I've been looking today at some fantastical pictures posted by one of my Facebook acquaintances. They're absolutely gorgeous, in a way that suggests a certain unreality, and I wonder if maybe we've got too much fantasy in our reality. (I know, I can't believe I said it either.)

See, I like a world in which fantasy and reality are clearly delineated. I enjoy those liminal moments in which shadows move at the periphery of my vision, and those moments of heart-seizing awe and beauty, precisely because they are rare. They give me pause, as I think about those unexpected intersections.

So an endless progression of photographs at once beautiful and yet somehow *too* perfect leaves me cold. I think it's because true beauty lies in the little imperfections that remind us we are mortal and finite. A blossoming tree that arcs in perfect symmetry over an improbably groomed lawn, each flower the exact same color that's never quite appeared in nature . . . No. Give me the petals drifting, the gnarled branch with the odd-colored blossom. I look at perfection, and I can't hear the hum of bees, the wind's sigh, the shouts of the children just over the hill.

In the stories, Fairyland's gold turns to dead leaves in the morning. Perfection isn't truly beautiful, because it isn't really alive. And I think of all these too-good-to-be-true pictures, that have the trappings of reality but don't reflect anything true or real, and I wonder if someday, our descendents will look out the window, sigh, and shrug. After all, it won't look anything like the jewel-toned world that they see the rest of the time.

It's pretty rare that the hubby and I take the *whole* family to the movies, all at the same time. For one thing, it's rather expensive. For another, given the age and taste ranges involved, it's hard to find something everyone will like, or that's appropriate for the Plague and still enjoyable for the rest of us. I think the last time was Tangled, which was at least a year and a half ago.

Saturday afternoon, we all packed up to see the Avengers. (Of *course* we did.) The twins sat with friends of theirs, but we were all in the same theater, watching the same thing, and LOVING it. Before watching it, I'd been afraid that with such a large ensemble cast, it would feel rushed, or I'd come out of it with the sense of being cheated. And while I would be first in line for a Black Widow movie, I thought overall there was a nice sense of character development throughout. Mark Ruffalo was awesome as Bruce Banner/Hulk. I didn't expect to like Hulk. At all. And yet Ruffalo was so understated that he played really well against the more, shall we say, flamboyant characters. Also, when he Hulked out, it was genuinely scary. The Plague spent that part of the movie with his hands alternately over his eyes and ears.

Robert Downey Jr. still has the market on eccentric geniuses *cornered*. Chris Evans as Steve Rogers has sincerity down pat, and I could only dream of my butt looking that good in tights (plus also, his line, "There's only one God, ma'am, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't dress like that," just KILLED me). I could have wished for more backstory on Hawkeye . . . maybe next time? I'm guessing there'll be a next time, given this weekend's box office tally.

The thing that struck me, especially in the last big fight scene, was the terrific pacing. There were moments of humor, pauses when the heroes and the audience could take a breath, and then the peril ratched up *again*. And then there was that crazytastic Hulk/Loki fight (does it count as a fight?) which had everyone laughing, and then things got scary *again*.

I feel a little guilty mentioning the last Transformers movie in the same breath as Avengers, but the thought occurred to me as I watched that fight scene, that there were superficial similarities between the two set pieces. Yet the big Avengers battle worked so much better, on several levels. First, pacing. When I watched Transformers, I kept checking my watch. Would it never end? There was no rise-and-fall in the action, just one long, loud explosion. Second, characterization. In Avengers, you got the idea that every one of them was there for a reason. (Well, Natasha should have had a better weapon. But still.) Each hero had a different skill set, a different reason for fighting . . . and I cared about each of them. I held my breath when Iron Man lay on the pavement after his little adventure with the missile. I mean, I *knew* he'd be okay (well, hoped--with Joss involved, there is never certainty). But I was *that* involved. Transformers, not so much. In fact, I pretty much loathed every single person and robot by the time the credits rolled. (Note to Michael Bey: Conflict is not a synonym for asshatery.) Third thing, the script (and therefore the characters) were smart. They used their heads as well as their fists/guns. Flying monkey jokes aside, even Captain America thinks fast, and I love it when it's not stupidity that puts characters in jeopardy. Like, you know, taking someone at face value who is clearly up to no good and plotting to take over the world, not that I am bitter (*ahem*Transformers*ahem*).

