Tuesday, 30 September 2008

Books, etc.

The book ban is officially over! As soon as I mail off my cheque to Folio, that is. Unfortunately, this does not mean I'm going to rush out and buy piles of books tomorrow. The Folio books were a one-off deal to keep my membership in, and until I make a serious dent in the Books By the Bedside pile, I'm going to try my darndest not to buy new ones.

That being said, this week is Banned Books Week - go out and buy/read a copy of Little Black Sambo or anything by Lois Lowry, Robert Cormier, Mark Twain, etc.

Meanwhile, I've had an interesting summer of not buying books - I've gotten free books instead! Let's see... I picked up both The Far Side Gallery 3 and Britannia Mews from those "free books" boxes people put on their lawns, I got a Peter Hoeg book that I haven't read yet from my uncle and a Robin Pilcher (son of Rosamunde Pilcher) and a Maeve Binchy from friends at work.

And of course I've been relying on Google Books a lot.

However, the best event by far was the Montreal Antiquarian Book Fair, where I got to gauge just how much my Folio books may or may not appreciate and meet Quebec author Roch Carrier! As part of the admission fee (six dollars!), the first 1000 patrons received a copy of his chapbook on book collecting in Istanbul. This was a lovely short piece about his first visit to Istanbul and other parts of Turkey a couple of years ago, and the spirited bargaining he engaged in at the Sahaflar Ҫarşısı, the book bazaar of the Grand Bazaar.

As for my own book... I've written four scenes in the past two days and drawn up a master list of everything that's missing. Two pages worth of snips and snits and words to change/translate. And waaay more scenes left to write. So while I'm on vacation (coming up soon!), instead of sending queries, I'll be writing. I hope. And then typing it all up when I get back...

Wednesday, 24 September 2008

Hélène's New Book!

Helene's new book is coming out!



And to celebrate, she's gaving a star-studded contest on her blog, and on facebook.

Enter every week and if you linked to the contest through this blog, please mention it!

Monday, 22 September 2008

A Limerick About Me!

Courtesy Jim Delaney, from the wonderful Omnificent English Dictionary In Limerick Form:

Copy Editor

All my craft isn't mine: I devote it
To my fellows. A good (kindly note it)
Copy editor knows
How to fix up the prose
So the author might think that he wrote it.

Wednesday, 17 September 2008

"I've been up since 5.30 you know!" OR What Should I Do?!

Sort of. Monday and Tuesday I was up at 5 and got masses of revision done before leaving for work.

But it's really hard to get up that early on only 6 hours of sleep! I couldn't do it this morning, especially since I was having a really interesting dream about... something that involved paper anyway :-)

So now, with about 50 manuscript pages left to go, I'm stuck again. And the number of unfinished scenes is much higher than I thought and keeps growing.

Without abrogating my previous goals (especially that of having a complete, final MS by the end of November), I am facing a dilemma:

Do I keep plugging away at revisions or do I stop and return to creation mode and write up all the scenes that are missing?


The quote in the title, by the way, comes from Basil Fawlty :-)

Tuesday, 16 September 2008

Statistics for The Face of A Lion

Got this from Jen:

Word Count: 77000, but that's including some notes here and there.

Scenes: Scenes? Each Chapter is almost one scene, so about 35.

Characters On The Chopping Block: Haven't cut anyone yet. No one's died either. Hmmm...

Scenes On The Chopping Block: Not entire scenes (or maybe I can't remember) but definitely lots of commentary and strange reactions and people who don't belong in certain places...

Total word count loss? Not sure... it averages, you see. I cut two paragraphs, but then I add in a missing scene...

Scenes Left To Write: Too many. About ten.

Scenes Left To Revise: About 15 Chapters. Then I have to re-read the entire MS *again*.

My Next Move: Finish this week's edits, i.e. the 15 Chapters. Then print the MS and deal with all the highlighted bits (research to check, words to tweak, etc.), then type in (i.e. create) all the missing scenes, then print the MS and read it ALL!

Estimated Time of Delivery (to Betas): My original goal (from c. June) was the end of summer. Now it's been pushed to my birthday (November). But I hope to be at the "read it ALL" stage by mid-October so I can take it with me on vacation (more on that later).

