Mucho Big Bummer

I’m a bummer

in my bummer machine

I make you sad

but keep it clean….

Have you ever noticed how the bummer posts rake in the stats? It just dawned on me the other day. The stats were just hobbling along then boom, a straight shoot for the stars. Curious me went looking for the reason why – sure enough, it was a bummer post.

I checked other peaks in the stats and yep, there they were – bummer posts.

It made me wonder why? Why is it that we are attracted to the bummer posts? Is it just human nature to feel sympathetic? Is it us commiserating with our own brand of bummerhood? Is it our compass? We look for the common denominator and the bummer is the one thing that we all have in common?

I have to wonder because it seems sure attract commentary. I’ve written all kinds of posts – some which I thought were hilarious but apparently I was the only one in the room laughing . Current events – nobody interested. Politics – soso. Controversy? My last controversial post was one of my worst stat days. Yet, when I’m bummed out and I write a post about it – the hits are lining up at the door.

Isn’t that weird? I just don’t know. How about you guys? Does this bear out with you too? I’m just wondering.

WC

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Mystery Melon Theatre

Okay, so I think I have a handle on the type of melon I’m growing now. I’m pretty sure it’s a cantaloupe. In the last couple of days it’s developed netting over the skin and it sure does look like a cantaloupe.

It’s about 3.5 inches in diameter and it’s heavy – can’t really say how much it weighs maybe 2-3 lbs? I post the pictures for your perusal and theories. Wow, isn’t this exciting?

On the second shot you can almost see the second melon – just below and to the left that is also rapidly growing into an adult melon. Cripes, wouldn’t it be funny if it was just a mutant cucumber or something?

I’ve cut the foilage back an awful lot (maybe too much) and I’m a little worried that it will wither and die because I shouldn’t do that but I can’t let it take over the whole garden, so I’m taking my chances. I’ve also trained it to start climbing the bungee cords that are attached to the wall, so maybe I’ll get a sort of lantern effect with little melon globes climbing upwards. Though I don’t know…do melons get traumatized if they can’t lay on the ground and they are swinging from a bungee cord in mid-air instead? Crap I may have to pay for therapy for these puppies.

Again this thing is growing in leaps and bounds, it has just about doubled in size since last week, so it could be a VW Bug by next week. And yeah, I’ve kept the vines away from my window, lest it creep into my bedroom whilst I sleep.

WC

Let’s All Do The Rant

 

When I was a kid and for much of my adult life, I was shy. I know, nobody ever believes me when I tell them this but it’s still true. In fact, when I was a kid I was just shy of being afraid of my shadow. I hardly ever spoke, certainly not to people outside of my family and my few little friends.

I don’t know why, my family wasn’t particularly quiet or reserved, we didn’t have butlers and grand aunts commanding particular modes of behavior. Perhaps I just preferred to sit back and listen. Make myself invisible and watch, like a spy on a secret mission.

I’m certain it is one of the things that sent me in the direction of writing. Because despite my lack of verbosity (is that a word?), I had thoughts…millions of them, ideas, images, dreams. Yes, they were all there and not being spoken. The blank page became my best confidant and may be still.

As I have lived life, had some experiences good and bad, grown more confident in who I am, all that good stuff, I’ve become much more verbal. Not much of a surprise, eh? And thanks to blogging, I have learned the fine art of ranting. Now, this is not to say that I didn’t rant before I became a blogger, sure I did. But I really didn’t have the technique and discipline down. I was all over the place. I was here and there and every fricking where. Also, my voice would rise higher and higher as I reached the all important point. To be honest, not too impressive.

But…in my little dive of a blog I’ve learned to keep my voice level, make my points, use humor and even anger (sometimes) and even edit to drive my rant home.

But I see other friends/bloggers who are in the place I used to be. Not wanting to say the wrong thing. Somehow tarnishing their image as the nice person or considerate person or the one everyone likes because they are just so very kind. The ones who are just dying to rant. Dying to scream at the top of their lungs. Let out all the complaints, real and imagined. Bitch, moan, harp, cry, whine and drama-queen, without fear of rejection or reprisal.

So, here’s your chance. Want to rant? Yeah? Go for it. Right here. Right now. Whatever is on your mind. I don’t care. I give this space to you, my friends and fellow bloggers. Let her rip. Have a ball. I promise you’ll feel much better afterwards.

