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I often tell writers that good writing is about the balance of action and information. I’m also always telling writers about mimetic writing. The other day, with an editorial client, I thought of a great image that helped them conceptualize these ideas in a way that made sense.

Let’s say that we have a getaway car. It’s assumed that it will be used in a chase sequence, which is primarily action. Per the idea of mimetic writing, the narrative style of this passage should be quick and to the point, since we’re dealing with a scene that’s meant to move quickly.

Now think about a camera taking a picture of the getaway car in order to convey what it looks like to the reader. This camera can take amazing high resolution images, or it can take grainy “potato quality” shots like you’d find coming from a middle-of-the-line cell phone. In this case, a many-megabyte high resolution picture of the getaway car might be beautiful, but if we try to work with that picture or send it to someone (the reader), it’s going to be a huge attachment, it’ll take time to upload, and it’ll clog up their email bandwidth. (Unless they have fiber, in which case this analogy is useless!)

For the chase sequence, then, we’d be fine with a quick, grainy snapshot of the getaway car so that we can get on with the action and not get bogged down with information. Here the balance swings to action rather than information. If we’re establishing a very important setting, then the beautiful high res image is very appropriate, and the balance swings to information. The reader wants to know the delicate details, and you can dwell on them more, taking your time.

I hope this short but effective reminder helps you craft tight and effective prose as you start a new year of writing!

As expected my obsession with short and simple dresses has not subsided.  So what am I to do?  Start sewing, naturally!  But I’m feeling a bit lazy, I despise setting in zippers and want relatively easy sewing projects.  So I’ve rounded up some patterns (not vintage!) that seem to fit the bill.   The above pattern is Simplicity 2360.  It has the same feeling as the Sessun dress from my last post, particularly the yellow print on the left.

New Look, it seems, has a plethora of slip-over-your-head, no-zippers-to-install or buttonholes-to-make dresses and tunics.  I think you have to use a bit more imagination here but I see the potential, can’t you?

New Look 6679.

New Look 6887.

New Look 6851.

New Look 6913.

I don’t have much in the way of fall/winter fabrics as I’m mostly a summer dress kind of girl.  But I’m thinking of blacks, grays and navy blues; wool, fine wale cord, linen, super thin and soft denim…even voile or lawn in a dark color.  Have any of you used one of these patterns?  If so, let me know!

I’ll also do a round up of vintage patterns from my stash.  I’ve got a bunch of a-line mini dresses from the ’60s that are really cute although a little more complicated in construction and probably have zippers. (Which is why I’m leaning more towards these new patterns - for now.)

Have a sweet Thursday!

The floors have been vacuumed of every speck of dust. Tabletops have reemerged from the remaining dregs of clutter. I schlepped bags and bags of stuff around the corner to the Goodwill and it felt like such a relief to finally not have it in my possession that I did a little dance in my clean hallway when I returned home.

There are a few things left to take care of, like dismantling the man-cave desk, and piecing together my new worktable and then rearranging some things as a result of the new workspace, and also tackling the out-of-dates in my refrigerator, but otherwise I almost feel like I live in a new space. The old apartment feels transformed, thanks in part to a new bathmat, a new duvet cover, and some nice storage containers, but also because of the reemergence of a subtle sense of more space in my home. It's subtle, but it's there.

I also feel kind of transformed by the whole experience--taking stock of what I have, reevaluating what I need in my life versus what I've been hoarding "just in case", take a closer look at those times when I'm lazy and tell myself "oh I'll clean it up later", and the trip down memory lane has made me feel the need to reconnect with the people in my life, past and present.

One thing is for certain: another clothes shopping boycott commences now! 7 bags indeed!

Yesterday was pretty productive. I finally started on laundry and cleaned every nook and cranny in my bathroom that I could reach. I also finished the purge of my closets which included unearthing a humungous box labeled "desk" that in the back of my mind I knew I had, but had readily forgotten as soon as I moved into my apartment four years ago. It's contents has been added to over the last 10+ years without ever purging and resulting in about 4 desks-worth of paper and photographs.

