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Spoilers What Book Are You Reading?
- Thread starter Huntn
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For those who love fantasy: Two (three counting Philip Pullman) superb fantasy writers have recently released books: These are, firstly, Philip Pullman, with The Secret Commonwealth, - part two of The Book of Dust trilogy, the sequel to his superlative work/trilogy His Dark Materials.
Secondly, the wonderful Garth Nix (read his Abhorsen trilogy, it's brilliant) has recently released Angel Mage.
And the terrific Frances Hardinge (her Skinful of Shadows is simply stunning) has just this week released Deeplight.
Secondly, the wonderful Garth Nix (read his Abhorsen trilogy, it's brilliant) has recently released Angel Mage.
And the terrific Frances Hardinge (her Skinful of Shadows is simply stunning) has just this week released Deeplight.
The Symposium by Plato.
A wonderful treatise on true, trascendentale love.
![41Ua3bLVTPL._SX322_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg]()
A wonderful treatise on true, trascendentale love.
I love Brian Tracy! Let me know how's this book.
Inspired by @SandboxGeneral , I also decided to read a book on time management.
How to be a Straight A Student by Cal Newport. This is a pre-social media book with many useful suggestions on time management, information retention, and organization. All the suggestions are useful. The fact that it is aimed at students does not detract that it’s full of ideas even for professionals. I read this book many years ago and found it very useful, it was time to re-read it.
Cal Newport is the author of “So Good they Can’t ignore you”, “Deep Work”, and “Digital Minimalism,” which all all amazing works.
![51mKmt0ltIL._SX322_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg]()
How to be a Straight A Student by Cal Newport. This is a pre-social media book with many useful suggestions on time management, information retention, and organization. All the suggestions are useful. The fact that it is aimed at students does not detract that it’s full of ideas even for professionals. I read this book many years ago and found it very useful, it was time to re-read it.
Cal Newport is the author of “So Good they Can’t ignore you”, “Deep Work”, and “Digital Minimalism,” which all all amazing works.
I intended on finishing it today as I am halfway through it, but a mild family emergency called me away this afternoon for several hours. I was actively reading it when I received the phone call and had to go.
But, barring any further unplanned events, I'll get it finished tomorrow and begin on a different book.
That being said, I am already an excellent manager of my time, but I chose to read this because I know that I don't know everything and that I can always learn something new. Plus I wanted to read this one as a bit of research for one of my newsletters I publish to my staff.
The book, so far, is well written and covers a broad spectrum of concepts and techniques that one can employ to make the most productive and efficient use of one's professional time. I can already recommend it as a good book to study.
"Digital Minimalism" is in my 'want to read' list on goodreads.com and I think I'll check out some of those other books @yaxomoxay mentioned as well.
I just finished the book a few minutes ago. I picked up at chapter 14 today and that chapter all the way to the end was amazing. I found all sorts of ideas and gems that I am going to start trying out tomorrow morning.
Excellent book!
----
After lunch, I'll start on this one which I checked out at my local library the other day.
Learning to Lead: The Journey to Leading Yourself, Leading Others, and Leading an Organization
Finishing the third book in the Eritis Trilogy, it a free set from Kindle Prime about cloning going a miss. Next in the batter's box is Michael Connelly's The Night Fire.
20+ years working as a professional artist has really crippled my ability to sit down in my spare time and do my own personal art. The creative block (if that's even what it is) feels like an insurmountable wall. I need some help.
Find some way of separating your personal interest from your professional activity.
Once you make a professional living from something that you find interesting and creatively and professionally fulfilling, it can be difficult enough to return to that as a hobby, or private interest.
You need to find a way to separate the two - the private and the professional - and set boundaries between them.
Sometimes, you may need to take a serious breaks from one, in order to make some room for the other to emerge, grow, flourish and find its voice or image.
Blink: The Power of Thinking Without Thinking - Wikipedia
Started The Night Fire, a Renée Ballard and Harry Bosch novel. I like the way Michael Connelly added the Renée character to Bosch series. She reminds me a Scotland Yard detective I know.
Inspired by @Clix Pix in a different thread.