I'd like to echo Jen: I need all of you to send virtual chocolate :-)

Friday, 12 September 2008

I Love the English Language

Susan over at the Books and Writers Community posted a short poem using the words "baited breath" in an ingenious fashion; she got the poem from the World Wide Words site, which has a page devoted to weird words.

My uncle at Snail's Tales, when I forwarded the list to him, replied:

Here is a challenge: write as long a sentence as you can using as many words as you can from this list.


I took him up on it right away - oh the joy of playing with words! - and herewith please find my sentence (I didn't use any Q, U or X words, and used only those words with which I was familair on sight, and did not need to run to the dictionary for. There were quite a few words that seemed familiar, but which I wasn't really sure how to use. All the words from the list have an initial capital):

Abigail and her Attercop Absquatulated with my Bezoar, the Blackguards, and it was utter Balderdash because they were Bankrupt so I couldn’t Blackmail them, the Blatherskites, and I was so filled with Blood and thunder that I Bloviated and wrote a Bodacious Blurb about the Boondoggle, upon which they called me a Bootless Brobdingnagian and a Cad, and then Cadged my Didgeridoo – such Cheapskates they were that they rode down a Cataract instead of hiring a Charabanc down to the Cadastral of Cockaigne; what a Cockamamie way to travel I called out, and tried to perform a Deasil charm on the rest of my Tawdry possessions, including my Gaberlunzies, realizing of course, that all this may sound like Codswallop to you, but when you’ve been a Coopering Cyborg with a Coxcomb as long as I have, then you’ll realise how frustrating it is to be Discombobulated and Flabbergasted by such a Flapdoodle and such Flibbertigibbets; Mimsies not half as smart as Dumbledores, who only steal other people’s Doohickeys for fun and not for the profitable purpose of Dracontology and delight in Ensorcelling Funambulists such as myself, who speak Franglais and are therefore only slightly different – why should we, who only wish for peace in the Eyot of Gallimaufry, free to count our Ells, Gadzooks! why should we, I say be subjects for such Folderols, such Foofaraws, such Houghmagandies, such Higgledy-piggledy Hobbledehoy Hocus-pocus, I ask you, I mean are we Gowks, are we Gremlins, are we Garblers, and it’s not even Guy Fawkes night yet you Jackanapes, you could at least wait until all the Humongous Gazebos have been closed, I mean we’re only Haggard residents of the same town, living in the same Ice houses, just trying to earn a bit of Hearth-money, just trying to pass a few days of peace in our Inglenooks, how can you not see this, is such Hokey-pokey, such Hornswoggling Ingrained in your Gorbellied natures, are you so Janus-faced you think that with a bit of Jiggery-pokery, a little Gobbledygook and some Jingoism you can become all Hugger-mugger with those Haberdashers you are so in awe of, those men who are so Lackadaisical in their work that they Lollygag all year long and then when summer ends they get into such an Ishkabibble that they fall all over themselves in their Ha-has for shame that they have not enough wares to provide for their own daughters’ Handfastings; these are the Jocund Katzenjammers that you Malapert Mugwumps would try to help, causing such Kerfuffles and Malarkeys among those of us trying to earn an honest living, whether myself or those who seek a peaceful town in which to practice their Leechcraft – aye, you Namby-pamby Nincompoops, you Ninnyhammers, you Popinjays, you are barely Nescient of their presence, yet those are the same men you seek out for Opodeldocs, for a bit of Pinchbeck for your Oxters, a Paregoric, a Rebarbative, a Palimpsest, anything to keep you from entering your Sarcophagus early; as I say you don’t even wait for autumn to come or Wassail or even Saturnalia with its Lollapaloosas and its Subfusc Willy-nilly Rambunctious goings-on, no you Pettifogging Tatterdemalions assault us in the middle of summer, like common Scofflaws and then you Skedaddle in a Sennight, well I tell you I’ve had just about enough of this Skulduggery and these Shenanigans, you Scallywags, it’s giving me Tintinnabulation here in my Incarnadine Lagniappe and I won’t put up with this Rigmarole any longer, it’s utter Poppycock, so Oyez! I’ll get on my Onomasticon – that was a nice Onomatopoeia, no? – and, since from here I can see a lovely Panorama, including the Pantechnicon and the Vomitorium, for once and for all we’ll deal with this Scrimshaw, you Oafs, and there’s no point looking Mesmerised as though I was casting an Ombre, I’m not some sort of Valetudinarian Velocipedist, I won’t leave until this is done, call me Mundungus, call me Sesquipedalian, call me Twitterpated, but I sense a certain Serendipity in all this, for among my Paraphernalia this morning I found my Seersucker pants – the ones that only weigh one Pound – and it may be Pusillanimous of me but those are my lucky pants, and it would have been Preposterous to appear before you without pants, then who would call who Zany, but I’d better get to the point or we’ll be here ‘till Yuletide, so my offer is this: on Maundy Thursday we will not Spifflicate, there will be no Lycanthropy – you there, stop being a Wiseacre! – we will form a Tontine, and each of us will be bound by the agreement – I don’t care about your Triskaidekaphobia you Will-o’-the-wisp! – and once every Syzygy, as I am Yclept Deniz, we will gather at Pall-mall and have a Picayune discussion about any terms you may wish to change, any Spondulicks or Truckles but we will not Mithridate over Trebuchets, no sir, and call me Panglossian but it will be superb.