Boy I got a lot of stuff. I think I'm like my parents in that way. If they ever move out of their house, it'll take weeks to sort through their garage alone. Luckily I'm limited to a one bedroom apartment and have only so many places to stash stuff.

Today I started a major project: clean and purge and my apartment. Based on what I accomplished today, it's going to take a freakishly long time to take care of everything. BUT, I shall persevere! Today I started on my desk and my bookcases.

I heard an interview on NPR today with Irma Thomas, the Soul Queen of New Orleans, whose voice was selected as one of the fifty great voices. I recommend that you go to the NPR website to hear the interview so that you can hear her voice: http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=129345910

I was particularly struck by what she said about "getting fancy."

"I don't think my fan base [cares] about how many notes I can hit. They want me to sing the doggone song," she says. "If the song doesn't dictate adding all this other stuff to it, then why do it? Sure, I may be able to hit 15 notes in one bar, but is it gonna help the song? No."

As writers, there are times when we just know we have a wonderful turn of phrase, a great metaphor, a beautiful simile. And we can't wait to use it. And read it aloud to ourselves. And gloat about it.

But listen to Irma. Your audience doesn't care how many big words you can use, and how lovely your prose is, if it doesn't help the story.

I'm not saying that you can't have beautiful language in your writing. You can and you should. Just remember that the beautiful language needs to help the story. If it's not gonna help the song, leave it out.

Yesterday we celebrated the Feast of Pentecost!  It's a day--no, a whole season--for remembering that after Christ ascended, He did not leave us alone.  He told the disciples to go to Jerusalem and wait for the Holy Spirit to come, and when He came, He came in power with the sound of a mighty rushing wind.  Before He ascended, Christ assured his disciples that they would do even greater works

The house I stayed at in SW Portland was right on the river and quite cozy and pretty affordable, like staying at a hotel but a whole apartment. I found myself entranced by how it was decorated: modern beach cottage, full of textures:

So I've been fairly good so far in my quest to not be a consumerist pig and buy needless clothing and stuff to fill my closets. Good by my standards at least. I did in fact return the infamous trench coat after being completely wracked with guilt for not lasting 24 hours.

It's been about 6 weeks now, and I *have* purchased a few not completely necessary items: a lemon zester, a digital food scale, 4 books, a tube of cherry blossom lotion, 4 pieces of printed paper from the Paper Zone, a not-exactly-dirt-cheap-but-less-than-$8-so-it-was-really-really-really-hard-to-turn-it-down hat from BR (more on *why* I allowed myself *inside* of a clothing store in the first place later), and some fabric for projects. I know, for some of you, that's more than what you buy in a year, but for a girl who could go shopping once a week, it's not bad.

So what with working out in the mornings, I find that I actually have to eat breakfast at home now, something I didn't normally do until I was sitting down at my desk at work and checking my email. To fuel my workout, I've been eating cereal, but have quickly gotten tired of that every single day. To mix it up, I decided to buy some bread and peanut butter to have toast in the mornings with my fruit.


At the grocery store, I wandered into the peanut butter aisle. And then began the dilemma. I've started reading about eating locally, and the health and environmental (and economic, I suppose) benefits of doing so. But here I am, wanting to buy peanut butter made from peanuts grown somewhere in the southeast, shipped somewhere to be turned into peanut butter, then put into jars that were made somewhere else, and then shipped to my grocery store. I can cut out the jar and peanut butter-making leg of it by grinding my peanut butter there in the bulk aisle. Okay, I can do that.

On to the bread aisle. I'm lucky in that there are a ton of fabulous bakeries in the city, so I feel like I'm still able to support local businesses. But where does the wheat flour come from? "Somewhere in the middle?" I ask myself. Or eastern Washington? I have absolutely no idea and realize that I really have no clue what grows here and what doesn't. When I'm at the farmer's market (where I try to shop more often, but didn't get to do this weekend), I feel pretty confident that I'm getting local foods and supporting local producers. But once I step into the grocery store, I'm a little lost. Maybe I should stop going to the grocery store and start heading to the local co-op, although PCC would probably be it, and there isn't one in the immediate neighborhood, I'd have to go to Fremont, which isn't that far, but not really within walking distance either.

