A writer’s treasure-trove: eOpinions

Reviews and opinions, given online, have a flair and feel all their own. It seems that in removing the face-to-face aspect of giving one’s opinion, anyone can suddenly rise to a perceptive plane that in times past only paid critics were allowed: a virtually uninfluenced platform from which to view the product or piece and give the complete breadth of one’s thoughts on the subject, without the injection of outside observation whilst writing. The mystery of online anonymity seems to merely add to a reviewer’s boldness to be as candid as possible.

Compare this to a friend (or family member) handing you a poem or story and asking you–with eyebrows upraised—‘What do you think of this?’ perhaps some saturnine souls may be able, in said circumstance, to render an un-influenced, truthful opinion right there and then, but most would feel rather obligated to somehow ‘soften’ their words or differ from their real opinion to spare the feelings of the personally-favored onlooker.

As a writer, I have come to respect e-opinions, as they are–by enlarge–frank and succinct. Such opinions are not always the easiest to hear, for it is far kinder to the ego to enlist the sublime reviews of friends and family, however, such is not necessarily constructive. Despite this fact, who among the vast circle of writers and poets has not been touched by a soft, glowing opinion of someone dear? Words which (if only for a few moments) can turn the frozen pond of ardent stoicism into a rippling, idyllic summer haven.

Humanity’s quest for outside opinion has sprung great pieces into existence since the dawn of time. During that same time, sages have riveted the realm of writing fast to the rules of Literature, and for good reason; though rigid and demanding, said rules are vital for harnessing the creative passion of artists worldwide and uses that energy to its best advantage.

MG

Hidden in Monotony…

I’ve often heard it said that humans are creatures of habit. Whether habit or no, many are the daily tasks that one must perform in order to ensure Order be kept, maintained and, occasionally, given an extra polish.

Monotonous work–often used synonymously with terms like ‘tedious’, ‘droning’ and ‘boring’—comprises much of my day; early rising, splash of cold water upon the face, brush hair, teeth, wake the children, make coffee, get out the breakfast items for assembly (the children help assemble), search in the garden for ripe tomatoes, pick lettuce… herbs, wipe up mess after coffee…breakfast, dishes rinse, dishes ‘en washer’, sweeping, hugs and kisses for daddy as he leaves for work, check children’s outfits for stains/holes, check backpacks for stray items, bundle older kids off to school…

From then on there is more cleaning, laundry, gardening (a fancy word for pulling weeds), lunch for my youngest, cleaning up after lunch, more sweeping, mopping, wipe down counters, cupboards, refrigerator, microwave, appliances, table, chairs, vacuuming the office floor, hallway check for stray toys, bathroom 1 cleaning, bathroom 2 cleaning, fold laundry, hang shirts, et cetera.

Reading the above even I have to admit it sounds daunting for such to be worked on in the same way, every day. However, despite the apparent repetitious nature of my diurnal endeavors, I found (some years ago) that there is–hidden in monotony–a resource far more precious than any money can buy.

Time.

Having finished these tasks there is suddenly time for play, for singing, for dancing, for reading, for writing, for smelling of roses, for sewing, for projects, for laughter and all the things that make life just a little bit better. In contrast I do have several friends whom hire people to do for them the ‘housekeeping’ work that I do daily; they arrive home each night to an enviably clean domicile… exhausted. I used to think ‘how nice it would be to–like them–have a maid and have all that time freed up’, but to my surprise they inform me that those little bits of time that I procure all but escaped them. They constantly wonder where Time has gone.

Monotony has its uses; efficiency in movements is one. Having discovered that spare time lies hidden in finished tasks, I found ways to speed up those tasks to fruition… to get them over with, as soon as humanly possible. The end result is worth it: to be able to romp and play with tiny feet just a bit more, to type a few more lines, or read a bit more prose, to laugh at one more amusement, to smell one more rose. There is an additional comfort in these monotonous toils; alongside me floats an invisible badge, the insignia of a group of women, like myself, that over the several millenniums of human existence have found joy in the lifelong career of keeping home. It is world-wide club, encompassing women of all classes, colors and clothes whom daily wash, sweep, launder, cook, comfort, mop, watch children, teach… and live.

Tedious? Droning? Boring? I think not.

Literary Advice for Surviving a Bad Economy:

1. ‘Three Cups of Tea’, from one teabag.