I never thought I would use Will-o’-the-wisp in the prejorative...

Monday, 8 September 2008

I Need An Intern

I used to need one to complete my catalogue of books, but I finally got that done myself (see bottom of the blog). I had no idea that Elance existed! I found out about it on this great blog.

Tasks I still need an intern for:

Type up all of the scraps and scribbles where I've written my dreams

Add the 200+ books I've gotten since I finished the catalogue

Create a filing cabinet with organized lables for all the articles/webpages/clippings/brochures/etc. I've collected over the years

Go through all the piles of "saved stuff" and extract every Folio catalogue, then make a comprehensive list of all the Folio books I want

Create a database to store every piece of advice/recipe/good idea/remember to look up/song quotes/poetry quotes/etc. I've ever collected

Make a master list of Books/Albums/Singles/DVDs I want

Find a use for all the 10-inch bits of wool I have left

Once I choose photos to be printed, have the photos printed, have some enlarged, and frame everything in the house (photos, postcards and posters) that still needs to be framed

Clean my antique telephone

Take care of my plants for me

Sunday, 7 September 2008

Google

If you Google The Face of A Lion, you won't see this blog on the first page, or even on the second page. Why not? You'd think I'd have mentioned the novel's title often enough, no?

How's the Editing Going?

Today's my first day using the Google Chrome browser. It is noticeably faster, and I like the "Paste and Go" option in the address bar. However, trying to access the settings involves a little bit of hunting - I tried to log into Blogger and it said my cookie settings were too high - well, I haven't changed those settings on Explorer in months, and Chrome is supposed to be picking up on that. Plus, I just entered a new post two hours ago without any problems; who changed my settings in that time? Ah well, small quibbles.

Onto editing. Yes, I've been editing for about three hours, including the time I spent with E. L. Konigsburg :-) I'm now exactly halfway through The Face of A Lion, which stands at 189 manuscript pages, with about five scenes left to fill in and much imagery to explore and dialogues to tweak.

I've started to wonder why this process seems so endless - in "real" terms, it hasn't been that long; I started the novel sometime between January-March 2007 and "finished" it around January 2008. Since then I've been editing and revising, on and off, and finalising all my research notes. But it feels like it's taking too long. Where does this sense of urgency come from? I thought it had to do with the Q word - the need to somehow finish it and get it out there, since I've never gone this far with a novel before. That must be the answer (mostly) - in my pre-self-professed-professional days, I used to finish novels and just let them go. I did play around with my two romance novels quite a bit, but I had an avid beta reader at the time.

Another reason, though, has to do with all the other ideas that bubble up. I've been giving them short shrift in my need to finalise The Face of A Lion and they're bubbling and steaming inside me. If only they took place at around the same time, I could pretend I was at least working on a sequel or something. But they don't: one takes place in 1492, and the other in the 1930s. Which means all kinds of new research! And I don't want to start all that until I've given Austin closure. Sigh.

Here's a snip!

