My 17 year-old daughter has gone on a student tour of Stockholm, Sweden with one of her honor societies. It’s Nobel Prize week in Stockholm, and they are doing a Nobel Tour. This is the first trip she’s done solo—meaning without a family member. She doesn’t know anyone else on the trip; they are from all over the states. She was responsible for getting herself to Stockholm and the tour met her at the airport and took her to the hotel. I don’t need to tell you I was a nervous wreck after we dropped her off at the airport. She was making a connection in Iceland, in the middle of the night my time, and I stayed up so that she could let me know all had gone well. It almost didn’t. She only had an hour to make her connection and had to go through customs, which we weren’t counting on. She was texting me and we were both freaking out because it was taking so long. I was sure she was going to miss her connecting flight and then she’d be stuck in Iceland all on her own trying to book another. I was physically sick thinking about it. But she made her connection with about 15 minutes to spare. I’m still not over that anxiety. Ugh. But she’s there now and having a great time. I figured this was a once in a lifetime opportunity, and she’ll be going to college next year, so it was time to push the baby out of the nest.
I kept myself awake that very long night waiting for my daughter to text by reading a frothy contemporary football romance. As most of you know, I wrote a contemporary football romance series, Birmingham Rebels (Amazon link. I may get commissions on anything you buy if you click it.) To be honest, the book isn’t great. It spends way too much time on the heroine’s navel gazing (slang for long segments of inner thoughts and retrospective angst.) And we get zero POV (point of view) from the hero. So it’s been very hard to get to know him, and the heroine seems kind of whiny. And because I’ve said that, no, I’m not going to tell you the name of the book. HOWEVER, the book has very low stakes, so it’s a comfort read. It’s a long meandering road to a HEA (happily ever after), which is exactly what I need right now to take my mind off everything I’m worrying about.
Thanks to Rahul at The Hulry (I recommended this newsletter in an previous Substack), I read a good comment about comfort reads recently, (at least that’s how I interpreted it) in a new-to-me blog, The Marginalian. I am seconding his recommendation of this newsletter. Anyway, Maria Popova writes about seeking out books, people, and ideas that magnify your spirt, which is a wonderful idea. I’m not sure the book I’m reading does that, but it’s soothing. I think it’s okay to read books that maybe aren’t that great as long as they provide you with something, some kind of positive feedback loop. I saw something on Instagram about liking a movie or TV show, and then when you go look at the IMDB page, it has a 20% Rotten Tomatoes score and then you feel like an idiot. I don’t agree. You like what you like, and that’s a-okay. Ignore the reviews. (I said what I said.) I also think it’s a good idea to go back and read your favorite book, or books, when you need a pick-me-up. My daughter loves to rewatch all her favorite TV shows, 3 or 4 times. Experts say it’s a way to alleviate anxiety because you already know what happens.
I’ve been feeling guilty lately that I’m not constantly reading all the new books coming out. In all my editing circles they’re always saying you have to read, read, read the new stuff to stay up on the latest trends. But I feel like that advice is the same as telling new writers to write to whatever’s trending, which is horrible advice! The lesson here is, there will always be someone out there who loves what you produce. Maybe not a million someone’s, but somebody’s going to make your book, or movie, or whatever, their comfort read or watch, and if it’s only one person that’s enough. *Steps down off soapbox* ←(Does anyone even know where that saying comes from these days? I bet kids don’t.)
My sister got me some daffodil bulbs for my birthday (it’s at the end of the month) so I planted some of those this weekend. Between that, driving to and from the airport (1+ hrs.), and sleeping weird the night I waited up for my daughter’s flight, my shoulders are a mess. When I woke up the following morning I could barely lift my left arm. As my mom used to say, getting old ain’t easy. My son planted the rest of them today because I just couldn’t. We’re having an odd bout of warm weather, and it rained all weekend, so they were easier to plant. My poor daughter in Sweden is freezing. It was a high of 20 today. She did pack warm clothes, though. We spend a lot of time in Canada in the winter because my husband is from there, so she’s used to cold winter weather and has the clothes. Although I had to buy her new clothes for the trip because a)teenage girl, and b)she claims she has to rep “all of North Carolina” and “it’s a fashion show.” I also put away my Thanksgiving/fall decorations this weekend and started putting up Christmas. I sort of go crazy this time of year. I have a huge snowman collection, an angel collection, and a small Santa collection. Our house looks like Christmas threw up all over it around the holidays.
Some of my favorite things this week:
I already mentioned The Marginalian, but I’m putting it here, too. Really, go read this article about life lessons. So good.
I made this mug chocolate cake last night. It was excellent, and so easy! If you’re in the mood for a quick bite of cake made from scratch, try it. It’s for one, but I guess it could feed two if you’re willing to have a smaller portion.
The 3rd season of one of our favorite streaming shows came out last week, Slow Horses on AppleTV. It’s a really good British spy drama starring Gary Oldman, whom I love. Highly recommend this one. Oldman’s character is a cranky, alcoholic has-been spy. Excellent.
Quote of the Week: (one of my favorites)
“Sometimes, I feel discriminated against, but it does not make me angry. It merely astonishes me. How can any deny themselves the pleasure of my company? It’s beyond me.”
Zora Neale Hurston