Over at the Guardian, Geraldine McCaughrean writes about being selected to author the sequel to Peter Pan, due out tomorrow. I've never been a huge fan of Peter (although I do think it is hysterical that Tinkerbell says "you ass" many many times in the book and always directed toward the boy wonder himself) but I'm very excited about another book McCaughrean has due out next year, The White Darkness - a YA novel about a girl obsessed with the South Pole who goes on a trip there with her uncle which "turns into a nightmarish struggle for survival that will challenge everything she knows and loves."
Powells has Portland writer Laura Foster blogging this week and she posted an entry today that rubbed me the wrong way a bit. It seems her outdoor cat became injured and when the vet told her it needed a $370 surgery she asked about the cost to put it to sleep instead. As it turns out there was a $65 antibiotic treatmen available and she went with that and the cat is apparently fine, but the point of the entry seems to be with children starving around the world, Foster thinks it is more important to give money to charity then to put it into an outdoor cat. Here's an excerpt:
Then he [the vet] said, "Well, she's been bitten by another cat, and it probably happened several days ago." Another silent accusation: Don't you notice when your cat is injured?
No. we have four children coming and going, meals to cook, jobs, a large garden and lots of just, plain living to do. The cat has a job: keep the field mice out of the house. We love her, but she has to pull her weight. And I haven't actually even seen her lately, until this morning.
As I said in the comments, I'm sure she didn't mean to sound heartless, but she comes across that way. Maybe it's just because I'm writing about New Orleans so much and pets were so important down there but this just seemed...icky. Read it and come to your own judgements.
Ed attended Bourcheron, the big mystery writer's convention and found himself snubbed by many of the attendees. I guess this means we can't pick on science fiction as being too clubby - it seems more than one genre is full of fans (and writers) who like to separate themselves from the general reader population. I have no idea why people do this - why the hell can't we all get along? - but there you go. The mystery people don't want commoners giving their two cents either. (Yes, I sound bitter - I'm just so disappointed by this behavior that I can't stand it.) Here's one of my favorite quotes from the comments:
But the thing one has to admit is that there are far more lit fic shitters than pop fic shitters, and that will create an anomisity among many people who will go to the mat to forward the progression of genre.
Okay, great - as long as we have some perspective on all this, then surely we will be fine eventually.
I don't link to Elizabeth nearly enough, but her journal (Draw the Girl) is one of the reasons I embarked on this whole web site thing in the first place. She just finished Eat, Pray, Love and has this wonderful recommendation:
I just finished Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert, which is a book not about letting go of God but about seeking God, and it totally resonated with me, too. I loved every page. It moved me the way that Anne Lamott moves me, the way that the Weepies move me. I think I'll read it over and over, and I think it could even possibly change my life a little bit.
So I'm not sure what to make of that.
I have a spare copy of An Abundance of Katherines I'm sending her way and just got a second copy of Gemini Summer which I'm going to send too. Elizabeth is awesome and everyone should read her blog.
And finally in an enormous amount of bad news over the past few days (oh those poor girls in Lancaster County), this article in the Washington Post filled me with hope.
In February, nearly a year after he got out of prison, Betts started the YoungMenRead book club at Karibu Books in Bowie because he loves to read. Because he wanted to create a place where it was cool for black boys to hang out, speak up and be smart -- a place he says he never had.
Betts was a 16-year-old honors student and class treasurer at Suitland High School when he carjacked somebody, was charged as an adult and spent more than eight years in prison. He wasn't that bad, he says. He just drifted a bad way, and there simply weren't enough safety nets to head him off -- not enough teachers or organizations, mentors or black men.
Betts knows how easily black boys can live hermetically sealed lives in which guns and drugs and dying are all viable options. And with everything in him, he wants to save them from that mistake, from everything he has been through.
I think I just found a new hero.