WC

The Robin is Round…

As a silly way to celebrate hitting the 50K mark (a blogger milestone of sorts, I suppose) I had an idea. I’ve probably got the rules all screwed up – but, here’s the deal…

A few years back I was involved in an online writing group and sometimes we did these little exercises called round robins. Which really is just a gang story. It goes like this: Someone starts with the first paragraph or two and then it switches to the next guy and the next guy and the next guy – and so on.

I thought it would be cool if you guys would play this game with me. I’ll start – then you guys can add a paragraph or two in the comments section. I will keep track and when we either reach an obvious ending or it gets totally out of hand, we’ll be done. Then I will post the completed co-story (or whatever it turns out to be).

So…what do you think? Want to play? Jump in and add  your two cents to my paragraphs, then the next guy adds to the previous guys’ para’s and so on. Hope you’ll play. Here we go…

Marvin shook his freshly-popped popcorn into the big, orange bowl. The one with the crack in it. He put a movie in the player and settled into the big, easy chair. “Ahhh.”  And that was the last thing he remembered.

When he awoke, he saw his popcorn scattered on the living room floor, the bowl upended at his feet. The television was off and the house was silent. Except for one sound – a kind of scratching-tapping. “What is that?” He struggled out of the chair and shuffled down the hallway. The sound grew louder as he neared his bedroom. He stopped at the closed door – funny, he didn’t remember closing it, in fact, he never closed it. His heart jumped in his chest with each scratch-tap, his vision blurred with anticipation. “Stop being an ass, Marvin,” he scolded himself and threw open the bedroom door…

Okay folks, take it away. Hope somebody wants to play with me or I’ll look pretty stupid, huh?

WC

Crash

There was a movie made a couple of years back called Crash. I can’t say I was much of a fan of this movie because it seemed to use extreme stereotypes to deliver its message. Personally, I feel that if you are going to do a film or story with a ‘message’ then you have to go outside the box and find the story that delivers that message, rather than try to build a story around the message.

However, the concept was an interesting one – even a good one. To me, it posed the question: Is life a series of crashes in which we are all victims or do we create crashes in our lives in order to make contact with it?

In recent months I’ve been doing a lot of crashing in my life, with my life, around my life and to my life. I won’t deny that this has bothered me a great deal. While I’ve always been a person who ponders and at least tries to look at the deeper meaning of life, I have always been able to see the light side and tried to just enjoy my life, such as it is. I’ve even been known to find life an utter and complete joy for no better reason than the sun was shining and my garden was growing.

So, to realize that life has become a series of crashes, both real and metphoric was a bit of a stunner for me. And of course, I’m not talking about the good crashes. That fun and exciting, inexplicable slam into the swing of things. That amazing tango of new and exciting concepts, people, places and things. That banging out of the door to greet yet another glorious day. Oh no, my friend – not those types of crashes at all.

Rather, I’m talking about cars being damaged, employee revolts, headaches, stomach aches, tax returns, root canals, bad digestion, sleepless nights, frustration, self-doubt and the sense of being trapped in a small box, dancing in peanut butter while wearing a white dress. Old Chevy keeps breaking down, running out of money on my credit cards to cover it – okay, got a new car – oops now there’s a big dent. Job that I loved went to nowheresville, okay get a new job – oops, it’s hell on earth. Hmm, hangnail, let me just take care of that – oops, now I’ve ripped the whole nail out of place. Yep, it’s been fun. A real laugh riot.

But given the kind of person I am, I refuse to surrender. I refuse to lay down and die. Even though sometimes, I think I’m going to just expire like last week’s cottage cheese and go down in a blue flame of methane gas – some kernal remains alive and true to who or what I am.

I wonder if God is testing me or maybe it’s just me testing me. In the past, when I’ve become bored, a buttload of trouble followed. That sure got my interest going again. But there must be a better way to get interested in life again. There must be a less threatening way to feel alive than to have everything go to shit and then go through the tedious process of pasting it back together again. Right?

And the only answer that seems to surface is creativity. Sounds simple, doesn’t it? Sounds like something we could all do. We could just go create something. People do it all the time – it takes the form of hobbies, sports, gardening, singing, dancing, telling jokes, hell even re-arranging the livingroom could classify as something creative. Yet, it seems when you need them the most, the creative juices won’t flow. They’ve frozen and slammed shut the door that leads you there. The colors of the world around us sort of dull down. There are too many crashes going on around us. The door is broken, the cat is sick, your child is having a crisis, work sucks the life out of you. The most creative you feel is maybe voting for the least offensive American Idol contestant. Or possibly painting your fingernails (although the dry time is a bitch).