“Hey Austin, your cat’s following us!” Theseus had recovered his breath already. Austin grinned down at Kedi, yellow eyes fixed on him from the darkness at the foot of the stairs, and continued climbing. The building had not looked high from the front, and as they passed the roof, he could see that the steps were changing, from stone to dirt, and were cut into the side of a hill, continuing behind the top of the building, looping around back in the direction they had come.
A landing opened up before him and he saw that there was a kind of private terrace, with benches and tables, and a low railing along the ledge, beyond which –
“Oh, wow!”
Austin turned his head this way and that, unsure where to look first. All four sides of the amphitheatre were visible below them. A hooded crowd was seething in to the arena from the doors on the other side of the hill from the apothecary’s shop, to join the mass of people already crowded in on the dusty floor and slowly climbing the tiered seats on all sides. Everywhere torches and lanterns flickered, and sticks and clubs were brandished. A jumble of shouted cries rent the still night air. The crowd now entering was loudest, and had soon drowned out all other voices with its chant. Those in the arena picked up the new cry and the voice of the entire assembly swelled until it became one awful high-pitched whine. “Great is Diana! Diana of the Ephesians! All who oppose her shall die!”
Austin thought the words sounded familiar. He watched the red lights of the torches moving snakelike around the arena, as hooded figures wound along the lowest tier of seats and slowly rose through the ranks, to encircle the rest of the mob, chanting all the while. “Great is Diana! Diana of the Ephesians! All who oppose her shall die!” The rest of the crowd waved their arms and shifted in an agitated fashion, but the hooded men moved slowly, in one long ordered line, and there was no end to them; more and more figures in hoods and cloaks came in through the gates, like a line of sheep following a shepherd – a shepherd who carried a blood red torch and a tall crook.
And Austin knew, suddenly, where he had heard the phrase before. In the Temple of Artemis, on his second day, during the ceremony were Lady Porphyry’s brother had sacrificed one hundred sheep to the chanted repetition of the same awful words.
He was afraid, then, and had a swift, passing yearning to be back with his parents, reading comic books in the den, surrounded by the four walls of home.
But his parents were not at home. Going back now would mean going to the house in Kuşadası, and he would be no closer to the comfort of his childhood.
As he continued to watch the aweful procession below, the first shaking quiver of his fear passed, and he was aware once again of his nearer surroundings. Theseus stood beside him, leaning as far out over the parapet as he dared, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
“Isn’t this exciting? I wonder what they’re going to do to that group?”
“Which group?”
Theseus pointed to the furthest end of the arena.
Austin’s head swam, but now the last of his fear ebbed, and was replaced by a soaring sensation in his chest, as if he was about to leap off the hill’s edge and go flying over the abominable crowd, to the succour of the tiny group of people in the distance. He couldn’t see their faces, or tell whether Pliny – or even Miss Julia – was among them, but there were the Christians sure enough. He saw now that the orderly snakelike procession had moved all along to block off the crowd, and that the hooded figures had surrounded the little group completely. The followers of Artemis were now strategically placed so as to control both the mob and have sole access to the object of their fury. But what could he do, one boy against thousands of purposeful sinister men, who nevertheless hid beneath hoods and cloaks?
He swivelled around to look for Kedi and try to talk to him undisturbed, when his eyes fell on Althea. He had forgotten that she was with them. She stood at the top of the stairs, and he could not tell if she had come to the edge and seen what was taking place in the arena, then moved back in fear, or not stepped away from the stairs at all since they had first arrived.
Theseus was cheering and calling along with the crowd now, though he did not use the chant of the hooded ones. Austin slipped away from him and made his way over to Althea. Kedi was there, he saw, watching from his own perch atop an overturned urn on the wall.
She had been crying. She looked up at his approach, dabbed a handkerchief at red and swollen eyes, and suddenly curved her body, reaching out a hand and running it along his arm.
“You’re very brave, aren’t you?”
“What – what do you mean?”
“On the ledge just now. You raised your arm, in the direction of those miserable huddled people, as though you would scoop them up and rescue them.”
“I did?” So she had seen them. And, unable to bear it, had retreated.
“Yes. It was a noble thought.”
He was looking at the Althea from the arbour again, the one who batted her eyelashes, and kept running light fingers up his arm, over the cloak on his shoulders. The fingers of her other hand came up and stroked his cheek. This close, he could see even more the redness that rimmed her eyes, making a strange contrast to the line of black shadow on her lids. She had said she wanted to be friends – what had she really meant?
“Augustine,” she whispered, close in his ear. There was a smudge below her mouth where her lip colour had run. He stood frozen, looking at it. She kissed him. The shouts from below mingled with Theseus’ calls and the croak of a late night bird in the hills above them. Her lips were soft, but cold. There was a faint taste of wine. This wasn’t what he had imagined at all. Althea’s hand moved slowly down his chest. Her fingers tightened on his thighs. He kissed her back, concentrating, wondering if he was doing it right. Her hands were flushing parts of his body he had never had reactions from, but still there was a voice in his head that kept yelling, louder than all the outer noises, “stop! stop!”
“Althea, stop.” He pulled away. She stared at him for a moment, hands slipping to her sides, mouth bruised with colour. And burst into tears again. Perhaps he should have let her keep kissing him – anything but floods of emotions he did not know how to handle. But no, Theseus was there, and Kedi too.
He glanced at Kedi, who blinked once, slowly, to show he understood Austin’s thoughts. And Pliny and Miss Julia would need his help – if they weren’t already in that sad huddle below.
A new resolve stole over and eased his awkwardness. He knew what to say to her now. “Althea, we have to go and help. We can’t just think of ourselves.”
“We’ll go to your house.” Theseus was beside him, staring at Althea as she wept and hiccoughed into her handkerchief.
“Okay. Come on.” Austin put an arm around her shoulders and Theseus hesitated, then stood on her other side, passing a hand around her waist. *He* probably wouldn’t have stopped her kissing him, Austin thought, making a face. Together they led her down the stairs, Kedi stepping softly behind them, and waited at the bottom as she straightened her hair and her tunic. Theseus led them once more through the streets, keeping as far away from crowds as possible.

