My dream in life is to write a good story. To write a book that people will hold up to their chest and hug, embracing every aspect of it. The kind of story that others put themselves into, the kind that makes them cry, that urges them towards their true self, their better self. That's my dream.
However, my children, my husband, my season of life, make my dream difficult to squeeze in. I tell myself I have to live the story before I'll be able to write the story. I guess that is why I like to blog - it is a record of our story, our everyday, ordinary story. The main characters are pigs, sheep, chores, Farmer Boy, my kids and our life. Does this mean I'm living my dream? Hmmm.......
Well, I 've gotten a hold of some very good stories lately.
The first one to steal over me takes place in post-Napoleonic France. It weaves a web of deception, betrayal, prison tunnels, friendship, treasure, love, revenge. Ahh..... it's glorious.
The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexander Dumas. If you haven't read it, well, I think you should.
I can never read only one book at a time. I don't always feel like slipping away to France, what if I sit down to read and France just doesn't sound appealing? What if I'd rather travel back to 1962 to Jackson, Mississippi? I'd be a maid, (not a big stretch actually) and I'd be African American. I'm working for a white woman who's not quite in touch with her humanity. I'm tired of being treated less than human and so I join with some of my friends in telling the truth about working for my less than human white woman. Oh my. What a great story. I'm completely wrapped up in the characters and the times. Love it. Love it. Love it.
How 'bout the photography? I used a tea towel for my background. I know. I'm good.
The book is called The Help by Kathryn Stockett and it is going to be a movie later this summer. I wanted to read it first because they usually don't do as good as job as I do in bringing a book to life. My imagination suits me. Most of the time they don't get it right.
I have one more book that I'm reading. It's a travel book. It's non-fiction. I love it. I always have wanted to travel the world. When I was in college I was going to kick butt for Jesus. I think my plan involved actually kicking people in the butt until they believed what I believe. I've toned down. Today, I would simply love to visit Sevilla Spain, Tuscany Italy, or the shores of Scotland, maybe Portugal. I would love to see what everyday life looks like there. I want to eat their food and let them teach me how to prepare it. I'd love to smell a street in Sevilla and touch the food in the markets. I'd love to look across a field in Tuscany and be a part of it. I'd love to walk down a curvy road in Scotland, bundled in my warmest, but fashionable, grey sweater and feel the ocean on my check. I wouldn't even worry about how curly and frizzy my hair would get. I'd just walk and feel. I wouldn't kick anyone in the butt. I would simply like to make some friends.
So here it is.
A Year in the World by Frances Mayes. I just picked this one up. I've skimmed through it and I'm going to love it. I'm still in Sevilla. She is going to take me to Portugal, Naples, Taormina, Italy, Fez, Burgundy, the British Isles, the Greek Islands, Crete, Scotland, Turkey, Capri, and Mantova. I don't even know where all these places are but I'm so ready to go. I want to eat at every place.
My stories. Everyone needs a good story.
Have a great weekend.
I think I'm going to read.