6 Literary Holiday Gifts

As folks prepare for the holiday season, I hope they will consider giving the gift of books.  A book can say so much to the recipient.  It says I love you enough to challenge you.  It says I want to give you the gift of relaxation, of time, of an hour to yourself.  Books transport us to another place and allow us to learn about people who are unlike us.  It broadens the mind and inspires us to do things beyond ourselves.  Here are a few of the books I've loved over the past year and beyond.

1.  Flashes of War by Katey Schultz

This collection of short stories and short-short flash fiction stories gives a glimpse inside modern warfare.  While it may not feel like the kind of sentimental literary gift that screams Christmas, it is a great book for the man in your life, or the reluctant reader.  The flash fiction pieces can be read in a single sitting, even on the "throne."  The person will be transported to places they can barely imagine, into lives we all can relate to, and into landscapes we all must pay attention to in this modern time.

2. The Magicians by Lev Grossman

This book is perfect for anyone who loved C.S. Lewis' Chronicles of Narnia series when they were a child.  Grossman has created a world of magic that feels more timely, grittier, and more adult than the Narnia books.  While it is billed as a coming of age story, it is much more than that.  It is a book about finding purpose in a life.

3.  Saga Volume 1 by Brian K. Vaughan and Fiona Staples

This genre-bending title is adults only.  It's perfect for the sci-fi nut in your house.  If you know someone who can quote lines from Star Wars or Star Trek, then this is the title for him.  It's a sweeping galactic narrative, but it is also a family tale full of rich characters and wonderful artwork.  It alternates between the humorous and the serious, so it never grows stale.

4. Daughter of Smoke and Bone by Laini Taylor

I picked up this title during the summer when I was on the search for "brain candy."  The search for light literature that would transport me to another world led me to Laini Taylor.  I had heard of the title via a senior thesis student at Pacific University.  After reading a critical essay about the title, I thought I should see what the original was all about.  What a pleasant surprise!  While this first book is very much a paranormal romance, the world Taylor has created is rich, rich, rich, and the sequel builds upon this and moves beyond the straight romance of the first book.

5. Peace Like a River by Leif Enger

Literary fiction as it should be.  Enger's book is a fascinating look at a good family in bad circumstances.  His portrayal of Reuben Land, the 11-year-old narrator, is breathtaking.  I never once doubted the perspective of the novel.  If you are looking for a family story, a father-son story, a crime caper story, or the story of miracles in a regular life, then this is the book for you.  This book reads like poetry in places.

6. Anything by Ron Carlson

The man is a miracle!  I discovered Ron Carlson when I was in my first year of grad school.  The first book I read was The News of the World, but I went on to pick up his other titles, like At the Jim Bridger and  Plan B for the Middle Class, immediately after.  His short fiction inspires me more than any other writer.  His ability to capture "real" life in a way that highlights the drama present in our every day is second to none.  I finished his novel The Signal about a month ago.  While I still prefer his short fiction, he won me over with this novel about a couple taking their last backpacking trip into the Wyoming wilderness before they finally say goodbye and dissolve the relationship.  While it is a tale focusing on the relationship, there is gun play, a kidnapping, and action aplenty to keep people reading.  Pick him up today!!!

Are You Okay?

For weeks now I've been asked the same question.

"Are you okay?"

It's come from family, friends, and coworkers.  My answer has always been the same, "I'm fine."  It's not a lie, not a stretch of the truth either, but it is how I've been feeling.  I'm beginning to wonder if I know myself well enough to know if this is true or not.

Have you ever been convinced of something only to find out you were misguided?  Been so sure of a truth that turned out to be untrue?  This is where I've found myself.  I still feel okay, like everything is good, but I simply can't deny the sheer number of people who have stepped forward to check in with me.

From my mother to my wife, from friends of mine to co-workers, I've been engaged in a series of conversations that inquire into my well-being.  It's forcing me to examine myself in a way that I didn't expect.  With all I've been doing, all the directions I've been pushing myself, and all the responsibilities I feel, I have felt a little overloaded.  Creatively I've felt a bit stifled, even though my flash fiction piece is soon to be released by Echo Ink Review.   I received my contributor copies in the mail last week.