The Story of My Life
by Helen Keller
![821611.jpg]( "821611.jpg")
And..
The World I Live In and Optimism: A Collection of Essays
by Helen Keller
![7857887.jpg]( "7857887.jpg")
The Story of My Life
by Helen Keller
And..
The World I Live In and Optimism: A Collection of Essays
by Helen Keller
Lead Yourself First (2017) by Michael Erwin and Raymond Kethkedge. This is a great, much needed book about the importance of solitude (defined by the authors not as absence of people in physical proximity but absence of input from other minds). This books covers one topic and provides many excellent examples, from Eisenhower to Lincoln, from Jane Goodall to Churchill.
One flaw is this mania of using the third feminine generic pronoun at all costs which causes odd sentences and paragraphs. Two male authors, talking about Eisenhower switch to the feminine for no reason, and then go back to the masculine, then again the feminine and so on. I have absolutely nothing against using the feminine pronouns and generic persona, but for the love of God use it in a sensible way (the same could be said for the masculine however they do this probably once or twice in the entire book). If you talk about Jane Goodall etc., don't switch to the masculine for one sentence just to re-switch to the feminine and then the masculine and so on. Stay with the freaking main topic/character. This editing choice is awkward, and it's the second book that I've read that does this (I believe that the first one was Robert Gates' "Duty").
![LeadYourselfFirst.jpg]()
One flaw is this mania of using the third feminine generic pronoun at all costs which causes odd sentences and paragraphs. Two male authors, talking about Eisenhower switch to the feminine for no reason, and then go back to the masculine, then again the feminine and so on. I have absolutely nothing against using the feminine pronouns and generic persona, but for the love of God use it in a sensible way (the same could be said for the masculine however they do this probably once or twice in the entire book). If you talk about Jane Goodall etc., don't switch to the masculine for one sentence just to re-switch to the feminine and then the masculine and so on. Stay with the freaking main topic/character. This editing choice is awkward, and it's the second book that I've read that does this (I believe that the first one was Robert Gates' "Duty").
Yeah, that's odd. I read a book recently where a bit of that occurred as well. The book wasn't peppered with it, but it was noticeable.
Strictly for the sake of consistency, they should stick to one form - either one, I don't' care. But as you said, don't play random switchero on the reader. It's distracting and breaks the focus of the reader and causes us to lose the meaning the book is trying to convey. At least, that's how I experience it.
It should probably stay with the main character of the book/chapter. If you talk about leadership using Churchill as the main example, use the masculine form. If you're talking about leadership using Madame Curie, then use the feminine form. In a bio, just use whatever is appropriate for the subject.
Scrolling along in Twitter on a coffee break and had to pause to think this one over for a bit LOL.
The interviewer at one point asked a leading question related to time Irving had spent at the renowned Iowa Writers Workshop (a graduate level program at the University of Iowa in Iowa City, Iowa), perhaps just expecting a little "filler" material from the response. "You've also said you made some valuable friendships as at teacher at Iowa?"
Well Irving at first merely fetched up a short list of names.
But then the interviewer prompted "... and you met J.P.Donleavy at Iowa?"
And BOOM, it was as if a water pipe had burst and ... talk about victims. LOL! well I'll put that bit into spoiler tags but the interviewer had struck gold there.
My coffee went cold for the re-reading of it! Perhaps the best of it though and quite in tune with the general snarkery was that editorial comment at the end of Irving's tirade there, that the "subscription" to The Paris Review that Irving mentioned J.P.Donleavy had bragged about having was in fact just a complimentary one.
Honestly sometimes you just cannot beat The Paris Review for entertainment.
There are all manner of places one take Irving's featured quote there, that "writing a novel is actually searching for victims." I mean one could simply agree and then just observe that for a writer the question then may be whether to write a thriller and kill the victims off in film-worthy fashion or to take up their cause and save them via clever counterterrorist maneuvers... or in lawyerly brilliance in a courtroom. All doors are open before pen ever hits paper.The interviewer at one point asked a leading question related to time Irving had spent at the renowned Iowa Writers Workshop (a graduate level program at the University of Iowa in Iowa City, Iowa), perhaps just expecting a little "filler" material from the response. "You've also said you made some valuable friendships as at teacher at Iowa?"
