TBR/TBW: August 2023

Salutations, ReaderPeople! Just to catch you up on the Filling-in-the-Gaps TBR, I've read the books for 1973 and 1980 and have switched out 1984's book several times but have finally settled on Dragons of the Autumn Twilight. I might end up switching out 2023 for a poetry book, depending on how the next two novels go. I'm going to update my Goodreads once all the books are done, filling in those gaps.

I'm also going to sideswipe the GarbAugust reading event (do the prompts for each week but skip the bingo, etc.), possibly reading Alan Dean Foster's Krull for week 3 (novelization or book by famous person). I'm going to have to locate books for the rest (Week 1: Category Romance or Men's Adventure; Week 2: Paperbacks from Hell or Vintage Smut; Week 4: Anything Goes)...I'll have to skim Paperbacks from Hell to see if there's anything my weak stomach can handle.

And then there's the writing. I've been finding NaNoWriMo/prompts really distracting lately. My least favorite part of writing is taking the pile of text badly in need of revision and doing...the...revision. I avoid it with another shiny pile of terrible text.

My solution? More shiny text! Part of the goal of GarbAugust is to remind you what drew you to reading in the first place, maybe to shake you out of the mindset that reading is merely a sport of wordcount or books completed and I'd like to give myself a writing goal that pushes me to a finished short novel. My goal for the month of August is to produce a 50K to 75K story (23 chapters, beginning, middle, and end) that incorporates my interests in dead mall content, portal fantasy, and walking. The ultimate goal is for a picture of the printed, completed novel to appear on this blog before October 1st.

Many happy summer wishes!

-- Chrissa

Comments

Turn Away

Sharing with The Sunday Muse , for #193. Turn away, like the moon, listening... Listening to the planet that rumbles with a hundred million slaps. All the feet, all the rockets, all the pistons in the cars on the asphalt over the chasm where the veins run deep, blue in sunlight, black at night. Running over the chasm. Once or twice they ran to you. Once or twice they ran by. Greetings and salutations. The sky is an entertaining shade of concrete yellow as the rain promised earlier in the week makes good on its arrival. It's a disturbing bright sallow sky, the kind of sky that puts you in mind of old movies and degraded film stock and the pops and crackles incidental to the main story. Several years ago I made a resolution to journal more and last year I came across a video that suggested I actually re-read those journals, at least those of the previous year, at the beginning of each new year. Technically, I have kept the journal resolution, making daily notes in...

To Blue Fields Far Below

Sharing with The Sunday Muse #228 , The Fashionable Twenties. A sycamore fairy sits crosslegged in the road Dragons swim toward smooth hills above the storms Vines embrace the telephone poles Someone washed the blue skies and she knows It's time to dare the salty foam It's time to wade through the eternal fields' folds And gather golden apples for home. Hoping this finds you with space to daydream and a good book in which to wander. Working on turning last week's prompt into a longer piece, as I found myself intrigued by the idea of tea in the garden as combat. Social situations are not my forte. As it's still Spider September, there will be a chihuahua-sized jumping spider that is none too happy about anything but hunting squirrels (that's for you, Mom). -- Chrissa

By the Roadside

Sharing with The Sunday Muse #260 with much appreciation to Carrie & Shay & everyone. Just a reminder: if you have a poetry book, please drop a title in the comments. My TBR won't thank you, but I will. :) I drive by the armadillos, dead where they fell. Sunlight is so heavy it folds into damp shimmers. All the roads are widening, dispersing the ditches, Grinding out parking lots, killing slow steps. I speed up; crisp winter in the passenger seat. We will arrive at the store soon; I will drag her Chill, into the store. Breathe for both of us. Brightness distorts the lots, now grown gigantic. Roads need blood, the state needs the kills. We will make it through barriers if we wear them: Dead armadillos, caliche dust, gunmetal sunshine.

A Weed on The Curb

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