What’s a person to do? Life ganging up on one can sure seem like a pretty unfair fight. I mean shit, you against all of life? The whole universe? The entirety of the inertia of apathy that has snowballed and blocked your front door? Not fair. Not fair at all. Can you say, I surrender?

But here’s the thing. You have a choice. You really do. At least, I think you (I) do. You can just say, no. Really, you can. You can turn the tables and say, ‘okay life, what are you gonna throw at me today?’ You can laugh in the face of life and say, ‘big fricking deal.’ I know whenever I’ve read any book about a self-made, successful person that seems to be what they have done. They have made and lost fortunes several times in their lives. They have gone where few have dared to go. They had vision. They had guts. And man oh man did they have disappointments and troubles too. I’d like to think I could do that. I’m not sure I can. I’m not sure I have the nerves of steel or vision or whatever it is to do such things – but I must have enough gumption to get a little creativity going, right?

Yeah, I’m always going to have the bullshit stuff. Jobs, rent, dental visits – bills, problems, whatever… But I’ve denied myself my own joy of creating of late. I’ve denied myself the permission and pleasure to look around and see all the pretty things that surround me. Many of which I made myself. I took Roomies two pathetic strips of dirt in the backyard, which he was using for weeds, and planted a garden. Now I have lettuce, tomatoes, squash, cucumbers and flowers. It sure didn’t cost much and really didn’t take that much time – but I sure do get a charge out of it. Every day when I get home from work, I say to my dog, ‘okay, let’s go look at the garden.’ She gets so excited she nearly explodes. So we go. Actually, I look at the garden and she runs around chasing her tail – but we both get a charge out of it.

I still have a pretty car, even though some joker left his mark in it. I have friends and I have ideas. And those may be the bestest and prettiest things I have in my life. Ideas. They are free-form and ever-changing – they are new and different and they are something wholly and completely made of myself. No seeds necessary, no fertilizer, no participation from others even – though those things help. They don’t weigh anything, don’t require closet space and I can take them with me wherever I wander.

So, I’m taking a do-over on my particular crashes in life. I’m going start crashing into my creative inner child. I’m going to crash into the sunshine and see what’s out there. If other people don’t like it, then they’ll just have to figure out their own crashes I guess. Maybe you’d like to give it a try too. If nothing else, it’s sure to be an adventure. Happy landing.

WC

Could You Just Grunt, Or Something?

 

You know, I’m usually pretty easy going about things. I realize that people have lives and everybody has their own style – but I do have a little pet peeve I want to air.

I just don’t understand it when bloggers don’t even bother to acknowledge a comment you’ve made. How much trouble could it be to just say, ‘thanks,’ or ‘okay’ or ‘good point’? Or something?

I realize that not all bloggers are like me and get into the back and forth with their readers. Maybe some feel uncomfortable doing it or don’t really know what to say. But heck, the whole idea of blogging is to put out an idea and get people to engage in that idea with you, isn’t it? Is it really too much to expect at least a grunt or something? You know, I’ve come to your blog and I’ve read your post and I made a comment, I didn’t lurk, I didn’t stop in mid-read, I didn’t click away – I stayed, I read, I commented. But you can’t say, boo?

Another thing – that in my mind, is even worse –  is selective response to comments. I don’t quite understand this approach. What is it, some commenters are better than others or deserve your acknowledgement while others don’t? Sorry, but to me that’s just wrong.

 If a writer/blogger expects to get someone to respond to their words, what makes them think that they shouldn’t respond in kind? I’m just wondering. Does anybody have any thoughts on this?

Don’t get me wrong, this isn’t a pitied plea for comments or sympathy.I don’t need either or to have my ego soothed. It’s not about ego, it’s about manners. In this day and age, manners have rapidly dwindled to near-extinction. People don’t think they have to say thank you or please or excuse me anymore. I don’t know why, but they don’t. It’s no wonder to me that there is so much road rage and people going postal. Treating people as if they are invisible is never a good habit to develop.

Anyway, no big deal – just a mini-rant. Feel free to add to the rant or offer some opinion about it. I’m curious to know what other bloggers think.

WC

 PS: On another note – one of our own needs a little help – all prayers accepted. Thanks!