Yes. Yes I have put way too much thought into movies that go boom. Otherwise, I might have to do something meaningful with my life.

I am such a bad person. I meant to blog more, and then the month once again got away from me. I read a lot in April, but most of the books were on my Nook, and therefore do not qualify for my TBR project. So now I'm way behind there. And I didn't quite make my writing goal, either. (Feel free to throw virtual rotten vegetables at me.) I kind of planned for that, what with the Utah trip and Eeriecon. And I was only off by about 3000 words--though I was over by that much and then some in March--so I decided that, with May, I'm going to dust off my knuckles and get back into the fight. As of today, I have about 3500 words.

Yeah, I'm going to own May. Own it, I tell you. Just don't ask me about June.

To quote Dave Barry, I swear I am not making this up. Girl!Twin just called me out to the kitchen. "Mom, come see my grease sculpture!"

Boy!Twin said, "It's more of a relief."

I said, "It would be a relief if you would stop telling me these things."

In other totally true news, I blasted past my goal of 17,000 words for the month. Last night I wrote 2,828 words, bringing my total for the month to 25,000. Or maybe a little more. Anyway, that's a good thing because next month I have company coming, school vacation, the college visit to Utah with Girl!Twin and my parents, and Eeriecon. Whew! I'm a little exhausted and confused just listing it all out.

In other, other news (also true), I finished four books from my towering TBR mountain. It's probably more significant that the hubby has decided to buy more bookshelves, in terms of solving the towering piles of books problem.

#9-12: I read Darker Angels, book 2 of M. L. N. Hanover's series The Black Sun's Daughter; And Only to Deceive by Tasha Alexander, the first of a series of historical mysteries set in Victorian England (I liked the fiestiness of the heroine, yet her stubborn unwillingness to see things that were glaringly obvious to me as a reader was frustrating to me; I've borrowed the next two books from the library, in hopes that the series improves with time); The American Way of Eating by Tracie McMillan--I picked up that one this month, after Limbaugh's kerfuffle over it, and really expected it to be more radical than it was--a lot of it was similar to Barbara Ehrenreich's Nickled and Dimed. Lastly, I read Belladonna by Anne Bishop, who sucked me into this world telling me stories of Ephemera over snacks at B & N. This is in no way an unbiased opinion, given that she's a friend of mine, but the thing I love about Belladonna and the other stories set in Ephemera is the way she presents emotion. Giving my characters deep emotional lives is something I struggle with as a writer, but Anne makes it look easy. What I like best is the way she conveys characters experiencing a range of emotions. You know, like *actual* people have. Families bicker with, tease, and console each other. Belladonna carries deep emotional wounds, but they strengthen her as well as producing doubt. I love that.

Today, shveta_thakrar said something that made me want to create something beautiful. You can help me with that. Post a comment here with a word, phrase or image that makes you think of beauty. And I'll make something lovely with what you give me.

Who's in?

First, the good news. I exceeded my word-count goal for February by over 4000 words. To say I am pleased is putting it mildly. I celebrated by adding a couple more books to my Nook collection. (Though I have to say, ebooks will never replace the paper variety in my heart. I am a bibliophile in the truest sense.)

I didn't do as well on the TBR front. But I did finish three non-library books, so I wasn't a complete failure.

not!#7: Throne of the Crescent Moon by Saladin Ahmed. This was a thoroughly enjoyable debut novel. I've seen a lot of people describe it as a return to good old-fashioned sword and sorcery, which is true as far as it goes. But Ahmed brings in the flavor of Middle Eastern folklore, which is a nice change from the usual faux-European setting. And beyond that, the story touches on themes of loyalty and courage. I look forward to reading more stories set in this world.