2. Make do with local ingredients; not everyone can drink from ‘The Cask of Amontillado’. (Indeed, it may behoove one not to…)

3. In hard times ‘Pride & Prejudice’ are last to leave, and first to return.

4. Learn ‘Of Mice and Men’ that eat them; corn-fed rodents are quite tender, actually.

5. ‘Great Expectations’ are always free, though be prepared for the possible sequel, ‘great disappointments’.

6. Berries are pricey; with diligent seeking they can be picked for free ‘Where the Red Fern Grows’.

7. A sunset can feed the soul; take a moment to enjoy ‘The Remains of the Day’.

8. ‘Robinson Crusoe’ found solace and sanity in daily labor; keep busy.

9. Making creative dinners of leftovers earns you ‘The Red Badge of Courage’.

10. Lettuce soon bolts; gather the seeds before they are ‘Gone With the Wind’.

11. ‘Little Men’ and ‘Little Women’ can do little tasks to help out.

12. Diets including ‘Leaves of Grass’–especially of wheat—provide a nutritious boost.

13. Despite the seemingly interminable rain, the ‘Sun Also Rises’.

14. If you see a ‘Cat on Hot Tin Roof’ leave it be; they’re a bit gamey.

15. ‘The Call of the Wild’ is dual-edged; there is free food to hunt, providing something is not hunting you.

16. If only briefly indulged in, ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’ will cost you nothing.

17. With good company, a simple picnic can be ‘A Moveable Feast’.

18. A house without laughter is ‘A Bleak House’.

19. Keep the ‘Dust Tracks on the Road’; use mats at all entrances.

20. Smaller home? Be glad of it. ‘The House of Seven Gables’ runs up quite a tab with Merry Maids.

21. At any time–but especially during bad times–one learns the ‘Importance of Being Earnest’.

22. If you are ‘In Search of Lost Time’, set the morning alarm a bit earlier.

23. The ‘Idylls of the King’ are for the king’s budget.

24. ‘To Kill a Mockingbird’ may suffice, but it takes six to fill a rotisserie spit.

Foray into Flash…

Using various free help available on the Internet, I’ve been teaching myself ‘Flash 8′. A far cry from merely a cartoonist’s tool to poke fun at political figures, thousands of companies and individuals use this program as part of a greater advertising plan. Among other things, I’ve seen–over the last two years–that Flash is being used more and more for making mini promotional videos to announce independently published books & film, or previously unknown products. You Tube is being utilized by said artists, writers and entrepreneurs verses hiring expensive advertising firms… and it’s working.

In the same school of thought, our little company put together a promotional video for our bestseller, ‘Draw Me a Picture’; it’s a 45-second ’short’, set to part of Mendelssohn’s Symphony #4. As fun as the program can be, using Flash presented a few difficulties: not only do the various facets of instruction require one to ’slog through’ the minute, repetitive steps, but one must possess the mind of a film director as well. i found my self asking “What do I really want to say?” to myself several times; invariably this questions would result in erasing frames and starting over. Around eleven at night I showed the finished product to the Editor, my husband and got a thumbs-up. He indicated that I’d hit my audience and that it resembled one of those movie previews for a “chick-flick”. I was elated. It’s not professional at all,but for complete amateurs the short seemed pretty good.

We put it up on You Tube this morning. A rather exciting surprise awaited us as we did so; You Tube has now connected with Twitter and Facebook to immediately let your entire list of friends/contacts know that you’ve uploaded a new video, without having to log in to those programs and update them.

Feel free to take a look at the video and let me know what you think, for I appreciate the views posted, not only on a literary plateau but a world-wide one as well:

Click Here To See The Video on You Tube

Thank you,
MG

July Reviews are up for perusal…

Several new books reviewed for July.

My favorite: The Illustrious Dead, by Stephan Talty, arguably one of the best books I’ve read in the last two years. It was a fascinating account of Napoleon’s foray into Russia, in 1812 and of what small, overlooked enemy eventually caused the defeat of the Grand Armee.

Click here to see a page of all my latest reviews.

As always the bosses love to see comments on the reviews, so don’t be shy with your opinions. Many thanks to all those here whom have taken a precious moment of their time to gander at my reviews.

Cheers,
MG

Blinking the Critical Eye…

As a freelance writer, my professional experience is limited; besides penning six novels (the seventh is currently in the works) I’ve only been reviewing books for a ‘real’ publication for five months. Before that, my expertise was limited to posting blogs on a handful of literature-inclined websites. Upon being hired as a serious reviewer, I felt eager to read as many books as possible; getting free books hot off the press adds to the ‘mystique’ of this, particular industry.