I suppose when you live in the city, you have a lot of choices, and therefore more informed choices to make, which means I suppose I have quite a bit more self-educating to do. But I'm glad I'm thinking more about these choices I make, even if it means more time spent pondering in the aisles.

Here's my current reading list on eating locally and healthfully. Do you have any more suggestions?

• Food Matters by Mark Bittman
• Plenty (aka The 100-Mile Diet) by Alisa Smith and JB MacKinnon
• Slow Food Nation by Carlo Petrini
• The Omnivore's Dilemma and In Defense of Food by Michael Pollan
• Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver
  

Umm, okay, I only lasted about 24 hours on the whole no-shopping deal. I bought a trench coat (which I still feel guilty about, but was too good a deal to pass on), and new running shoes, because I was getting shin splints and needed more support in my shoes.

I thought it was going to be super easy to not go shopping, but I realize how ingrained it is in my daily thinking. I'm ashamed to admit it, but I think about shopping constantly. In the last 48 hours, I've gone online more times than I care to count to peruse items on various sites (Performance Bike to look at indoor trainers, REI because I got a 20% coupon, Macy's because I got another coupon, Anthropologie because it's just pretty); I've looked at catalogs (Pottery Barn--who knows why I receive that, Ikea, and Macy's) that have appeared in the mail more minutes than was wholly necessary. I was returning something at the store the other day, and I found myself wandering back to the sale racks where I spotted a coat marked down 75% from its usual exorbitant price--it fit and is wonderfully good looking on me, and I was wracked with guilt about scoring such a great deal and my resolve to have less.

I grew up in a household that pinched pennies a lot. I used to do the reduced price lunch at school. Whenever I wanted something--a game, a toy, a book--I had to beg and plead, pinch and save forever to afford that one small thing. I remember saving up to buy one of those pocket games that flip out of a case shaped like a cassette tape, with little magnet game pieces. I scrimped and saved and it felt so important when I finally had enough to go buy it, and then I loved it to death. I think my current obsession with buying books stems from the fact that I adored them as a kid, but could rarely afford them. Whenever we had those Scholastic book buying clubs where you would get a free poster if you bought so many books--I might be allowed to buy one or two, but never enough to get a free poster or whathaveyou. I had a few precious books with my name, many of them given as gifts, that I treasured beyond anything. I remember getting a fairytale book for Christmas when I was about 6 years old, and it scared the crap out of me because the illustrations were photos of cloth dolls acting out the stories, so they were *real* yet unreal (surreal I suppose). Yet I loved that thing because it was *mine*, and we never got rid of it (I think it's still languishing in my parents one bookcase somewhere). I went to friends' houses and saw their walls lined with bookcases overflowing with books and I felt like I was in a wonderland--oh the luxury of having your very own library in which books are never due back, and things are never checked out and are always available to you.

But because we were such penny pinchers, we were also huge bargain shoppers, and later in life it tipped the scale to the point that we continued to be bargain hunters and pack rats to boot. There is nothing more exciting than scoring that perfect deal--a wonderful find at half the price (or even less!). Pretty much everything I own was purchased on sale--including my couch, my television, my laptop, my winter coat--save for a pair of Danskos, and my eyeglasses (because those things never go on sale). Part of the fun of wearing cute clothes is being able to respond: "$7.95 on sale at The Rack!" and seeing the incredulity spread on the person's face followed by jealousy. Oh yes, I have the knack to score bargains, something my whole family seems to be quite proud of. "Only $0.99 a pound at the Base!" is my father's favorite news when we exclaim at the huge flat of strawberries in the refrigerator.