School is going good.  I'm making headway into the new business idea.  My daughter is happy, healthy, and experiencing all kinds of new growth and accomplishments.  My wife is well, although overworked in my personal opinion.  All of these things are true, but if I'm truly honest with myself, I'd have to say that all of it just makes me feel...gray.  Slate gray.  It reminds me of a poem by Richard Hugo that I loved when I was at the University of Montana.

Gray Stone

A gray stone does not change color wet
or dry. Baked on a scorched road or shaded
by cedars, underground or tossed
into a bright green sky, it's always gray.
It is the stone of earth, of the down-to-earth
no nonsense way of knowing life
does not often of its own volition provide.
A gray stone will not
change your luck or shorten the mortgage
or make you young again. It doesn't say
"now" to investments - money or love.
It doesn't say "no" when you plot wrong things
you are sure you must do with your life
or die from the drone. Keep one gray stone
in a secret place, and when those you love
are broken or gone, listen
with a sustained, with a horrible attention
to the nothing it has always had to say.

So as I consider myself in the coming days, I know I'll have to dig deeper and look for harder answers than mere surface platitudes or the standard, "I'm fine."  If those who love me see something I don't, then it's time I get to the bottom of it.

The Road to Finals

The last two weeks have been a flurry of grading and student conferences.  As such, I haven't been able to dedicate much time to the blog, but I will be redoubling my efforts in the coming weeks.

In the weeks leading up to the end of a term, a teacher's schedule gets quite hectic.  It's also the most exciting time of the term.  I have phone conferences, email conferences, office visits, etc.  Each of these meetings usually begins with the student asking questions about how they pass their class, what their grade is, or other things I can't blame them for being concerned about.

Then, the conversation turns to the writing.

When the conversation finally comes around to the purpose of the class, I get the chance to really see how far these students have come in the few short months they are in my care.  I've been so encouraged by the conversations I've had with this current batch of students.  They've really been paying attention and working hard.  I can see it in their drafts, in their understanding of what it is they are doing, and the types of hard questions they are asking about how to better develop their individual topics.

It's an exciting time of year.  It's a busy time of year, but you'll be hearing from me soon.

Zen and the Art of Waiting Tables

Tenth Anniversary weekend at the Wild Hare Saloon and Café is officially over, and I’m a little sad to see it go.  I worked the whole weekend—Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and Monday.  Saturday was the big hootenanny with the Gentlemen’s Club Band and they tore it up!  The night was so much fun full of music, dancing, familiar faces, and a real celebration of our time together as the Wild Hare community.  I couldn’t have asked for a better party, but Saturdays inevitably turn to Sundays, and I found myself back at the Hare.

Photo courtesy of the Wild Hare

In an effort to be responsible, I left my rig at the Hare.  Since Shea had a birthday party to go to on Sunday afternoon, I wound up coming to the hare over two hours before my shift began.  I walked into the 10th anniversary party part 2 as many of the folks from the night before were there for breakfast and drinking down the mimosas.  The energy in the room was high, almost electric with excitement carried over from the night before.  I joined a large table of friends and ordered myself a big ol’ burger to help me fuel up for my coming shift.  After talking and laughing for a while, I retired to the back to read my book and enjoy some quiet time.  It wasn’t meant to be.

One of our servers was blindsided by a family emergency in the middle of her shift, so I scooted her out the door and jumped out into the restaurant to lend a hand.  It was a nice Sunday afternoon with the party going on and a few other families having a late lunch/early supper.  It was the opposite of a normal Sunday. Normally the energy of the shift starts slow and ramps up to the dinner rush.  This shift was due to present me with all kinds of exceptions to the rule.

First, I caught up on the other server’s closing work, got the place tidied up a bit and hit the floor.  It wasn’t long before we were full to capacity in the restaurant and the bar.  I had to hit the ground running.  After a few awkward moments of trying to figure out what was going on, I thought I was getting everything under control, although I have to admit that I had a bit of anxiety about my service as I felt a little fuzzy headed. That’s when the wine glass happened.

Photo provided by HC Online

As I was collecting a tray full of new drinks off the bar, I turned to make my way to the table.  The sound of glass breaking was what made me aware of my blunder.  In my attempt to hustle, I had spun around too quickly and l launched a full glass of wine over the edge of my tray.  It crashed to the floor and sent glass shards across the floor of the bar area.  My heart dropped.  I was already feeling behind the gun a little bit, and now I would have to find broom, dustpan, mop, and gracious apologies for those who were sitting near the spill.  It wasn’t what I needed in that moment.