The age-old perceptions of ‘critics’ yet appears to hold true: an elite group of hallowed citizens, whose opinion is sought out by magazines and newspapers nationwide. As appealing the idea of becoming one of ‘them’ someday, I cannot forget what it feels like to receive criticism of your own hard work. A step back when reading any given piece is therefore necessary, to evaluate not only the first impression of the prose but also to hold up the goggles of creativity, to strive to see what the writer(s) meant to write. Thus, as I am reading a certain kind of mutual respect wells up within me, vying with matched force the more critical aspect of the job. The human eyelid is adept at changing perception, however; with each blink my mind’s eye travels back and forth between writer and critic. This almost yin-and-yang struggle produces a unique form of literary stress; where most read for pure pleasure or learning, the reviewer must read with squinted, hawk-like eyes, always vigilant for glaring mistakes, yet all the while striving to enjoy the book as a reader would.

I recently read an encouraging perspective on the issue of creativity VS criticism, one which re-buoyed my enthusiasm for reviewing more books; it came in the form of a prologue for a book I am reviewing for the upcoming August publication. The writer weighed critics against writers and came across so well in his prose that I was immediately at ease and able to soak in his arguments. The main premise put forth was that writers made the best critics, as they understood the anguish and sweat that goes into each beloved piece and feel passion for writing in general, unable to flippantly dismiss a piece without really looking at it… or at least finding something good to say about it.

As one-sided as his– or my own–opinion would be as a writer, reading the few lines on the subject once again affirmed in my mind the responsibility of a reviewer: to give an impression without cruelty, balanced with prior pieces read and bearing in mind the classic pieces of the ages and yet, never forgetting to return to viewing a piece with an inquisitive reader’s eye.

More book reviews for June…

More titles uploaded; this was one of my busiest reviewing months.

Chocolate, olive oil, BBQ, housecleaning, history and weeds… something for everyone:

Click Here for Link

As always feel free to leave comments on the reviews, for the Web is run by reader opinions. Enjoy.

Meredith Greene

Why Poetry?

I am a poet. Since the age of fourteen I have bent my pen and thought towards pouring out the lyrical corners of my soul onto paper. Often received was the ‘why’ from peers, family and even friends. Admittedly, there is little market for poetry volumes these days. Much of the younger generations tend to attribute poetry to the realm of homework, or as an old fashioned method of expression; the best man could do before ‘texting’ was invented.

Upon reflection, I can understand the parameters of this mindset, schoolwork mentality notwithstanding; good, true poetry requires time to produce, not to mention a bit of concentrated thought. Trying to ‘text’ poems would be arduous; the very idea brings to mind a person on a hill, trying to fervently communicate recipes in semaphore. Poem materials are generally old-fashioned, such as notebook and pen; however, several of my poet acquaintances use naught but Word and a laptop to compose their prose.

Time is the greatest luxury item of all and most fine, worthy things call for a sizable share of it. Poetry requires an additional expense: Truth. The words themselves open a small portico in the soul of the writer and unlike literature the general public is then invited in to peruse at will and scrutinize. They are directed in a steady stream up velvets roped paths; onlookers stop and view each line, weighing both effect and meaning. Some browsers give a philosophical nod and move on; some shake their heads in puzzlement. A few, however, will stand and ponder and walk away uplifted, even moved.

Such is poetry; it can be mere scribbles on a paper napkin scented with the oily perfume of diner french fries. It can be typed up via PC and left to breaths while the poet searches for the perfect, subtle font in which to ‘set the mood’. The presentation method matters not, for though humbly shown or elegantly tinted the lines will be treated equally; each word will be read aloud or, whispered, audibly tested and savored for the complete poetic experience.

Poetry can expound on anything, anywhere to anyone; unconstrained by literary requirements, opinion or the woes of advertising trends, poems allow one to un-tap emotion (whether all of it, or a merely portion thereof) letting it drip down and run over the page. Something as simple as a string of thoughts, inspired by some action or scene, can provoke the most profound interest in humans; it spans race, time and cultures.

Nothing seems to incite curiosity in our fellow man more than how others see the world and what they are thinking. After a few false starts, we even begin to understand Shakespeare’s perspective, by the penning of his lines. The views and genius of Wordsworth, Elliot and Keats hold relevance even for the most agile and dedicated texter.

