Category: reading life (Page 2 of 12)

Lo, these many years, I have searched in vain…

…until now. At long last, I think I’ve found it. The book I read as a kid and could never remember its title.

At first I thought it was The Sleeping Dragon.

Then Quag Keep.

Then The Twilight Realm.

Then Demons Don’t Dream.

But none were right. I remembered the book was about a group of young people sucked into a role-playing game, but with each foray into these old 1970s/80s paperbacks, I grew less and less confident that I would find the right book, the one from my faded and unreliable memories.

I knew it had a blue cover.

I knew it had people from our world transported into a fantasy game.*

I knew it had to be from the late eighties or early nineties because I read it when I was roughly ten or eleven.

And I knew that it had seemed a bit too “old” for me at the time. Like, I remember the choices of the characters and the conflicts making me feel somewhat uncomfortable at times. I don’t know if it was relationship/sex-type stuff, or just moral grayness, but I remember keeping my reading on the QT. Or maybe I was embarrassed by the role-playing aspect, something I wasn’t sure my parents would approve of…

But over the years, as I’ve Googled what I could remember and crawled through message boards and blog posts, I simply couldn’t find the right book.

Honestly, I figured it must have been one of the aforementioned books and my memories were just faulty or making shit up.

And yet… the niggling feeling in the back of brain wouldn’t go away. I still wanted to know… still wanted to find the book…

Reader, I think I’ve found it.

I’m not sure why my morning scroll through Pinterest looking for old Dragon Magazine covers and fairy tale fantasy illustrations made me think of this book again, or my quest to find it, but I decided to do another round of Google searches and see what might come up.

The keywords were the usual: “portal fantasy,” “role-playing game,” “dice magic,” “1980s,” and yet, for whatever reason, this time, I lighted upon an rpg message board where someone had asked a similar question: Looking for a book… kids transported into a game… can’t remember the title… etc.

I scrolled through the thread. Same old, same old. Quag Keep. The Sleeping Dragon.

And then. Could it be this series by Kevin J. Anderson? Gamearth series? Gamearth, Game Play, Game’s End?

As soon as I saw the title, Game Play, it was like a little chink in my stone wall plunked out, and then the whole edifice crumbled.

Game Play.

I looked it up.

Blue cover.

An RPG that comes to life.

Kids from our world.

Came out in 1989. I would’ve been eight. Maybe nine when I encountered it.

And that cover. It gave me the shivers. Familiar and strange. Like deja vu or a memory or a dream.

*Apparently, my memory is a little faulty because I’m not sure the kids from our world go INTO the game, but instead, the game comes to life. But everything else from the book description sounds bang on. Even the names–Melanie, David, Hexworld–sound right.

A memory conjured from a darkened abyss. Hexworld. Game Play. The blue cover.

I have to find a copy now and read it. Anderson has republished the series but with revisions, so I don’t want to read the newer version. I want the old 1989 one. The one from my childhood.

I am almost 100% certain it will not live up to my memory of it. I don’t even think I liked it as a kid, only that it captivated and intrigued me. It felt weirdly forbidden when I was ten (eight? nine?). I know it will not seem so forbidden or “adult” now to the real-adult me, but I don’t care. I have to find a copy and read it.

I think, at long last, I have found the forgotten book. My quest is nearly complete.

Just goes to show what a fantasy novel, even a probably so-so fantasy novel, can mean to a kid.

Thoughts on The Motern Method

I liked it. Well-worth reading and owning.

However, if anyone has spent any time at all reading Heinlein’s Rules or exploring corners of the internet where these Rules are being lived out, a lot of the concepts in The Motern Method will sound familiar.

Which doesn’t mean it’s not worth reading. IT IS.

But it wasn’t particularly revolutionary for me. Parts of it reminded me of Make Art, Make Money: Lessons from Jim Henson on Fueling Your Creative Career. Parts of it reminded me of Ray Bradbury’s long-standing advice on quantity over quality in one’s art-making. And parts of it reminded me of Heinlein’s Rules.

One thing it also reminded me of is my previous desire to be an independent filmmaker. If The Motern Method was anything for me, it was a reminder that I once wanted to make movies and felt like I didn’t have the resources, and that maybe I need to let go of such thinking and try to make a movie no matter the lack of money or equipment.

