Another day, another story!
I'm leaving you. I know we've been together for years and I've tried to walk away before but this time I mean it.
You've lured me back with your sexy sleekness, and your promises of portals of perfection. But, darling cultural icon - you lied. When I tried to hold you in my hands, your sleek to the eye, oh so desirable curves crashed to the floor of Starbucks shattering that shiny screen into a thousand pieces. Enter the life proof case, the otter box, tanks of protection that won't fit in a pocket, a purse, or a gun holster.
No doubt I've become a mac girl and I'm not going back. Too many years of not having to start up, shut down, hire security, save a file, only to get my hard-drive ate up with gremlins from Mars kicked me out of the hp bed. But getting you as a mac companion was supposed to make my life so easy, so easy, so easy by making it possible for me to live in perfect syncopation with my files, my apps, my tunes, and that latest pinterest travel pic.
Not so. Nothing is synced and I've tolerated this in our relationship for too long.
My husband asks his droid a question. His droid answers in three languages with perfection. I ask you a question such as . . .
Siri, please find me directions to Demo's.
River, I don't understand what you are requiring of me.
Siri, search the net for demo's.
River, net demonstrations are 2.50 a dozen in China.
Yesterday was the final straw when I caught an old news story about how Apple signed with Bing to be your search engine.
They're too late. Google knows everything about everybody everywhere. They intend to rule the world. Then Mars. Everyone knows this. No one even knows how to find their way home anymore without google.
So, I think you should know right up front, even while our contract lingers - I intend to date other models I think it's only fair. I'm taking a galaxy to the beach. A droid to dinner. Signing up for a speed date night at a new tech show.
Let's face it, The elation of that first moment we met, the first time I held you in my hand, lifted you to my ear, and said - Hello has faded into a jumble of apps that need to be updated, a dead battery and Siri stalking me with bing pings.
Yes, I still love that bite out shy way you have on captivating in the looks department. But honey, I'm older now, and it takes a little more to wow me these days. Make that much more. Something solid and substantial. I need an intuitive engine that purrs responses and gets me to the bone. One that understands my needs and can always understand me and help me find my way home in a storm.
So, baby, as much as I hate it, you've got to go.
I don't know when it happened but I have become a data monster. Star Trek fans of the original series will know what I mean if they think of that creature that turned into a monster and was sucking the salt out of people because she NEEDED that salt. (Ok, so maybe I'm a little salt crazy, too. Blame it on my Mama!)
But the Data. OH, the DATA. Who knew what pleasures that streaming the most recent episode of Downton Abby could bring after a long day of work. Who knew there could be so many cute videos? That people could pet foxes? That there is some really funny things out there that I probably can't show because I might offend someone. (NO not those! Not that kind! Just those other things.) Or the youtube's that make me cry no matter how many times I see them. The ones that bring me back to the place where I believe and hope in the goodness of man (meaning women as well) in this world.
Fact is. We live in the woods. Up a hill. And - did i mention the woods? We don't have comcast, clear channel, fiber optics, or AT&T super dial up. We only have those little Verizon jetpacks that charge 1milliongazillion dollars for a megabyte of data. What is that anyway? Who decided up this measurement for these invisible internet waves? And how much you can charge for them? And why I have to pay soooooo much. I feel like I'm back in the dark ages. Like I'm using the telephone with the tin can and the rope going across the ridge.
I"ve considered that whole Virgin phone thing. You just buy the phone from them and they give you free, unlimited data for life. Ok, not quite but something like it. But of course I can't try it because I'm under contract until the year 300000.
IN the meantime, I have to just travel around the city testing out free wifi because someone has sent me four links they think I must see and not miss and I know, I just know, whatever is waiting is going to make my life insanely richer.
And - I have author friends with book trailers. And - it's Earth DAY today so there are EARTH cams everywhere and . . .
My beautiful mother-in-law used to say how much she loved having cable because it was like living on a cloud and she could see the whole world. I get that. Only my cloud requires a jetpack. One million dollar megabyte at a time.
A storied life. It’s what we all want, long for, need to feel. That our story matters. That the story of our lives is connected to our tribe, our village, our people. That our lives matter to those around us and in the big picture.
It takes a gifted writer to be able to write about sacrifice and loss, death and divorce, meaning and mystery, and the life we live after these happenings without dragging the reader into a deep, dark abyss in the process. Enter The Storied Life of AJ Fikry because the author has managed to do just that. Gabrielle Zevin has captured these elements with a surprisingly, light touch.
AJ Fikry is the owner of a small, independent bookstore and readers travel along his path as he dispenses stories like medicine to his regular customers. After experiencing a personal tragedy, AJ is a lost soul. His only comfort is the bottom of a bottle, and not even his amazing love of story can lift him out of such a deep, darkness. But a strange and wondrous thing happens when AJ discovers a package left for him in the bookstore. Sometimes, the most unexpected, unwanted events in our lives bring us right to the place we belonged all along. And, that's exactly what AJ discovers.
The Storied Life of AJ Frisky has become a favorite selection by Indie Bookstore owners for good reason. If you own a bookstore you are going to love this book. If you have ever wanted to own a bookstore you are going to love this book. And, if life has seemed impossible lately - like you are down to your last knot and the bottom of well looks imminent - you need to read this book. Because like the story so charmingly renders, rescue often comes from the oddest of places.