I Was Supposed to Spend the Entire Afternoon Editing...

...but I just spent the past hour re-reading From the Mixed-up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler by E. L. Konigsburg. If you haven't read this book yet, what are you waiting for? Go! Go!

Friday, 5 September 2008

My Favourite Pen

Some writers use computers. Some use typewriters, some use pencils.

And some of us use pens. We love our pens. We blog about our pens. If I had a typewriter from about 80 years ago, I would probably use it. But until I find or am gifted with such an item...:





As I say, until then, I will continue to use pens for all drafts and copy edits. Shorthand works best in pen and, though it's a pain to have to type scenes up later on, the process introduces an additional round of edits - those done while entering madly scribbled drafts in a slightly more polished form to the word processor (is "enter to" a verb?).

Now the moment you've all been waiting for: this is my favourite pen. The Pilot G-TEC-C4. The finest nib, the smoothest ink flow, the cleanest lines...



Plus it's available in every colour of the rainbow, and then some. The one and only drawback is that only the red, black, blue, purple and sometimes green pens are available here. The other colours, including my favourite, brown (you haven't seen brown ink until you've seen this pen's brown ink), are available only through mail order in the UK or in Singapore. Yes, Singapore. Thankfully, I work for the UN, and travellers to Singapore abound!

All this brown and ink talk reminds me of an old Peanuts strip:

Lucy: Do you think my eyes are beautiful, Charlie Brown?
Charlie Brown: Yes, they look just like little round dots of india ink!

Tuesday, 2 September 2008

Lancaster Ontario - Cooper Marsh OR Abject Ignorance...

Yesterday was a real summer day, sunny and warm with a gentle breeze. We spent the morning wandering through the Cooper Marsh Conservation Area near Lancaster, Ontario, and the afternoon at the pub.



Despite the distant hum of highway traffic in the distance, the walkways over the marsh and through the woods were quiet and peaceful, with only an occasional bird-call or cricket-chirp from the bushes and trees. Frogs rested in the deep grass. Here's one, the picture of relaxation:



Most places in the province of Quebec are named after saints; the most obscure and unidentifiable saints possible. For instance:

Saint Telesphore:



Saint Zotique and Saint Polycarpe:



Saint Clet:



Telesphore sounds especially mysterious to me; I hope he was an astronomer of some kind.

And now we come to the real moment of ignorance; if anyone can tell me what these trees are, I would be grateful and would try to lodge this information permanently in my brain.