In Your Wildest Dreams

Recently, a friend of mine offered me a visit to her home (halfway across the world, mind you) and described the stay as if it were written in some beautiful, glossy travel brochures. It sounded heavenly. I’d have no cares or woes, just fun, peaceful bliss and lots of time to do whatever I wanted. My knee-jerk reaction was to complain about how reality wouldn’t stand for it. But…it still sparked something in me. It allowed me to dream (for a minute) about what I would do if I could simply take a year off.

Like, Poof! You now have a year off to do anything your little heart desires. You will suffer no consequences and at the end of said year, you may return to your normal life – no harm, no foul.

It was a heady thought and really did get my wheels turning – can you hear the screeching? I actually sat down and gave it some thought. What would I do if I had a ‘free year’? If I could do absolutely anything and there would be no negative ramfications?

Write: I’d write. I’d write up a storm. I’d write, articles, short stories, novels, scripts, menus, letters, poems, anything and everything. I’d also submit like mad, enter every contest I could find, spend the time to get a good agent and a publisher. I’d allow myself to feel like a writer, act like a writer, think like a writer, without the dull ache of everyday interferring. And from that, I think I’d change somehow. Maybe not physically, but it’s possible, but certainly on the inside there’d be a change. I might even lose that hangdog expression I get when I feel frustrated and hopeless. The world would once again, become a fascinating, interesting and beautiful place. It would be the source of wonder and joy. An open book, so to speak. Oh yes, it would definitely change me.

Blog: Naturally, I’d blog – I doubt much of anything would change that. But I sense that my blogging would also take on a new tone. Maybe it would be more fun or interesting. I’d have more time to learn about things, people, places, whatever. Maybe I’d even learn some photoshop tricks and make cool pictures. I don’t know – but I’d be the happy, traveling, blogger.

Read: I’d read all the books I’ve been meaning to read. I’d reread my favorite books, perhaps finding a deeper meaning in them than I already do. I’d read the classics, even the Russians. Plays, novels, poetry, volumes of short stories, epress, small press, big houses, small houses. Everything from Shakespeare to Evanovich.

Volunteer: I always wanted to do volunteer work. In my life, I’ve managed some. Like most of us, I give to charities when I can. Not much, but something. But I’d really like to somehow help in a way that would make a difference. I’ve often pondered being a Big Sister or volunteering at the V/A, or a children’s ward in a hospital, St. Jude’s. All of the above, and more. I have a strong desire to help others, and it hurts that I simply don’t have the time to do it.

Garden: Remember that 40lb tomato? Oh yeah, I would love to do that. Or something similar. I have always had a knack for gardening, making things grow. There is something wonderful about seeing seeds turn into living, growing things. Something wonderful about eating fresh veggies out of the garden. Seeing a beautiful carpet of flowers zooming across the landscape. I might even learn how to make my own compost heap. Exciting stuff, eh?

Travel: With the exception of my perilous two cross country drives between here and Florida, I’ve never really traveled. Some years back, I wanted to just pay off all my bills, save some money, buy a jeep or truck and just take off. I would travel around, stop in and see friends all over the country, take on odd jobs as I needed to and write about my adventures. I’d be a travel tramp, so to speak. See much of my beautiful and awesome country, try different foods, learn about different traditions and so on. I know a lot of people might prefer to go to Europe or places more exotic, but I’ve always yearned to see my own country and learn about it. Although, I might have to make a pit stop in Austrailia, as I seem to have a few friends there. 😉 

Work Out:  Once upon a time, I was in good physical condition. I used to run 5 miles a day, had a great bod and amazing stamina. In recent years I’ve turned into a bowl of mush. It’s embarrassing – but we go back to the workaday life, the lack of time and energy and that’s what you get. I would really like to feel physically fit again. Feel like learning tennis or running a few miles wouldn’t kill me. Like to spring out of bed and greet the day, rather than groan and beg for coffee first thing in the morning.

I’d spend more time with friends and family: There never does seem to be enough time for this either. I haven’t seen my Mom or my siblings for a few years. Not to mention, cousins, aunts and uncles. And it’s not good for the soul to feel disconnected and disjointed from the family and friend units.