The Official Summary
The Storied Life of A.J. FikryIn the spirit of The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society and The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry, Gabrielle Zevin’s enchanting novel is a love letter to the world of books–and booksellers–that changes our lives by giving us the stories that open our hearts and enlighten our minds.
On the faded Island Books sign hanging over the porch of the Victorian cottage is the motto “No Man Is an Island; Every Book Is a World.” A. J. Fikry, the irascible owner, is about to discover just what that truly means.
A. J. Fikry’s life is not at all what he expected it to be. His wife has died, his bookstore is experiencing the worst sales in its history, and now his prized possession, a rare collection of Poe poems, has been stolen. Slowly but surely, he is isolating himself from all the people of Alice Island–from Lambiase, the well-intentioned police officer who’s always felt kindly toward Fikry; from Ismay, his sister-in-law who is hell-bent on saving him from his dreary self; from Amelia, the lovely and idealistic (if eccentric) Knightley Press sales rep who keeps on taking the ferry over to Alice Island, refusing to be deterred by A.J.’s bad attitude. Even the books in his store have stopped holding pleasure for him. These days, A.J. can only see them as a sign of a world that is changing too rapidly.
And then a mysterious package appears at the bookstore. It’s a small package, but large in weight. It’s that unexpected arrival that gives A. J. Fikry the opportunity to make his life over, the ability to see everything anew. It doesn’t take long for the locals to notice the change overcoming A.J.; or for that determined sales rep, Amelia, to see her curmudgeonly client in a new light; or for the wisdom of all those books to become again the lifeblood of A.J.’s world; or for everything to twist again into a version of his life that he didn’t see coming. As surprising as it is moving, The Storied Life of A. J. Fikry is an unforgettable tale of transformation and second chances, an irresistible affirmation of why we read, and why we love.
Gabrielle Zevin has published six adult and young adult novels, including Elsewhere, an American Library Association Notable Children’s Book, which has been translated in over twenty languages. She is the screenwriter of Conversations with Other Women (starring Helena Bonham Carter and Aaron Eckhart), for which she received an Independent Spirit Award nomination. She has also written for the New York Times Book Review and NPR’s All Things Considered. She lives in Los Angeles. The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry is her eighth novel and was published this month by Algonquin in the US and by Little, Brown in the UK (as The Collected Works of A.J. Fikry). It will also be published in 18 other languages.
Bona Fide truth.
I feel like a befuddled muddle. A puddle of possibilities. I have a few hours of alone time at home. No little league game to be at. No babysitting the Charmings, no visits from the Adorables, no fun or errands for Mom. No pressing deadlines because it is officially Sunday and Not MONDAY - WHICH kinda gives me a - Gee it's Sunday card and I don't really HAVE to work and isn't it maybe better I don't? Question so . . .
I have spent a few hours being crazy. The kind of crazy that is known as MONKEY MIND. Monkey mind looks like this.
- Maybe I should read a book. Maybe I should read two books! Or finish that magazine on Albert Einstein's life. Or soak in a tub. No, no. I could watch a movie that only I seem to want to see. No, no. It's warmer. I should go get plants and clean up the porch. Definitely. Or the guest room. NONONO!
I need to wrap up the exciting last scenes of the new novel! Surely, surely this is it. Particularly, since the scenes are running back and forth and back and forth in my brain like a caged wolf and they will not stop pacing until they are on paper.
Or Yoga. Definitely, I could take my time and do a long yoga tape. Which I got at the used book store. Maybe I could go to the used book store to get more tapes. Or write that blog about used bookstores. I need coffee for that. I'm out of coffee. I should go to the store for coffee. NO, wait, I should really get that single serving Kuerig I've been wanting because that would save me time and I'm the only person that drinks coffee in the house and somehow that's justified. If I shop for Kuerig today I could start my Monday off with fresh coffee.
Speaking of shopping, I've got that big event coming up soon where I speak for a week and must dress twice a day in different outfits. Everyone who knows me realizes I have a few pairs of jeans, one suit, and some interesting t-shirts including some from concerts, bands, and micro's. (yep.) So, shopping would be a really good idea. I could even be wise and hit the consignment shops. But everyone who knows me knows how much I hate shopping. Except for purses. I love shopping for purses but only to find the ONE PERFECT BAG. Which reminds me of a story. Best. Purse. Ever. From Saks. In New York. Car window busted. Stolen. Gone. Had a tiny little note from my son who was five. Best. Note. Ever. Stolen. Lost. Gone.
Maybe I should go organize the photos of the boys and all their little notes and artwork I did save.
But of course, the blog radio people just sent me an update on the shows I'd love to listen to - "Traveling Italy Mafia style." Say what?!! But then there is a click on starting your own show on blog radio and once again I'm thinking, Shellie Rushing Tomlinson and I should do this. We should just add another thing to our lists and start another new show but do this one together. I mean we both already have radio shows. What's one more?
Or I could start working on this weeks show. I have so much great materials, interviews, news, and lit stuff backed up, I could do that while the house is quiet.
Gee, it's getting warmer out. I should really take Big Dog for a walk even if I am still limping. Well, since I'm still limping, maybe I should just get Nephew and take him out to the land to practice his batting.
Or maybe I could just go ahead and write that book review that's due in the am for She Reads.
My head hurts. I think maybe I should just lie down. And, close my eyes. And, rest until I figure this out.
Thanks so much for reading, liking and sharing with friends.