I’m not saying I’m going to start making independent films. But… maybe?

The other thing I like about the book is that it collects a lot of advice into one place. Sure, there are Heinlein’s Rules and the books and authors I referenced above, but when I need a quick pep talk, The Motern Method is right there, with all the stuff.

For instance, I got a rejection the other day from a short story market. And yeah, yeah, rejections are part of the deal, right? I’ve had many rejections before, so you’d think I’d brush it off and no big thing.

But I was bummed. In a funk.

And that rejection was followed by another rejection (different story, different market). So again, you’d think, “But that’s great! You’ve got two stories out for submission and even with the rejections, all you need to do is send them out to two more magazines and keep going!”

And that’s exactly the right advice, but my brain doesn’t always operate on logic. My brain sometimes spirals into depths of self-doubt and loathing that are like the black pits of Tartarus, just roiling under the surface waiting to bubble up.

I know rejections are part of the gig, and I know all I need to do is send the stories out again. But knowing and believing are two different things.

Enter The Motern Method.

I remembered that Farley had a few chapters on rejections and getting your work out into the world (again, very Heinlein-esque), so I flipped to those pages and started reading.

It was basically a pep talk, and it worked. My brain stopped its death-spiral, and I felt renewed. Getting my work out into the world is what matters. Getting your work out into the world is what matters. Can’t let rejections stop that. Gotta keep going.

Sure, I could have gone online and googled Heinlein’s Rules again, or tracked down similar publishing advice, but having Farley’s book right at hand, its minimalist, indie-punk black and white cover reminding me that artists can work outside the mainstream system, made it easier to read what I needed to read.

I love the book’s aesthetic. No author is mentioned anywhere but on the spine. No introduction, no table of contents. The book just starts, each section indicated by bold-font titles, and then it ends, with Farley narrating his creative journey, explaining how the Motern Method was developed and how it helped him write the book.

Some sections are ones I quibble with a bit. “Read the comments. Read the reviews”? Maybe for others, but for me, this is DEATH. Both good comments and bad, good reviews and bad, tend to hurt my Creative Voice. It doesn’t mean I’m not an idiot who sometimes reads the reviews, but I always hate myself afterward.

Farley’s larger point — that reading the reviews will toughen you up, show you that taste is relative and not to worry if people don’t “get” your work — isn’t a bad one, but I know for my own ego, reviews can get inside like brain worms and infect my process.

But overall, the book is a rallying cry, a manifesto.

And it is very punk. Which I dig.

I’ll be keeping The Motern Method on my writing desk. When I’m stuck, when I’m down, when I need a kick in the pants, it will be my go-to.

News Fast

I wasn’t going to do a news fast because I thought it was important to pay attention to all the crazy stuff happening since January (since November, really). I thought consuming news was crucial to keep abreast of STUFF. Stuff that’s important. Stuff that’s going to hurt people (is hurting people). Stuff that’s going to be pretty forking bad, so I needed to know all the stuff. Or most of the stuff. Or, heck, just some of the stuff.

But I’ve decided there’s no way to dip my toe into the sludge of stuff without getting sucked in. A little bit of news, even just a check of the headlines or whatever, is enough to send me off into the vast, ugly maw of all the hellscape stuff that’s happening right now, and I just–

I can’t.

A little bit of news suddenly becomes a lot of news becomes too much news. So I’m cutting myself off from the news.

Near-total fasting. Occasionally a crumb from a newsletter (that isn’t normally political) will wedge itself between my teeth, but other than those stray, unintentional crumbs, I’m going off the news.

In fact, I unsubscribed to a bunch of newsletters just so I could shut out the world.

I blocked the New York Times and Reddit on all my devices.

I marked “Not interested” on every slightly newsy/political video that pops up on Youtube.

The only radio that passes my ears is the local classical/jazz station or a music show on WDET.

Total. News. Fast.

I don’t know how long this will last, but I can report on how it’s been for the past two weeks.

Reader, it has been glorious. Maybe not for the world, but for my sanity. For my writing and creativity. For my mental and physical and spiritual health. For nearly everything.

It has not been easy, or at least, it wasn’t easy the first week. Fasting from the news meant a total reorientation of how I spend my days and my time. Cutting out the news without filling my time with something better is a recipe for lapses and failures. As such, I’ve been listening to more audiobooks and RPG-related podcasts. I’ve spent spare moments reading my kindle or a library book.