What was once a necessity is now a matter of pride, this bargain hunting. But it's translated into a small tide of extra stuff floating around in my life, a tide I'm trying to turn back, but realizing is harder to do than I thought. I suppose I ought to start by not going to the sale racks in the first place, so as to squash my guilt over finding a bargain but not taking advantage of it, before it can even happen. I need to replace my shopping habit with less cruft-accumulating activities, like music making, reading, biking, walking, and hanging out with friends.

*sigh* I'm still clinging to the recently purchased trench coat like it's my long lost child. My bargain and I were meant to find each other!

Is this addiction? Is this what it feels like to give up drugs? Like I'm going to miss out on wonderful things (namely super bargains) and be totally gypped when it comes time that I really *do* need a new coat?

I'll let you know next week, whether I return the coat or decide that it was fated to remain with me.

ps: the photo above is not the coat I bought, but it's similar in original price, color, and swoon-worthiness.

Yes! Super cute illustrations and animations from L.A.-based Hsinping Pan. Her simple, childlike drawings obviously reflect a pure love for drawing, and it shows. Everyone’s work should be so uninhibited and playful.

It's day four of my sitting back at my desk after having been away for several weeks to spend important time with friends and family. All the same bright stars are here - more of them, actually - doing incredibly diligent, insightful work with and for libraries and library staff. Through their work they create and support change for our profession, and it's good change too: another librarian signed up for their first RSS feed; another library with a completed technology plan.

Having been away, I admit that I find myself somewhat disconnected from some parts of the overall effort. Sure, I'm floating about, making various remarks, each accompanied by a CRH jest, smirk, or toss of the hair. Honestly, it hasn't been too terribly difficult to dive back into projects and conversations, do what I do, what some like to call "be Chrystie Hill." But behind all that - it's as if I'm watching myself from above - I feel as if I'm about to cross a new threshold, but I don't know what's exactly I'm crossing over into. (I can hear George,and Marilyn, and Clayton, and others saying as they read this "Don't do it Chrystie - walk away from the light!")

Not to worry. I'm not leaving library land, nor what I still claim to be the best job in library land. On the contrary, the threshold involves some new ... let's call it perspective, but that's not the right word ... clarity? ... about "what's important," and it really is very simple: at the end of the day we all should be able to say that we are working to change libraries so that they matter more. (Don't say we already matter. We don't matter enough.) As a profession, we should be of single mind on this (or something like it) and all of our efforts should map to a vision - call me Utopian - where all libraries are relevant and thriving.

At the very least, I know that's why I care about my job, and that's why I come to work every day. Being away reminded me of the simplicity of it, really, and I'm hoping I can stay clear on this as I immerse myself back into the details and the complexities of our work. (Ever the optimist; I know, I know.)

Hello Libraryland. It is great to be back.

I had the joy of seeing Anne Lamott speak last night at the Baghdad theater where she talked about her new book, Grace (Eventually), life and answered her own questions.



And while I don't consider myself religious so much as spiritual, many of things she had to say about learning to forgive resonated. It's hard not to envy, it's hard not to hold on to old gripes and it's hard not to talk yourself too seriously. It is not, however, hard to listen to someone who can make you laugh while being candid about the failings within us all.

Thank you, Anne, for sharing. And hank you, Powells, for giving me the chance for free. (Next time I'll have to get there earlier so I'm not in the last row, struggling to see over/around people's heads.)

I highly suggest checking out the book, and hopefully I'll get a chance to discuss it here with you. This post, however, will not be the place as I'm suffering from computer burnout today and desperately need to alleviative it by going outside.

So instead of intellectual discussion I give you proof that I did indeed grow from that small little thing with a book bag into something resembling an adult who can take a picture without always making a face. You can thank the Boss Lady for the photo and the clucks that led to its immediate posting.



The paleness is due to the fact that basement bookstores are the antithesis of sun-filled parks. Blah, blah, blah, something about direct sunlight hurting books and vampire salesgirls, blah, blah, blah... Read the rest of this post