The Book Club

 I would be most content if my children grew up to be the kind of people who think decorating consists mostly of building enough bookshelves.  

~Anna Quindlen,"Enough Bookshelves," New York Times, 7 August 1991

Well blimey, I've taken the proverbial plunge and started blogging, committing myself to this business of writing that I do so admire and fawn over every time I come across a piece of good writing. Of course i could never be so delusional as to profess myself worthy of being compared to any of the prolific writers who grace my favorite author's list. That being said i keep in mind always that Vincent v Gogh is reported to have once said, "if a small voice says you not a painter then by all means paint and that voice will be silenced".And while pondering this piece of advise I thought: well I can put pen to paper, I can spell, I have a bearable if not just above mediocre command of the grammatical nuances of the English language, enough to fly under the Thesaurus (and....I was tempted to say  The King's English) radar_ergo, I am a writer( be it as an amatuer, newbie, wannabie.... ) whatever adjective is used -predictive or attributive, it bears no relevance. Except of course to the hardened, seasoned, professional, "submit a book a week" writers who may have a different opinion, an antithesis to my statement of "no relevance".


And as I write this I'm thinking someone may need to keep the smelling salts handy because this is the most that I have put, of my mind on paper and I happen to have a disconcerting and at the best of times perplexing relationship with my mind. And as a result of never quite knowing what I am subjecting myself to when I let it run free, I am almost convinced that after clicking publish on this page, there is a chance that I might be left devoid of my senses for a little while. 
I'm sure you, the reader, will agree that writing is a process akin to giving birth which any self respecting child bearer will tell you is not a task you engage in looking or feeling your sexy best and neither does your disposition improve during the course of delivery but you hope and believe that the end result will have been worthwhile. From personal experience and third party evidence and testimony, I am inclined to believe that the results do indeed supersede all expectations. This is what I hope will be birthed out of my writing career which I am attempting to ...... conceive (for lack of a better word).


 And as one who has cheated nature two out  of three times in the birthing exercise, I am a firm exponent for any initiative that will alleviate unwarranted discomfort for those involved by any means necessary, we do after all live in the 21st century. And so to be kind to myself, I am dedicating one of the posts in my blog to BOOK related discussions. I am envisioning that this should serve as a soft landing pad for myself in this writing expedition as well as a safety net against boring my readers with my long winded soliloquies and habitual 2am ramblings which I hope to now and again interject with amusing if not somewhat thought provoking anecdotes. 


For a while now, I've been on a mission to indoctrinate the world, hoping to turn everyone into bookworms (starting with my "little" family). I have had marginal success in the home front, all the occupants  falling within the age group of 2 to 35 years have succumbed with great enthusiasm to this lifestyle (not fad). The challenge still remains in the conversion of the upper echelons. 


One of my favorite quotes is by Edward P. Morgan  

A book is the only place in which you can examine a fragile thought without breaking it, or explore an explosive idea without fear it will go off in your face.  It is one of the few havens remaining where a man's mind can get both provocation and privacy.

And on that premise, I think that as one who loves books with the deepest of passions humanly possible,  its only fitting that this should be my first blogging project. I would love to exchange ideas, experiences and travels (both in mind and body) which have been initiated by encounters with books. In my own life books have been tremendously efficacious in inspiring me to take the bold leap into creative depths from time to time . A good book has the uncanny ability to turn a drab day, life, existence into a kaleidoscope of brilliant color, a splendiferous profusion of  taste, smell and texture. 


My plan for this blog is to create an online book link  library where we can source books as we go along. Should you at anytime come across a great book, please post the title and author details on the comment section  of this blog.
As we get to comfortable, I think it would be a great idea have detailed reviews on specific books and perhaps read them simultaneously. but that's all in the future.


Now for Book talk:

Last December I came across a book written by William Kowalski, I wonder if anyone has come across him. The day I read this book I was up all night reading, falling intermittently into fits of giggles.

There is something about his style that reminds me of conversations I've had with some of my white SA male friends. That is an odd statement I know but there is just something in the way he tells his story that is so incredibly hilarious, very down to earth and yet quietly confident. I think  it's his "familiar" tone that endears him to the reader and if you've ever watched the main character in the movie movie Faith Like Potatoes, I think you'll get a good idea of this personality. 

Here’ a little extract from the book I read titled: Somewhere out there, he writes about a young New Yorker's journey  to finding his natural Mexican mother and the young man is narrating:

“That is, I didn’t know who half of me was, the half that came from my mother, neither for that fact, did grandpa. I was delivered to him in a picnic basket – a fact of which I was always slightly ashamed, until he reminded me that Moses had arrived in a basket and so had numerous other notable people throughout history. There was nothing to be embarrassed about, there was a find tradition associated with baskets. This happened when I was a few weeks old: my arrival I mean. Presumably I was put in that basket by my mother on that strange morning in 1970. I must have known her a short time, but of course I don’t remember anything from those days, and Grandpa never even got a glimpse of her as she dropped me off on the back steps and promptly fled the scene.”

Promptly fled the scene! Someone else may not find this funny but this is my family. This happened to my cousin who was dropped of in just such a manner by his mother at my grans, and only met her in his twenties too. I imagined my own father whom I have never met (except at conception) doing the same thing: skulking around as he went about trying to dispose of me, had he been in such a predicament. It's the first time I've laughed so hard at the deplorably tragic circumstance of my paternity.

I’ve actually just noted that he writes: Grandpa – is that confirmation of my suspicion that he's South African? 

Ok, the end becomes a bit of an anti-climax because it doesn't end in the same explosive manner that it started off in but neither is the end disasterous but is rather predictable. 

I hope you enjoyed this rather lengthly prose.....and I hope to hear from you soonest telling me about your encounters with your latest books!


Please look out for weekly updates of this blog.


Much Love
eFabulosity