Book 39 of 80
Egypt! After a suggestion from another book blogger, I decided to read The Map of Love by Ahdaf Soueif — it is part family saga/part love story/part commentary on Egypt’s politics. I’m excited to start it — the book did travel to Vegas and back, sitting untouched in Matt’s suitcase. From everything I’ve read, this story is riveting and the language gorgeous. I’m monumentally disappointed, however, that I don’t get to read it by a pool with a huge margarita.
The Map of Love is not particularly short, but I’m hoping it reads faster than Book 38. I’m on a mission this summer to really put a dent into my reading — while I’m currently behind schedule, I NEED to be ahead of schedule before September. I’m teaching a new class next school year — new to me, not new in general — and I’m no longer teaching Reading Intervention. Budget cuts forced the school to limit our number of sections for our intervention classes and I was last on the totem pole for retaining them — I’m totally bummed about it. However, the class I get to teach instead is Creative Writing. I won’t get into the politics of how I ended up with that class — but it was at a colleague’s expense, another decision born of budget shortfalls. While I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t giddy over the prospect of teaching something else I love.
My Creative Writing teacher in high school was Paulann Peterson — Oregon’s current Poet Laureate. She let us call her “Paulann” and read to us poetry in a voice as smooth as melted butter. And when I wrote an awful science-fiction short story about a girl who could insert a cassette tape into her brain at night to capture her dreams and then take that tape and insert it into a room designed to replay her dreams in 3D — much like the holodeck from Star Trek, of which I have an unhealthy obsession — she found several places to compliment me before adding: “Your other fiction pieces have been much stronger.” A perfect way to tell a teenager that she just wrote something pretty crappy. I knew it too. I wrote it to impress a guy named Bobby…who I’m pretty sure is still too cool for me.
At any rate, the new prep — combined with an inability to get as much reading done during school — will hamper my pace. I’m not trying to force some movie-esque climax on this blog: Where it’s December 30th and I’m two books away…I stay up all night and then instead of going to some New Years Eve party, I lock myself in my room and feverishly finish book 80 — turning the last page as Ryan Seacrest counts down to 2011 in Times Square.
That’s not my plan.
But it’s a possibility, I suppose.
We’ll see how my summer goes.