Of course, I realize that I’d probably have to take five years to accomplish all of this – still I wouldn’t mind trying. I wouldn’t mind at all. In fact, I’d love it. And I’m sure if I did, I’d become a different person – a better person, someone I’d like a lot. And after writing all of this down, my heart is telling me that maybe I should give it a try. How I could pull it off is a total mystery to me – but I’d sure like to.

So, there is my idyllic life, in a nutshell.

How about you? If you had a whole year off to do anything under the sun, moon and stars, what would it be? What would you do? Would you, afterwards, really be able to go back to your old life? Or would you have changed your life forever?

WC

So Many Obsessions, so Little Time

 

I’ve been tagged by Interstellar Lass to do a post about obsessions. Now this is intriguing because I’m not sure I have any obsessions. I can hear laughing out there…but seriously, I’m really not sure I do.

Well, maybe a couple.

I think we can all agree I’m obsessed with blogging. Who’d a thunk it? Last summer when my buddy, Michael asked me to fill in on  his blog while he was on vacation, I thought, Jeez, blogging? Plus the whole thing made me nervous because it seemed so cliquey. As though it was his private club and I’d be crashing. I didn’t think his fellow club members would be interested in anything I had to say or wanted to write about it.

But he was so persuasive and is a good friend, so I decided I’d give it a try. It was only for a week after all and you can pretty much do anything for a week without gagging. Right? So, off I went. My first post was entitled Cream Boogers. To say I was surprised by the response puts it mildly. Like Sally I thought they like me, they really like me! Then I was hooked.

The week ended quickly and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Within a week I had my own blog. And so it began. I learned about hits and stats and stat counters, and links and photobucket and blogrolls and the whole enchilada. I was a blogger from that day forward. And though I bellyache about it sometimes, I doubt I could ever stop blogging.

I’m also obsessed with chocolate. So much so that I will not be able to get the image of a snickers out of my mind (I’m talking days) until I actually get one. Or whatever chocolate obsession is popular with me that week. I can always find a reason to have chocolate. Always.

Books, love books. Not because I’m a writer, though that doesn’t hurt – but because I love climbing into other worlds and leaving my world behind. I love fiction more than nonfiction, but I’m also nutso about the self-help books, the starting your own business books, marketing books and books about art and artists. I always have at least 30 books in the cue that I simply must read. As well as favorite books I want to reread and try to force on others (can you say, Atlas Shrugged?). My local library has a fantastic second hand book store and sell 5 paperbacks for a dollar and hardbacks for 50 cents to 2 bucks. I’ve even found some rare books there. Who needs Barnes and Noble’s?

Talking. Now, I’m not sure talking really classifies as an obsession since we all have to talk. But I don’t mean chit-chat kind of talking. I mean those deep, philosophical, swift exchanging of ideas that matter. The kind of talking that keeps you at Starbuck’s or on the phone til all hours because you just can’t stop, because really it’s the most fun you can have without taking your clothes off kind of talking. Oh yeah, I can talk until my vocal chords shrivel up.

And last but not least, writing. I have written in one form or another since I could write. As far back as I can remember I have written stories. I have been fascinated with the human condition and putting that fascination into the form of stories or poems. Writing to me has been my mother confessor, my friend, my touchstone, my comfort, my refuge, my joy and my heartbreak. It has always been the way I have processed anything. It is the conduit that has connected or disconnected me from the world. I honestly think that if I ever stopped writing I would die. The body might stick around for a bit but my soul would be as dead as a doornail. It is what and who I am, for better or for worse.

Alrighty then, I think that is more than enough obsessions for one post, probably for the decade. And now, you probably know way more about me than you care to know.

How about you? What are your obsessions? Anybody out there who wants to be tagged, consider yourself tagged. Or just share your obsessions here. You know me, love the chatty comments. Go crazy.

WC

PS: How’s that, Lass?

Is Reflection a Bad Thing?

 

Lately it seems I’ve been stumbling upon various posts that complain about the introspective (selfish?) nature of bloggers. Too self involved, too much ME and not enough THEM or IT (I guess?).

It made me wonder because recently I’ve been writing some ‘think’ pieces. Have I been just thinking out loud, instead of writing? Thoughts that shouldn’t be spoken or written but kept to myself? Maybe I’ve just been bumming y’all out without realizing it. Cringe. And hey, maybe that’s something bloggers shouldn’t do. Or maybe it’s just something I shouldn’t do?

Is it arrogant to think that anyone out there is interested in my inner thoughts? Could be they’re ‘inner’ for a reason. Hmmm.