Well Irving at first merely fetched up a short list of names.
But then the interviewer prompted "... and you met J.P.Donleavy at Iowa?"
And BOOM, it was as if a water pipe had burst and ... talk about victims. LOL! well I'll put that bit into spoiler tags but the interviewer had struck gold there.
I like meeting other writers, and Iowa City is a good place to meet them, but I didn’t enjoy Donleavy. John Cheever and I, who were in a particularly ritualized habit of watching Monday Night Football together, while eating homemade pasta, were happy to hear that Donleavy was coming.
We’d both admired The Ginger Man and we wanted to meet the author. I went to the airport to meet him; I’d written three novels—but not yet The World According to Garp; I wasn’t famous.
I didn’t expect Donleavy to have read anything of mine, but I was surprised when he announced that he read no one living; then he asked if we were in Kansas. I told him a little about the Workshop, but he was one of those writers with no knowledge about writing programs and many prejudices about them: to be a student of writing was a waste of time; better to go out and suffer. He was wearing a very expensive three-piece suit, very handsome shoes, and handling a very posh walking stick at the time, and I began to get irritated.
In a meeting with Workshop students, he told them that any writer who was lowering himself by teaching writing wasn’t capable of teaching them anything. And so I was quite cross by the time I had to pick up the great man and drive him to his reading. I said we would be taking Mr. Cheever with us to the reading, and that both Mr. Cheever and I were great admirers, and that although I knew Mr. Donleavy did not read anyone living, he should know that Mr. Cheever was a wonderful writer. His short stories were models of the form, I said.
But when I introduced Cheever to Donleavy, Donleavy wouldn’t even look at him; he went on talking to his wife, about aspirin, as if Cheever wasn’t there. I tried to say a few things about why so many American writers turned to teaching—as a way of supporting themselves without having to place the burden of making money upon their writing; and as a way of giving themselves enough time to practice their writing, too. But Donleavy wasn’t interested and he said so. The whole trip he was taking was tiresome; the people he met, the people everywhere, were tiresome, too.
And so Cheever and I sat up front in the car, excluded from the conversation about the evils of aspirin, and driving the Donleavys about as if they were unhappy royalty in a hick town. I will say that Mrs. Donleavy appeared to suffer her husband’s rudeness, or perhaps she was just suffering her headache.
Cheever tried a few times to engage Donleavy in some conversation, and as Cheever was as gifted in conversation as any man I have ever met, I grew more and more furious at Donleavy’s coldness and unresponsiveness and total discourtesy.
I was thinking, frankly, that I should throw the lout in a puddle, if there was one handy, when Cheever spoke up. “Do you know, Mr. Donleavy,” Cheever said, “that no major writer of fiction was ever a **** to another writer of fiction, except Hemingway—-and he was crazy?”
That was all. Donleavy had no answer. Perhaps he thought Hemingway was still a living writer and therefore hadn’t read him, either.
Cheever and I deposited the Donleavys at the reading, which we spontaneously decided to skip. It was many years later that I met and became friends with George Roy Hill, who told me that he’d been a roommate of “Mike” Donleavy at Trinity College, Dublin, and that “Mike” was just a touch eccentric and surely not a bad sort. But I remembered my evening with Cheever and told George that, in my opinion, Donleavy was a minor writer, a ****, or crazy—-or all three.
I should add that drinking wasn’t the issue of this unpleasant evening; Cheever was not drinking; Donleavy wasn’t drunk—-he was simply righteous and acting the prima donna. I feel a little like I’m tattling on a fellow schoolboy to tell this story, but I felt so awful—-not for myself but for Cheever. It was such an outrage; that Donleavy—-this large, silly man with his walking stick-—was snubbing John Cheever.
I suppose it’s silly that I should still be angry, but George Plimpton told me that Donleavy has a subscription to The Paris Review;* this presents an apparent contradiction to Donleavy’s claim that he doesn’t read anyone living, but it gives me hope that he might read this. If the story embarrasses him, or makes him angry, I would say we’re even; the evening embarrassed Cheever and me, and made us angry, too.