With the help of my gracious server, Melissa, we got the mess cleaned up lickity split, and I had a new glass of Wine by Joe sitting on my tray as I made my second attempt to navigate my way out on to the floor.  I was feeling totally unsettled, adrift, floating into the weeds, afraid I would drop the ball and give someone bad service.  That’s when I had my moment of zen.  

As I was entering dinner orders into the computer, my thoughts clamored through my to-do list.  I was unorganized, shaken, and ready to freak out.  The energy from earlier, the daytime server’s personal anxiety, the wine glass, and a couple of other situations had set me to work with bad energy.  I was anxious when I didn’t have to be.  The thought crossed my mind, “It’s just burgers and fries, Kyle.”  This is one emergency mantra of the management at the Wild Hare.  We use it to try and calm down servers in just this situation. It’s a reminder to not get too overwhelmed, to calm down, to have fun, to smile for Chrissake.  I decided to take my own advice.

While I had about seven things to do in that exact moment, I stopped.  I turned from the computer, surveyed the restaurant, looked over the customers and their tables, counted heads, and just took in the scene.  I wasn’t making a mental checklist.  I wasn’t freaking out about what was going to come next.  I just watched them for a moment and realized they had no clue I was panicking.  The way I figured it, if they aren’t upset, then I have no reason to be upset.  I took another deep breath and walked back out on to the floor.

The next day, the daytime server said she waited on a couple at lunch who had been in the night before. They had such a great experience the night before that they decided to come in for lunch.  They told her, “The gentleman who waited on us did such a good job.”  I couldn’t believe it.  I don’t know which table they sat at or who they were, but it just proves that sometimes you just need to take a deep breath and forge ahead.  There’s no need to let anxiety rule.  Breathe.   Breathe.  Maybe it’s all just burgers and fries after all.

Image courtesy of Lifetasteslikefood.com

I Think I Love Ann Patchett

I fell in love with Ann Patchett today.  Driving home from work , I happened to be listening to "Think Out Loud" on OPB Radio.  The conversation was a pre-recorded one, but I am so glad that no students made afternoon appointments with me.  It was kismet, fate, destiny.  My life had led me to my early afternoon commute.  Patchett's common sense, practical, and frank discussion about issues surrounding the writing life, teaching, waiting tables, making money, and a number of other things seduced me in an instant.

If you aren't familiar with Ann Patchett, she is the author of the book Bel Canto, State of Wonder, and the recently released This Is the Story of a Happy Marriage.  She is also the owner of an independent bookstore called Parnassus Books.  With these qualifications alone, I am bound to swoon, but the interview she gave to OPB sealed the deal for me.

Have you ever received a letter at the exact time you needed to hear from a friend?  Has a stranger given you a compliment at the exact moment you needed one?  Well, Ann Patchett arrived on my air waves at the moment I needed her.  She discussed the challenges of trying to be a writer while being a university teacher (check), she talked about how waiting tables helped her make ends meet as her "other job" (check again), and she discussed how freelance nonfiction writing can be a tool to desensitizing yourself to scrutiny while building up your skills for your creative work in fiction (check, check, and check).  Each of these things is happening to me now, in this instant, and I couldn't help but feel like the interview was given for me alone.  I know that is terribly ego-centric, but it felt delivered, spoken directly to all the fears and concerns that enfold me every day.  You can read or listen to the entire interview here.

I have yet to read Patchett's work, but I know who I am picking up next.  I may even buy her book from her independent bookstore because she promises to sign every copy purchased through their website.  I want my dollars to go directly into her pocket.  I want her to profit off her work and the hope she gave me today.  The last fifteen minutes of my commute were spent parked outside my house.  This was my view:

Oregon Public Broadcasting and National Public Radio call this a "driveway" moment.  A moment where the radio programming is so intriguing there is nothing else to do but sit in your car and wait for the segment to end.  I watched my neighbor blow his leaves out of his yard the whole time.  I don't feel a bit guilty.  It was the best possible use of my time all week.

