Hold the Pictures, Please

     I read a tweet today that said that licensed comics are gateway products for people who are not yet regular comic readers. There is no ‘gateway’ enticing enough for me to ever pick up a comic book.

     I really don’t understand grown-ups with this obsession. Comic books, graphic novels, or whatever you want to call them. Manga? I don’t get it. I’ll have the prose, please. Hold the pictures. You want to explain to me what I’m missing? By all means. Proceed.

     I also rarely enjoy a film, no matter how well crafted, whose screenplay was adapted from a book I loved. The pictures take up too much room. The actors don’t look like the characters I imagined. Important stuff has to be left out and sometimes the story becomes distorted and almost unrecognizable because the film can’t be longer than two hours.

     For me, the art in literature is the writer’s ability to use words to create images in the reader’s mind the same way that a painter uses oils or watercolors to create images on canvas. The difference is that the words on paper are colorless and no two images will be alike. I’ll bring my schema and you bring yours and we’ll have something to discuss. 

     In keeping with today's theme I will refrain from adding a picture to my post. Make your own.

Confessions of a Faker

Most Saturday afternoons I can be found in one of my favorite wine shops in front of beautiful tables of sommelier-selected wines, swirling and sipping and ooohing and ahhing and occasionally turning up my nose. I’m a keen observer of how it’s done and I’ve learned to use descriptors like: spicy, earthy, notes of citrus, great finish, delicate yet complicated, and on and on. I nod in agreement with the thin men with neatly trimmed beards and sweater vests who stick their noses fully into the glasses and then talk knowingly about the region and the grape and the tradition of the grower.

I, however, am a liar and a fraud. I know virtually nothing about wine. I just like to drink it. Don’t talk to me about pairings. I drink wine without food most of the time and my tastebuds aren't… I mean my palate isn’t sophisticated enough to care about whether or not the Zinfandel compliments the filet mignon. (Who am I kidding? I never have filet mignon.)

I drink wine almost every night. A glass or two. Maybe three on a weekend. My budget doesn’t really allow for this, but as I’ve said before, I’d probably go without heat before I go without my evening glass of wine. I can’t afford $35 bottles of wine. Ever. I know what I’m missing, however, because I get to taste $35 bottles (and higher sometimes) at the tables on Saturdays.

Life is about compromise. I know what I like and what I don’t. I have yet to find anything under $6 that I think doesn’t taste like Nyquil. There are several wines in the $9-10 range that are perfectly drinkable everyday wines. I’m not going to pay a lot of attention to them when I’m drinking them, but they’re not going to make me scrunch my face up every time I take a sip. When I know I’m going to sit down with someone I love and really enjoy the wine, I might spend $15 or so on an Oregon Pinot Noir - and I really enjoy it.

When my novel sells a few hundred thousand copies (Stop laughing. It could happen.) I’ll splurge on $20 bottles of wine. I still won’t know anything about wine, but I'll still be faking like I do.

Making a Name for Myself

So I had this dilemma that I resolved, but in the process it created another problem. (Isn’t that always the way?)

I’ve written articles for professional journals in education and I’m the author of a well-known professional publication that’s used as a textbook in major universities across the country. Don’t be impressed. The net royalties from this book have paid for a couple of really nice dinners.  More importantly, however, my writing has earned me a certain amount of respect that I enjoy from others in my field.

The problem arose when I decided to write fiction that’s somewhat provocative, perhaps even controversial, and this might cause the parents of my kindergarten students to wonder what their teacher does outside of the classroom. My colleagues might understand but I didn’t want there to be any confusion when their undergrad students searched for the textbook by the author’s name - my name.

So, I decided I needed a pseudonym for my fiction work. A pen name.  A nom de plume.  I created one, just like I created names for my characters. Dilemma solved.

The problem now is promoting the novel. I am now as much a fictional character as the characters in my book. In fact, I am a fictional character in my book.  I’ve created a fictional persona with a fictional Facebook page and a fictional Twitter account, and oh, look at what you’re reading: a fictional blog. Sort of.

I’m open to ideas. How do you market a product without attaching yourself to it? If you’ve done this and have suggestions, I’m all ears. Just make sure you send them to my fictional address.

On the Eve of Christmas Eve

 I’ve presents wrapped but not enough.

The money’s tight; the times are tough.

The spread beneath the tree looks thin

It won’t be long til disappointment sets in.

The holiday stress has taken its toll

There are some things I can’t control.

I’ve had to change my point of view.

I’ve done the best that I can do.

Tradition, though, will not be lost.

I’ve been resourceful, defrayed some cost.

