I am slowly, but steadily, working my way through the reading list. Between one thing and another, and the desire to hibernate with the onset of winter, I have not read nor written about what I’ve read as much as I had intended. Then there was this pesky couple of days that I thought I would write on a new story idea. And lastly, there was this problem that occurred. Though I have not had a problem reading Ursula K. LeGuin’s short stories while starting another author, I did hit a snag with having started a third author. Having gotten overly excited to get Sandra Cisneros’ Woman Hollering Creek and The House on Mango Street from the library, I thought I could read a few while finishing Sherman Alexie’s The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven, besides, there were a few of Cisneros’ stories I had to read to my daughter.
I find LeGuin fairly incomparable, so I do not even attempt to worry other authors by trying to compare them to her. However, I found it very difficult to return to Alexie after Cisneros. Just when I was debating returning to some work that I know I dislike, or find seriously lacking, I am confronted with two excellent and unique voices doing battle (and most certainly unfairly). But it was a relief to be rescued from poor work and this overwhelming notion of late that I am becoming woefully repetitive: it was wonderful, excellent, blah, blah, blah…. I am sure we have unpacked a thesaurus in this latest move and I’ve been worried I’d have to find it and raid all known praise words. It is not that when I get to sitting down and writing about Alexie’s The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven I will not praise it, but I have a few things that were swimming until I read some Cisneros and they became more articulate.
I will have to get onto that writing about my reading, as I write about my writing elsewhere. It is taking that pause: stop and write before reading the next book, one; and, two, maybe not falling asleep with the book pressed to the face and gathering drool.