I’ll admit, there are times when I really don’t feel “ready” to commit the mental energy needed to listen to an audiobook, or I resist the “slowness” of reading a book. There’s no clicking of links. No jumping from outrage to outrage. It’s been revelatory that I’m so resistant to sustained reading. I never thought I would be someone who would resist reading a book.

But that’s what happened (and still happens) once I started the news fast. The prospect of picking up a book to fill that time (time once-filled by Reddit and NYTimes articles and such) has become a daunting prospect. I realize now how “light calorie” the news was for me. Easy to digest. Not nutritious, but if I ate enough, eventually filling. A sick, greasy filling, but enough so that I would be satiated.

Reading or listening to an audiobook instead has meant a bit of struggle at the beginning. I resist. But then, it’s either listen to a book or read one or simply sit with my thoughts, and I realize that all three of those is preferable to the news, so I sometimes do sit with my thoughts, or jot down ideas in my pocket notebook. And sometimes I open the kindle just to peruse and suddenly find myself pulled into a story or essay. Or I’ll open that audiobook of Ray Bradbury stories that I’ve been neglecting and before I know it I’m crying or cheering or overwhelmed with awe, and it was all worth it, that initial struggle, that bit of resistance: I’ve pushed through it to the somewhat “harder” pleasure of reading a book and found the reward to be much greater than any I’ve ever had with reading the news.

I’m not sure the news fast can be sustained indefinitely. I may, with time, start listening to the radio again, just to keep up. But I might continue to block the news websites and be much more selective about the podcasts I listen to. I’ve gotten better at filling my spare time with reading (and not news); I don’t want to lose my new-found ability to engage with the deeper, harder pleasures of books. The spare moments don’t have to be filled with news and outrage. They can be filled with reading. Or thinking.

Or with nothing at all but quiet.

A New Spirit

It feels like spring here in Michigan. For two days, at least, we’ve had a thaw: snow melting into great running rivulets along the sides of roads, puddles everywhere, blue sky and birdsong. I’ve also started a new notebook, having finished my previous one this past weekend.

Upon starting a new notebook (spiral-bound, flimsy cardboard cover, the kind you can get at any CVS or Kroger), I like to enliven it with a “guardian spirit” on the first page (hat tip: Austin Kleon for the “guardian spirit” concept).

For this new notebook — as February ends and spring begins (eventually) — I want someone who embodies the kind of disposition I’m hoping to cultivate this season. Ice is cracking, snow is melting.

I’ve decided on C.S. Lewis, but not merely because of the obvious allusion to his most famous children’s book about the end of winter.

My children and I just recently finished the audiobook of The Silver Chair (topnotch performance by Jeremy Northam, by the way).

I often can’t decide which Narnia book is my favorite — it’s a three-way tie between Chair, Dawn Treader, and Magician’s Nephew — but since The Silver Chair is freshest in my memory, it’s my favorite for now. It’s the perfect “knightly quest” narrative. Jill and Eustace are sent on a great mission to rescue the king’s son, they have signs and directions to follow that they often bungle, but nevertheless, they continue to seek the fulfillment of the charge placed before them, and in the course of their journey, they face giants, and strange magic, and monsters, and wondrous creatures. Also, there are talking owls. I am a sucker for talking owls.

And Puddleglum. Puddleglum and Reepicheep. Best Narnians by a country mile. Northam’s voice for Puddleglum is perfection.

I also finished John Hendrix’s fantastic graphic novel about Lewis and Tolkien called The Mythmakers (another Kleon recommendation and also utterly topnotch).

At some point in the future I’d like to write a bit more about The Mythmakers because it was completely wonderful, but for now I’ll say that the portrait Hendrix paints of both men made me fall in love with their lives and their journey all over again.

(I say “all over again” because I was already a huge Lewis and Tolkien nerd, but Hendrix’s comic has reinvigorated and reoriented that passion… I’m even thinking of choosing new books for my British Lit class next year due to the ideas Hendrix’s graphic novel ignited.)