A breath… a moment… a look at a few lines… a pause to reflect and enjoy… a reverie. A true poet causes simultaneous interest and idyll… a tear and a sigh… recollections and shouts. They write not for fame, for there is but little to go around in this sphere; they write for themselves. As to how it is done, nothing is simpler: the moment is either captured or it is not.

A poet must write; there is no ‘why’.

Meredith Greene

Let Us Grow Flowers…

(a short tribute to our eldest daughter.)

Daughter…

I remember the first time my hand

Curved behind your infant head;

Its surface like small golden field on the moon;

What do you see?

I hope a good mother.

Let us grow flowers,

And discover they simply sleep.

Someday, I will dance at your wedding.

But, now I jump up to make tea,

All the way talking with laughter.

Literary Corner: A Tale of Two Cities

Having one of the most famous opening paragraphs in Literature notwithstanding, this long tale stands on three solid pillars… along with a whole host of decorative posts.

Pillar one is the historical detail, accurate to the very last aristocratic cruel glare above a laced, starched collar. The strong, ever-moving plot follows and stitches the bits of London and Paris history together into a finely woven story, one that echoes long-forgotten epic ballads, though in true literary form. The last pillar is the drama itself… not overly done, not poured so fast that the plot drowns as a spindly seedling in a lake; Dickens caught up fistfuls of the rampant emotion present during that tumultuous time, hearkening forth the bloodcurdling bawls of long-maligned peasants whipped into a frenzy by the madness of mob rule. This review will not reveal all but merely attempt to incite curiosity in readers to entrench themselves in this classic book.

It is difficult to remember throughout this story that this is indeed a ‘Dickens’ book… an author known for his rather hopeful stories, whose plots tend to lean heavily on the milk of human kindness. Though Dickens excelled in painting humans as they are with his pen, this tome is by far his most macabre in flavor… yet, I knew as I read it that this was due more to the actual events than to the writer, for historical accounts show that despite one or two literary straying from known paths into storytelling, this piece may have almost been a chronological account of the revolution in question.

The tale begins as most great stories do, with an innocent person suffering an enormous wrong by greedy overlords bent by decades of excess, wont to do as they please. This ‘beginning’ is gradually revealed as the plot goes along similar to now movies use flashbacks to give background filler. I digress: a young peasant girl falls victim to a particular, tyrannical aristocrat; as she is laboring to give birth to the nobleman’s bastard a local doctor, Alexandre Manette, is called in to assist. Tragically, he is unable to save her or the child, and for some reason instead of merely warning the doctor into silence about the scene he’s just witnessed, the aristocrat ushered the good man into a waiting, blanketed carriage and hustles him off to the worst place in all France: the Bastille prison.

Though the good man wishes to decry his chains, Manette’s name is written down in the prison ledger and he is closeted away in one of the foul, stinking cells of stone. There he remains for 18 years, not knowing how his servants or young daughter are or how to contact them. Eventually one of his former servants Defarge finds him and is allowed to care for the man. Defarge and his oddly cold wife Therese run a wine shop and secretly nurture a blossoming secret revolutionary group referred to as ‘Jacques’, a name taken from an actual French Revolution group, the Jacquerie. Therese has her own dark reasons for zealously provoking rebellion, which are revealed later in the book.

Time goes on; Dr. Manette’s daughter Lucie (a lovely, sweet-tempered girl) is cared for by the capable, motherly housekeeper, laboring under the delusion that her father is dead. Eventually Tellson’s Bank in London gets word somehow of Manette’s real condition and in order to verify the information (the reason involved money) sends an astute and dedicated employee named Jarvis Lorry to Lucie, explains that her father is alive and enlists her help; normally a young girl that that time would have been a traveling liability, but Lorry is clever enough to know that 18 years in the Bastille may have thrown a damper on Manette’s reasoning ability, and that seeing his daughter may slowly snap him out of it. This thinking proves correct. They find Defarge, whom leads them to a cell where a half-catatonic, wasted Manette sits, making shoes in a compulsory manner, having severely withdrawn into his own mind. Eventually, the sight of his daughter’s golden tresses stirs a small memory in his mind, and he grows to recognize her and know himself again. Lucie and Lorry liberate him and carry him back to England to convalesce in the arms of family and devoted servants. Thus ends the first third of the book, and one of the few happier moments. Two more parts lead these characters into a web of mystery, love and finally, resolve.

Not only for readers but writers, this tome is well worth the time and energy required to read and enjoy the historical drama, well-developed characters and genteel intrigue overshadowed by the hideous wraith of revolution. Few today write as well or as honestly as Dickens.