’s Keeper. I doubt that I’ll be in line to get the rest of her books though. I have too many other works on my too be read list.

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I also started a new book discussion group at Extended Grace. The first book we chose was Fallen by David Maine.
Fallen is the story of Caine, Abel, Eve, and Adam in that order. The story is told backward leading us back to the place we all know - The Fall.

We were greatly surprised to be contacted by the author who offered to answer any questions we had. Since the author lives in Pakistan now in had to be handled through e-mail, but we're all about technology right? :o) His input really added more depth to our discussion. It can be found on our EG Book Club Blog

Me: Dang another day of torture.
How many times do I have to draw a stupid tree?
I just don’t get it. I feel like I’m three.
Let me find a tree and torch it.

Let me go to my closet.
I need a nap.

I do kind of like art,
But who knows if I’ll grow up
I just move through the motions
I play my part.

Leave me alone.
I need a nap.

I’m soooo tired. I’m always tired.
I can hardly open my eyes
when I can I see things expired.
My eyes have no room for cries.

My closet’s the place for me.
I need a nap.
Don’t look at me.
I need a nap.

"It's easier not to say anything ... Nobody really wants to hear what you
have to say." (page 9)

I can really relate with Melinda and her inability to speak. I went through a large portion of my life without the ability to talk about what I was feeling or anything else in general. I cannot, however, pinpoint what took my voice away like the story did for Melinda. There are many reasons I lost my voice. The very stereotypical wicked step-father played a huge role in it. My mothers inability to talk to her five children could be another reason. I was also a middle child so it was easy to disappear. The number one culprit was teen-age alcohol and drug use.

I was always a shy kid, so I overcompensated with the friends I chose. I had big friends who could protect the small kid that I was. I had loud friends that drew attention away from me. It was easy to get lost in silence. By the time junior high-school happened all the friends, who I chose so carefully for protection, scattered and I found myself alone in my quite world. Eighth grade was torture for me someone started a rumor that my middle name was sucks (Dee sucks Cox). What thirteen year old could fight such a nasty thing? It only made me withdraw more from the world as I knew it.

When I tried alcohol for the first time I was in love. It made me feel free. It helped me talk to others. With the help of alcohol I could be who anyone else wanted me to be, but I could never myself. I knew I would never be accepted as myself.

I found it ironic that Melinda re-found her voice in the very same person that took it away. The thief of my voice wasn’t so easily identifiable so it took me years of struggle and slide to finally hit a bottom to where I could begin the trudge back to my voice. I remember the moment my voice returned like it was yesterday. It was 8-1/2 years ago. I sober for a short time and it was very first time I shared part of my story with another human being. It was a moment of freedom and release. It was at that moment I decided to share my story with anyone who would listen. If it helped one person, the life I’ve lived would be worth the pain.