* A complimentary subscription -- Ed.
We’d both admired The Ginger Man and we wanted to meet the author. I went to the airport to meet him; I’d written three novels—but not yet The World According to Garp; I wasn’t famous.
I didn’t expect Donleavy to have read anything of mine, but I was surprised when he announced that he read no one living; then he asked if we were in Kansas. I told him a little about the Workshop, but he was one of those writers with no knowledge about writing programs and many prejudices about them: to be a student of writing was a waste of time; better to go out and suffer. He was wearing a very expensive three-piece suit, very handsome shoes, and handling a very posh walking stick at the time, and I began to get irritated.
In a meeting with Workshop students, he told them that any writer who was lowering himself by teaching writing wasn’t capable of teaching them anything. And so I was quite cross by the time I had to pick up the great man and drive him to his reading. I said we would be taking Mr. Cheever with us to the reading, and that both Mr. Cheever and I were great admirers, and that although I knew Mr. Donleavy did not read anyone living, he should know that Mr. Cheever was a wonderful writer. His short stories were models of the form, I said.
But when I introduced Cheever to Donleavy, Donleavy wouldn’t even look at him; he went on talking to his wife, about aspirin, as if Cheever wasn’t there. I tried to say a few things about why so many American writers turned to teaching—as a way of supporting themselves without having to place the burden of making money upon their writing; and as a way of giving themselves enough time to practice their writing, too. But Donleavy wasn’t interested and he said so. The whole trip he was taking was tiresome; the people he met, the people everywhere, were tiresome, too.
And so Cheever and I sat up front in the car, excluded from the conversation about the evils of aspirin, and driving the Donleavys about as if they were unhappy royalty in a hick town. I will say that Mrs. Donleavy appeared to suffer her husband’s rudeness, or perhaps she was just suffering her headache.
Cheever tried a few times to engage Donleavy in some conversation, and as Cheever was as gifted in conversation as any man I have ever met, I grew more and more furious at Donleavy’s coldness and unresponsiveness and total discourtesy.
I was thinking, frankly, that I should throw the lout in a puddle, if there was one handy, when Cheever spoke up. “Do you know, Mr. Donleavy,” Cheever said, “that no major writer of fiction was ever a **** to another writer of fiction, except Hemingway—-and he was crazy?”
That was all. Donleavy had no answer. Perhaps he thought Hemingway was still a living writer and therefore hadn’t read him, either.
Cheever and I deposited the Donleavys at the reading, which we spontaneously decided to skip. It was many years later that I met and became friends with George Roy Hill, who told me that he’d been a roommate of “Mike” Donleavy at Trinity College, Dublin, and that “Mike” was just a touch eccentric and surely not a bad sort. But I remembered my evening with Cheever and told George that, in my opinion, Donleavy was a minor writer, a ****, or crazy—-or all three.
I should add that drinking wasn’t the issue of this unpleasant evening; Cheever was not drinking; Donleavy wasn’t drunk—-he was simply righteous and acting the prima donna. I feel a little like I’m tattling on a fellow schoolboy to tell this story, but I felt so awful—-not for myself but for Cheever. It was such an outrage; that Donleavy—-this large, silly man with his walking stick-—was snubbing John Cheever.
I suppose it’s silly that I should still be angry, but George Plimpton told me that Donleavy has a subscription to The Paris Review;* this presents an apparent contradiction to Donleavy’s claim that he doesn’t read anyone living, but it gives me hope that he might read this. If the story embarrasses him, or makes him angry, I would say we’re even; the evening embarrassed Cheever and me, and made us angry, too.
* A complimentary subscription -- Ed.
My coffee went cold for the re-reading of it! Perhaps the best of it though and quite in tune with the general snarkery was that editorial comment at the end of Irving's tirade there, that the "subscription" to The Paris Review that Irving mentioned J.P.Donleavy had bragged about having was in fact just a complimentary one.
Honestly sometimes you just cannot beat The Paris Review for entertainment.