Like every year, we’ll have our ham,

The cinnamon buns and rolls with jam.

 

We’ll open presents while we feast

I’ll cross my fingers and hope at least

That it’s enough that we’re together

Despite the year we’ve had to weather.

I count my blessings. My gifts are many,

For there are those who don’t have any.

And though my kids have less this year,

We never lack for love ‘round here.

 

You can follow me on Twitter @ceceliahalbert 

At Last… My Love Has Come Along.

 

My lonely days are over, and life is like a song.

If a year could be compared to a roller coaster, 2012 would have lines a mile long because the extreme nature of the highs and lows would mark its place in roller coaster record books from now until the end of time.

The best thing about a good roller coaster is the relief of the smooth coast to the finish. There’s always the chance that the car won’t stop and the operator won’t let you off and you might have to endure the whole ride again, but as you glide to the end, your hopes are high. Your heart slows its pace and you look forward to setting foot back on steady ground.

The car does stop and the door does open.  You reach for the hand held out to you and then you step out and cling to him because he is your life.

And at last, my love has come along. My lonely days are over, and life is like a song.

Sing it, Etta. I know what song I want to dance to at midnight on New Year’s Eve.

Wine, Whine, Wine

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It occurred to me recently that I haven’t gone a day without a glass of wine for quite some time. I enjoy wine - dry reds in particular.

Wine is a luxury, yet even in my divorce-imposed frugality I figure out ways to keep a bottle in the house. I don’t buy expensive wines and I would rather do without a lot of other things… like heat, for instance - than to forego my evening glass of Cabernet Sauvignon or Shiraz. I'm thankful that the love of my life shares my fondness for the fermented grape. Our evening ritual of pouring each other a glass is a nightly reminder of how important we are to each other.

Last night my beautiful and talented thirteen-year-old daughter dissolved into a heap on the living room floor, wailing over a boy. My eleven year old son (who happens to have Asperger’s or whatever they’re calling it today) whined that she was ‘having emotions.’  He put on headphones and played Minecraft on his computer while my daughter and I worked through the rise and fall of her adolescent yet very real romance. I made her a chocolate milkshake.

And I had a glass of wine.

Visit me on Twitter (@CeceliaHalbert) or Facebook (Up the Hill by Cecelia Halbert) 

or here:www.ceceliahalbert.com

What I Know and What I Don't: Marriage and Asperger's Syndrome

I don’t know everything. In fact, the older I get, the more I wonder if I know anything at all. The strange thing is that the older I get the more people expect me to know something. They expect some measure of wisdom from me. All I can do is tell them what my experiences have led me to believe and encourage them to draw their own conclusions.

Over the last year or so, I’ve had conversations with many women who are married to men with Asperger’s Syndrome. Most of us have nearly identical stories. We feel shut out, disconnected, unimportant, frustrated, and exhausted. Most of us found the intelligence of our husbands to be attractive initially. After some time, we realized that the capacity for intelligence in our husbands was high, but the range of interests was narrow. We found it increasingly difficult to communicate and connect with our husbands.

The similarities in our marriages were striking. The differences in how we chose to handle the challenges were vastly different. I chose to end my marriage. This was not an easy decision; it was fraught with guilt. Guilt over leaving someone with a disability, guilt over tearing apart my children’s home, guilt over my own inability to cope with the challenges in my marriage, and guilt over falling in love with someone other than my husband.

Now that I’ve had time to step back and look objectively (or at least more objectively) I’ve shaken off the guilt. I now know that the most important reason for a human being to live is connection with another human being: intense emotional, spiritual, intellectual connection.  I need that. I want that. I deserve that - and so does my ex-husband. I don’t know if he’s capable of it, but I know that if he is, it’s not with me.

I had a conversation with a friend tonight who told me that he was dating someone he was starting to like, that they had nice conversations, and they had fun together. His concern was that he couldn’t see their connection being any deeper than it already was and it left him unsatisfied. “But she’s really nice,” he said, “and great with the kids.”

“It’s not enough,” I told him. “You know that. In your heart you know that. Do you want to live the rest of your life with ‘nice?’ No. You’re worth more. She deserves more. You both do. You have to keep looking until you find it, because it’s out there. I do believe it’s out there.”

I just wish the timing in my case had been better.  However, I might not have known what I had if I hadn’t gone through everything that happened. I don’t know. There’s a lot I don’t know…   but I know love when I feel it.

Visit me on Twitter (@CeceliaHalbert) or Facebook (Up the Hill by Cecelia Halbert) 

or here:www.ceceliahalbert.com
Up the Hill is available at Amazon, and other major booksellers as well as Kindle, iBooks, & Nook