Lewis, myths, stories, adventure, the creative process: all of it hits where I’m at right now. I’m not exactly an Oxford don, but as a high school English teacher, I have some affinity for professors like Lewis and Tolkien: teachers who also cared deeply about their work as writers. I’m much more Tolkien-esque in my procrastination and slow production, but I aspire to be more Lewis-ish. I admire prolific artists, and Lewis was decidedly prolific.

He also was a voracious reader and loved many books and genres. I’d like to think that I read a lot, but I also want inspiration to keep reading more (and more widely). I want to reclaim myself as a Reader, capital-R, and even more particularly as a BOOK reader. There are many wonderful blog posts, articles, essays, and sundry on the internet, but I want books. Books to read. Books to spend hours upon hours lost inside. I want to read books the way Bilbo wants to see mountains.

Tolkien was famously (infamously?) critical of Lewis’s habit of throwing everything-and-the-kitchen-sink into his Narnia stories, but I’m much more a Lewis than a Tolkien when it comes to my own storytelling and world-building. Lewis’s fantasy stories are very “Arthurian” in that sense. Everything is up for grabs. The mythos can contain multitudes.

(Anyone familiar with the breadth of Arthurian stories from the Middle Ages and beyond will know that there’s nothing the Arthurian mythos can’t contain, or practically nothing. Lewis, as a medievalist and lover of Arthuriana, was always much more comfortable weaving different traditions and legends together; whereas Tolkien, though also a medievalist, was less enamored of the King Arthur legends and less inclined to the hodgepodgey quality of those stories.)

I can already feel the pull of my library books, and already the desire to take solitary long walks through the countryside, and at last the desire for tea (or beer), good conversation, and the sharing of stories.

Knowing Stuff

I’m trying hard not to frame this is a “back in my day” vs. “kids these days” thing. I don’t know that people back in the day were more culturally literate than they are today. I suspect not. And cultural literacy changes as culture changes, so the references to things that meant a lot to my parents’ generation or my generation may simply be outdated and that’s cool.

But I do think there’s value to knowing stuff. Not necessarily pop culture ephemera that may wax and wane depending on the year, but deeper stuff. Mythologies. History. Arts and culture that have withstood the test of time. Not just European and American culture either. All cultures and art that are part of the great human repository of imagination and ideas.

But knowing stuff is important. Knowing stuff is how we come to know more stuff; it’s how we come to create more stuff and imagine more stuff and do more stuff.

When I listen to my children talk about their school days, when I see what the curriculum is at our school’s curriculum night, I’m always struck by how little time is given to science and social studies. I often wonder if they are learning about great artists and art movements, great composers and musical genres, mythology, folklore, history, etc.

I really should ask; that’s on me as a parent for not inquiring. I should ask because I do wonder. I think the reason I don’t ask is because I’m afraid the answer is, “Not much.”

Again, I’m not saying things were better when I was in elementary school. I was naturally inclined to be curious about stuff like Greek mythology and the Middle Ages, so I read a lot of that stuff on my own. I can’t disentangle what was my own study from what we did in school. My memory’s not that good.

Natalie Wexler’s The Knowledge Gap book posits that the lack of content-based curricula in American schools has been a detriment to education overall, and maybe I’m inclined to agree because of my own biases in the matter. But when I speak to my high school students about things I assume they know — like who the Greek Olympian gods are, or where Iran is, or what art movement we associate with Vincent Van Gogh, or when World War I took place — I’m always astounded by what they don’t know. I suspect that Wexler’s book is on to something.

Again, I’m not saying it hasn’t always been thus. My high school teachers were probably appalled by the ignorance of my generation too.

But even if this is not a new problem, I still kinda, sorta think it’s a problem. Or, if not a “problem,” then at least something we could try to address.

For my older son, who is in second grade, the lack of any systematic delivery of content and information has been a detriment to his enjoyment of school since almost the beginning. He finds school boring partly because he wants to KNOW STUFF and his school doesn’t seem to be able to deliver the goods. He’s immensely curious about geography, prehistory, paleontology, archeology, earth science, and biology. He’s curious about mythology and folklore and monsters. We provide him with books, let him watch documentaries, share our knowledge with him in conversation, but these are all things that happen outside of school. For him, school is almost a distraction from the real learning, which he does on his own at home.

I’m not particularly worried about my children when it comes to cultural knowledge-y stuff. As their parents, we’re able to provide what doesn’t seem to be coming from the school.

