I love to read. Love love love love love it. I find it to be an incredibly intimate way to share someone else’s thought(s). They wrote it down. They signed it. They hit enter, they hit send. There’s no backing off of that. “This is what happened to me,” they are saying; or, “This is what I imagined into being. This is what I think. This is what I feel.” What a brave and abandoned thing for them to do. What a gift for them to offer. To me, it’s a profound, a mystical, an intimate and vulnerable transaction. I could, but I won’t, say sacred. On my end of the transference, as reader, I become custodian of the thought. Behind the screen of the page (or the literal computer screen). There’s a safety, for the writer, and for me, of that page or that screen coming between us. Both writer and reader stand in naked intimacy, revealed in the light of what’s been shared, but wearing the masks that make it safe. We are hidden each from the other, by the mask of the byline; my anonymity to the writer; the face of the writer’s persona turned toward me. “Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth,” as Oscar Wilde said, wearing his Oscar Wilde mask. Which can all make it sound deadly serious. But to me, it’s just a shitload of fun. I love to imagine. I love to think. I love to feel. When I read, it’s like I get extra shots at these things, more than I’ve earned through my own life’s experiences. I love to let my mind and spirit loose, wandering someone else’s journeys,...

The Holiday season is upon us once again. Millions will be taking to the skies to visit loved ones. Yet with rising fuel costs, dozens of surcharges, and perks at a bare minimum, the skies aren’t as friendly as they once were. Flying used to be a treat, something that people dressed up for and made an occasion out of. Flight attendants weren’t just there for your safety, but to also ensure your comfort and care. It often seems like flight attendants can’t be bothered to bring that extra glass of water for your five-hour flight. And why should they? They are often over worked as it is. And to get that extra level of care that used to be the norm, you have to fly first or business class. But in this economy, it’s just not the reality for 99% of us. With people being packed into flying Greyhound buses like cattle, flying has become rather stressful as opposed to a treat. So lately, I’ve relied on myself to add my own touch of class to air travel. Instead of relying on the airline to treat me well, I take a little extra time before departure to ensure I will have my own little treat in the sky. And on every flight I’ve done this, I’ve received envious compliments from passengers wishing they had done the same. The most common remark, “Oh wow, you’ve made your own First Class!” First: Receiving a newspaper or magazine was rather common on airlines before. And while some airlines still have a great magazine of their own to peruse, it will not hold you over for the long flights. The night before a flight, I take a minute to download a magazine or book that I’ve been...

My parents read books to me. They were pretty busy people, Dad was a farmer and ranch hand, working up to 22 hours a day, 7 days a week. Mom had five kids to care for out in the middle of the country, but they read to me. Since I was the fifth of those five kids, and a late surprise at that, I’m pretty sure my brothers and sisters read to me as well. It’s time to thank them all for giving me a love of story that has lasted my entire life. I don’t remember much about the first few years, but there is a tale my Mom likes to share of how I sat at my second birthday party and “read” The House that Jack Built. Because I had carried it everywhere with me and insisted that my family read it to me so many times, I had memorized the words and when to turn the pages. That might be a bit of a stretch of my Mother’s pride in an exaggeration, but I like that the legend has floated through my life with me, as a part of my origin myth as a reader. Most of my reading was unsupervised after the age of seven. I remember discovering Salem’s Lot when I was in the 4th grade. While it totally freaked me out and made me terrified of the dark forever (yes, still to this day) I got hooked on Stephen King. I read a lot of the classics too, but lost myself in the worlds that the horror master created. Until my early 20’s I bought every book he wrote on the day it was released. Around that time, I discovered Clive Barker. Clive’s work came to me the way...

Frankie says… Try to pretend every now and then. I heard this author speaking about her most recent book on NPR the other day. She was saying how her four main characters were so different, but were all really just pieces of her. I envied her ability to make things up, her obvious grasp on fiction – something I’ve never had when it comes to writing, nor in life for that matter. I’m horrible at making things up, pretending I like people, masking my emotions. If I could just master that art of fiction, of make-believe and pretend, I do believe my life would be a lot easier… like when I was a child. As a kid, I could read for hours, fictional tale upon fictional tale. And then I’d imagine myself as those characters – be it the damsel in distress or the charming go-getter busy bee. Now, I can’t even read fiction let alone pretend I’m part of it. And that’s sad. Really, it is. Why do we lose that ability to mimic our deepest and most secret desires? I know that sounds like some soupy and metaphysical, stick-a-pipe-in-your-mouth kind of question, but it’s really been bothering me lately. This loss of innocence is weird, really. As we grow, we tend to think of how we gain things – boobs, bodily hair, money, wisdom, and many more things. There aren’t too many things that we lose, and by far the biggest of them is this ability to believe in fiction. I’m not talking about the ability to believe in Santa Clause or the Tooth Fairy, I’m talking about the ability to suspend our non-fiction lives for a few moments to enjoy, say, a fictional story from a book. I think the only...

Hey fierce nerds! Sarah Fazeli’s love letter to movie snacks made me crave popcorn, hard. So I’m headed to whatever movie starts in 10 minutes. But I wouldn’t just leave you like that. Before I go sit in the dark, here’s some stuff to help you with your Friday procrastination: 1. A good guide to giving a great reading by author, Jennifer Nielsen. [Shrinking Violet Promotions] 2. A friendly reminder to keep your eyes on the prize and run your own race. [Seth Godin blog] 3. Ten Historic Female Scientist You Should Know (apparently, Marie Curie wasn’t the only nerdy gal that knew how to swing a microscope). [The Smithsonian] 4. Celebrate fall with this awesome (and filthy-mouthed) ode to gourds. Thanks to Gudrun Cram-Drach for the h/t. [Timothy McSweeney] 5. File this under, “Didn’t Know How Much I Needed It, Until I Read About It” [Nerdy Day...