But if that’s the case, doesn’t that violate that old writer’s chestnut about writing what one knows? The goal of writing in part is to write it real and to be true and honest in what we write. If that’s the case, then how can we write without looking inward and reporting what we find there?

Is reflection part of that or is it just pure indulgence? I really don’t know – so please feel free to jump in and offer your opinions about it.

We all have our reasons for blogging – we all write for a reason, but isn’t it a universal truth that writers (or any artist for that matter) write because they feel they have a voice and want it to be heard. That they have something to say? I mean, somebody has to say something, don’t they? Even writers/bloggers who write as though they are above it all – aren’t they really just espousing their opinions too? Aren’t they writing from the core they call self?

 I don’t know – it could be there are those of you out there who can write from the ‘outside’ as observers. Maybe that’s the way it ought to be. But in my mind, if you’re writing from the ‘outside’ as an observer then aren’t you just recording what you see and hear? And if so, are you the origin or just the conduit through which the reporting of facts and events come?

Me? I write from the inside out. It’s my way and always will be. Call it indulgent, call it self-absorbed, call it egotistical – call it whatever you like. For me, it’s the only way to go.

What about you? From the outside or the inside? Is reflection actually a thing that is better left unsaid and in your head?

WC

An Answer For Everything…

 

When I was a kid, my mom used to say I always had an answer for everything, which was code for ‘you’re such a smart aleck’ but I enjoyed nonetheless.

Well, this isn’t really a post about that though.

Debi of Ms Crankypants has posed three questions for me to answer -an off-shoot of the whole Alabaster Crippens meme – and I decided to answer them here.

So here goes:

1) What event from your childhood or teen years still has a lasting effect on you to this day?

This is a tough one because it is quite personal. But what the heck… When I was about 12, I was very excited because I had managed to save a good deal of money for Christmas gifts. I really wanted to buy something special for my mother. So, I really budgeted the money for the other gifts on my list so I’d have enough left over to buy her a real gold cross on a chain. She had mentioned many times how she had wanted one and I was thrilled that I was going to be able to give her one. I bought the cross, tiny though it was and on a very delicate chain, it was still 14k gold and I couldn’t wait for Christmas day to arrive.

After weeks of agonizing waiting Christmas day arrived and I gave her the gift. Beside myself with anticipation. When she opened it, she cried and I was elated that she was so touched. But then she said, ‘It’s so small. Is that all you think of me, to give me something so small?’ (or words to that effect). I was crushed of course and disappointed. And I think I tried to explain to her but honestly, it’s a bit of a blur what was said after that point.

At the time, I thought she was being mean. Or maybe that she just didn’t love me very much or less than my brothers and sister. And I vowed I would never buy her anything that would ever enter the area of ‘special’ again because I couldn’t bear that kind of reaction from her again.

But in retrospect, I don’t think she was being mean. I think that she had many insecurities and self doubts. And that for some reason that necklace reinforced those insecurities and doubts. That in her mind, it validated her fear that she didn’t matter. And to me, that is even sadder that my mother wouldn’t know how much I was trying to please her and make her happy.

It has always affected my relationship with her and I’ve always felt tenuous with her and worry whenever I have to buy her a gift or send her a card. I try to pretend that it doesn’t matter but it does. She has a birthday coming up and I spent days trying to find something to send her that I thought she would like. I settled on something but I have little hope she’ll like it. I know she’ll say she does but…

Anyway, that’s the answer to that one.

2) What is the purpose of imagination and where does it come from?

I believe the purpose of imagination is to bring about the future. Without imagination, we would not have any of our modern technology, music, art, literature – artists are the dreamers of our society and they through their art dream and bring into reality products of their imaginations.

3) What book would YOU want to have written, and why?

Without question I would have wanted to write Atlas Shrugged. There are several reasons why. I strongly identified with Dagny Taggert, a true individual who did not care what others thought of her and was guided by her own conscience and values, despite incredible influences to act otherwise. She would not compromise her beliefs or ideals. Also, I believe it is one of the most important books ever written because it makes the case that we are each responsible and accountable for our actions or inactions and that no one is owed a living, wherewithall, possessions, or status that is not earned. To me, a definitive text of the 20th century and modern society. And probably most importantly, because it was an elegant and flawlessly written story that continued until it was truly over. Rather than ending on a specified page count.

Well Debi, there you have it. That was interesting… 😉
WC