Fun Without Prairie Fiction

We had a grand old time last night at the echolocation Halloween Party, and we were truly humbled by the amazing costumes assembled there. We didn't dress up. We are lame. I did, however, give my secret party trick the light of day (or night?) and composed two spontaneous folk songs- one about the Filthy Federlines and the other about robotic dogs (naturally). They were received warmly and I did so enjoy the night out. On the walk there, my mind was shouting to the beats of my feet, "Need drink. Need drink. etc." Drink was had. Delicious.

In my previous entry, when I mentioned that The Diviners was one of "those books", I meant that it is a book I intend to be revisiting as long as visiting hours are open. What I had neglected to realize, of course, is that it is also one of "those books" in the sense of the dreaded Prairie Fiction. Remember how Prairie Fiction nearly drove me to defenestration one month ago? Now, it is distinctly possible that my Prairie Fiction issues are linked to my menstrual cycle, but I think there is something further than that. I learned recently about certain types of fiction that cause post-traumatic stress disorder in readers, and I really think Prairie Fiction does that for me. I am not being completely dramatic. Books do tend to make their impressions upon me (ie when I read Fight Club and became psychotic?) I loved The Diviners, but it stirred something up in me that needs to be left alone in order me to be functional. I become overwrought. Sarah Harmer wrote "I'm a Mountain'; I'd love to hear "I'm a Prairie" and find out what it has to say, and then maybe I could get to the root of the problem.

I am now reading Laurie Colwin's Goodbye Without Leaving which should calm me down a bit.

Two fabulous acquisitions in our house: Atwood's The Penelopiad (which I read last winter and loved) and a pastry marble!