Braiding Time

It was a "Daddy and Me" night tonight in the Lang household.  Shea and I often title our days/nights alone together, and tonight was no exception.  We got home just before 6 and I set to making dinner while Shea did her reading homework.  She carried her book into the kitchen while I was making dinner and she read me such intriguing titles as "Rub a Dub," "Sox the Fox," and "The Big Hat."  If you are a parent of a new reader and you haven't heard of the Bob Books, then check them out here.

She sounded out the words she didn't know, but she plugged right along.  She's come a long way since this day.  I made a dinner of thick ham steaks steamed in a pan with a little maple syrup added to sweeten the mix, broccoli florets, and green beans.  I was craving green vegetables, so we heaped them on tonight.  As we sat down to eat, Shea and I talked about her day at school.  She told me all about her teachers, her friends, and we just caught up with each other, something I'll never get tired of if I live to be a hundred.

After cleaning up and taking care of a few things, Shea and I adjourned to her room for a little play time.  I was stoked because it was barely seven and that meant we had over an hour to play.  We started with blocks and quickly adjourned to the doll house.  We got out all the debris left over from the last sleepover and quickly pulled out a stack of dolls and My Little Ponies to play with.  Shea wanted to have a beauty shop play time, so we brought out the brushes, the hair clips, and the pony tail holders and got to work on creating some new hairstyles.

Shea has been practicing braiding a little bit with some ribbon safety pinned to a throw pillow, but she hasn't quite mastered the practice yet.  It's a hard thing for her to do with both hands, especially the left, but she wants to know how, so she works really hard at mastering the skill.  Tonight we worked together to braid the manes and tails of her ponies.  It was a comedy of errors in the beginning, but she eventually sensed the pattern, the repetition we were creating in moving the three strands.

This took about a half an hour.

The time was well spent.  I could feel my daughter developing a skill she wanted to possess and I got to have my daughter in my lap or beside me for the duration.  She was so proud of what she had created when she was done that I had to take a picture.

If only every day could be as great!

Dressing Up, Dressing Down

This weekend was an eventful one for the ol' Lang family.  We had soccer games, sleep overs, a school fundraiser auction, and work, so it was nice for Tracy and I to take a little break and have some fun with the whole auction scenario this week.

The St. John the Apostle school in Oregon City hosts an annual auction every year out at Oregon Golf Club in West Linn, Oregon.  It's a nice club perched up on the hill, and the facilities where the auction was held is an open event space that was packed to the gills with knickknacks, gift baskets, dinner tables, a dance floor, and other auction paraphernalia.  Most people take the chance to dress up and use it as a nice evening out.  There were suits and party dresses galore at the function.

Me and my entourage, less so.

The idea came to us when Tracy and I were hanging out with some new friends who had convinced us to go to the auction for the first time this year.  We had never been to this event, and so we had little knowledge of how the whole thing operated.  In fact, I've only been to one other auction that doubled as a crab feed, so my expectations were pretty casual.  The auction had a disco theme this year, and we all thought it made the event ripe for some additional fun.  That's where the costumes came into play.

Thanks to Helen's Pacific Costumes in Portland, our party got decked out in some fly '70s gear.  While our buddy Ben decided on Austin Powers and the girls decided to go the go-go route, I stuck with one of the most iconic images I remember from the '70s.  John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever.  My parents had the vinyl record when I was a kid and I remember John's iconic white suit splashed across the cover in a spray of multi-colored disco lights.  It was an obvious choice for me.  Here is the original:

Here's my rendition:

We all had a ball.  Thanks to our friends being late to our house, we made a fashionable entrance onto the scene.  It was a little traumatizing to find myself staring through a gigantic wall of greenhouse-like windows into a formal event when you've arrived looking like I did, but everyone greeted us warmly and gave us kudos for adding a little dazzle to the event.  Nothing like not taking yourself too seriously to make friends.  I was introduced to so many people that night because of what I was wearing.  It made the evening.

The rest of the company looked great as well.  Tracy walked through the event all night and people asked her, "Who are you?"  They couldn't recognize her with her wig and giant, silver glue-on eyelashes.  I loved her dress the moment I saw it in the costume shop, but the knee-red boots really sealed the deal.  Here we are as a group.

The only drawback to the event can be found here:

People should never be asked to wear these medieval torture devices, let alone to a party where you are expected to dance!  I was ready to dress down out of these shoes the moment I put them on.  Although it was cool being tall for a night.