But as a teacher, I do kinda, sorta do worry and wonder what I can do to help. I suppose I might give students a chance to learn this information in my own classroom. I’ll admit, this feels daunting because I’m supposed to be “covering” all kinds of other stuff, like how to write. And it’s also daunting because the way we learn about stuff now is to search the internet, and I’m more and more convinced that what we really need to do is go back into the children’s section of the public library and read those books instead.

I wish my high school had a portal that could take my students directly to the local library so they could easily read books and magazines instead of websites. We don’t even have a library in the school where I teach. The access to books is incredibly limited. Even if I wanted to have my students study Greek mythology, we have no ability to do so without hopping on the internet.

Perhaps the solution is to design a research project that demands they use only books. It’s possible. But as with all things education, there’s the question of, “Is this worth it? Is this the best use of our time?” I don’t know the answer. I do know I like books, and there’s more to be learned from reading a stack of non-fiction kids’ books than we might realize.

And yes, I sound incredibly stuffy by simply rejecting the internet out of hand. I understand the Luddite vibes I’m giving off.

I don’t care. I think we need to do some kind of RESET with our students. Give them a solid base of “stuff” — learned from books — before we let them back onto the web. Once they have that base, they can be more discerning and critical about what they encounter online (though nothing’s foolproof); but the goal isn’t to help them figure out which websites are “trustworthy” and which are not. The goal is to get them some knowledge about the world. A base with which to start. Then they can start the process of being critical about sources and biases.

Or not. Maybe I’m just cranky. These are the times in which the so-called problems of education seem insurmountable, and yet, maybe all of this is a tempest in a teapot and none of it really matters.

I do feel an urge to set some general principles and challenge the students to follow them.

  1. If you have a question, sit with it for a while and try to come up with your own answers before looking elsewhere.
  2. If you have a question, have sat with it for a while, and are ready to seek answers outside of yourself, look in a book first. Look in lots of books. Go to the library and ask the librarian for help in finding these books. Also, as an option, TALK to a trusted someone who is more knowledgeable and wiser than you.
  3. After reading books and talking to others, go back into your own thoughts and consider what you’ve learned. Weigh it all against your own ideas. Ask more questions and repeat the steps.
  4. Old books are good to consult. Magazines and newspapers (in print) can count too.

I’m not sure if these general principles are even feasible in this day and age. But they might be worth the challenge. I should challenge myself to follow them too.

What’s the stuff I don’t know? What’s the knowledge I could use a refresher on? Which section of the children’s library should I explore first?

Let’s All Read Tanith Lee

If you had asked me about Neil Gaiman before recent horrific news broke about his abusiveness, I would have said I was a fan.

Not a huge fan, but a fan. I liked The Sandman comics, liked Neverwhere, liked the movie adaptation of Stardust, liked some of his children’s books, liked the movie adaptation of Coraline, liked Neverwhere.

But even more than being a fan of his work, I was inspired by him. His prolific career. His advocacy for libraries. His ability to write in several different mediums, from comics to film to novels and short stories. Probably because I myself am NOT prolific but aspire to be, I’m inspired by those artists who ARE prolific: Bradbury, Andre Norton, Brandon Sanderson, Gaiman. And Gaiman’s brand of dark fairy-tale-esque fantasy suits my sensibilities quite a bit. I’ve never loved anything he wrote, but I definitely liked a lot of it, and even more importantly, I was inspired by it.

I can’t deny my inspiration, as much as it sickens me that I was inspired by such a creep.

The accusations against him are absolutely horrible and sickening. I don’t really have anything to add other than I hope his crimes are punished and his victims find healing.

But the accusations of plagiarism that Kristine Kathryn Rusch mentioned in her latest Patreon post were total news to me, and now I see that perhaps even the ways in which Gaiman’s work inspired me were a lie.

I have heard of Tanith Lee, but I haven’t read anything by her. Now I see that this negligence needs to be remedied ASAP. If Gaiman was stealing her ideas and her style this whole time, then I was getting inspiration from the wrong person. I should be reading Tanith Lee. I WILL be reading Tanith Lee.

And because she too was prolific, I have a new writer to admire.

Let Gaiman fade into shadow and infamy. Let him face both human and cosmic justice.

But let’s the rest of us go read some Tanith Lee.

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