#7: Mechanique by Genevieve Valentine (glvalentine). This story is about as far from the first as one can get, and yet in some ways it resonated well with Throne. Elegant, haunting, and poetic, it tells the story of a remarkable circus that travels a post-apocalyptic wasteland. Each of the performers have secret longings and losses; they are drawn together as much by their differences as their similarities. The subtitle suggests there will be more 'Tales of the Circus Tresaulti'. I hope that's true.

#8: The Cloud Roads by Martha Wells (marthawells). It's early days yet, but this may well be one of my favorite books of the year. I have a soft spot a mile wide for stories of lost folks finding their place in the world, so I was inclined to like it from the beginning. And this story of the Raksura and their world is so vivid and sweeping, I fell in love with it. It's the little details--the city on a giant horizontal wheel, heated as it turns, sticks in my mind as something completely unique--that fascinate me and make this such a memorable read. I've got The Serpent Sea on my bookshelf. I really should focus on the stuff I bought last year, but I want to find out what happens next. Plus also I want to pimp this story to ALL the readers, so I can talk about it.

via :

You are The High Priestess

Science, Wisdom, Knowledge, Education.

The High Priestess is the card of knowledge, instinctual, supernatural, secret knowledge. She holds scrolls of arcane information that she might, or might not reveal to you. The moon crown on her head as well as the crescent by her foot indicates her willingness to illuminate what you otherwise might not see, reveal the secrets you need to know. The High Priestess is also associated with the moon however and can also indicate change or fluxuation, particularily when it comes to your moods.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.

That's fairly apt. Though these memes always leave me with the sense that I can only focus on one facet of myself at a time, when in my mind I'm more of a million winking shiny things.

Also, there were words today, despite the underfootedness of the people who do not have school or work due to the holiday.

Many, if not most, religions have some kind of sacred writings or stories.

( How can we translate that to created worlds? )

I find myself in the next phase of parenting, which could be summed up as Waiting for News. Those of you who have handed the car keys to some half-witted adolescent know whereof I speak. (Not that Girl!Twin is half-witted. I would say she's almost fully witted. But still.) The kids dropped the Plague and me at the house at noon and disappeared with my van. It was the last show of "Thoroughly Modern Millie," and then the set break-down and so on. And then they just . . . disappeared. We finally heard from them around 8, when they were heading home after dropping off a friend. And they had phones, and all was well . . .

I still can't help being nervous. I mean, I'm a worrier anyway, and I've been really anxious all week for a number of reasons, most of which are completely outside of my control, if not figments of my overactive imagination. Adding mobile teenagers into the mix is . . . volatile.

(Just now, Girl!Twin is telling me that a couple of the girls in the cast were in an accident on the way to the show. They hit a phone pole, and one of them has a concussion--but came to the second half anyway, once they let her out of the hospital. What a trouper!)

Anyway, I suspect this feeling of lurking horror will not go away any time soon. If ever.

I have another religion in second-world fantasy essay written. I'll post it tomorrow once I've given it a once-over. Possibly a twice-over.

Well, okay, I have lots of paper books. Lots and lots and lots . . .

But now I also have a Nook, courtesy of the hubby, who took note of my wistful wishing and presented me with an astounding Valentine's surprise. So this afternoon and evening has been dedicated to charging and figuring out my new toy. And of course downloading a few books for it. Mostly inexpensive classics--I bought all 15 of L. Frank Baum's Oz stories for a buck--but I did spring for a couple of pricier selections, including the latest Year's Best SF and Fantasy from Prime Books.

So I can tell you now that one of the first things I read on my new Nook was tithenai's short story, "The Green Book". Which is haunting and sad and a good way to christen the new e-reader.

And lest you think I have abandoned the TBR challenge, I have not: this week I finished book #7, The Suspicions of Mr. Whicher by Kate Summerscale. (Side note--I really think that the author's name would be a good one for a dragon.) This is one of the best historical true crime books I've read. Summerscale has a restrained style, so her observations are thoughtful rather than ghoulish. Quite an accomplishment, given the circumstances of the murder in question. Also, as I noted on Facebook, there's this terrific little aside about a con artist who relieved a London ornithologist of eighteen hummingbird skins. That little tidbit is begging to be part of a story. If you use it, let me know, okay?