First tree:





Second tree:



Third tree:



Fourth tree (birch?):



And a little yellow flower:



Thank you!

Jamie and Claire WC Signs at the Pub



If I Ever Knit A Sock...

...I might try the Houdini sock!



Meanwhile, is there anyone who wants to travel to Kingston, ON on October 25th for the Drop Spindle class... If I haven't gotten to a Montreal Knit Night and learned before then, I'd really love to go to Wool-Tyme for the class!

Books I'm Reading and Finished Books

  • The Making of Outlander by Tara Bennett
  • Testament of Experience by Vera Brittain
  • Zoom sur Plainpalais by Corinne Jaquet
  • beta read! (JB)
  • ***Reading At Intervals***
  • Sophie's Choice by William Styron
  • The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins
  • Moby Dick by Herman Melville
  • The Young Lions by Irwin Shaw
  • Burning Sky by Lori Benton
  • 12 Anne and Avonlea books by L. M. Montgomery (skimming/reread (this was free on Kindle!))
  • Parade's End by Ford Madox Ford
  • Istanbul Noir (Akashic Books anthology)
  • The Hobbit by J. R. R. Tolkien manuscripts edited by J. D. Rateliff
  • The Jerusalem Bible
  • ***Finished Books***
  • The Children of Men by P. D. James
  • A Daughter's A Daughter by Mary Westmacott (Agatha Christie)
  • A Girl From Yamhill by Beverly Cleary
  • Sunlight by Margaret Rucker (poem; floating in a cocktail glass)
  • Save the Cat by Blake Snyder
  • Preface to The Hobbit, by Christopher Tolkien
  • Ilk Defa... by Beste Barki (essays)
  • Gaudy Night by Dorothy Sayers (essay)
  • The Moon and I by Betsy Byars
  • The Road to Little Dribbling by Bill Bryson
  • Rogue Warrior by Regan Walker
  • Beauty and the Beast by Villeneuve
  • Black (what was this? I don't remember!)
  • Dance of the Jakaranda by Peter Kimani
  • Thomas the Tank Engine by Rev. Awry (26 book collection)
  • beta read (Born to Run by RB)
  • The Little Turtle by Vachel Lindsay (poem; reread)
  • The Kraken by Alfred Lord Tennyson (poem)
  • Android's Dream by John Scalzi
  • The Mysterious Tadpole by Stephen Kellogg (reread)
  • Yashim Cooks Istanbul by Jason Goodwin
  • Miniatures by John Scalzi
  • Testament of Youth by Vera Brittain
  • Kitty-in-Boots by Beatrix Potter (illustrated by Quentin Blake)
  • All or Nothing by Rose Lerner (short story)
  • Merry Christmas, Emily (board book)
  • Extra Yarn by __ and Jan Klassen
  • Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy
  • The Outlandish Companion II by Diana Gabaldon
  • The Outlandish Companion I, Revised by Diana Gabaldon
  • MacHinery and the Cauliflowers by Alistair MacLean (short story)
  • The Dileas by Alistair MacLean (short story)
  • The Gold Watch by Alistair MacLean (short story)
  • betty, butter, sun by Monica Byrne (short story)
  • Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them screenplay by J.K. Rowling
  • The Very Cranky Bear (Scholastic)
  • various haiku by R. Wodaski
  • ongoing rereads of most board books listed last year!
  • see the 2016 list and statistics at http://thegirdleofmelian.blogspot.ch/2016/12/annual-books-read-statistics-2016.html
  • see the 2015 list and statistics at http://thegirdleofmelian.blogspot.ch/2015/12/annual-books-read-statistics.html
  • see the 2014 list and statistics at http://thegirdleofmelian.blogspot.ch/2014/12/books-read-in-2014-review.html
  • see the 2013 list and statistics at http://thegirdleofmelian.blogspot.ca/2014/01/toast-to-professor-books-read-in-2013.html
  • see the 2012 list and statistics here http://thegirdleofmelian.blogspot.ca/2012/12/the-hobbit-review-and-year-end-books.html
  • see the 2011 statistics on http://thegirdleofmelian.blogspot.ca/2012/01/books-read-in-2011-statistics-fourth.html
  • see the 2011 list at http://thegirdleofmelian.blogspot.ca/2012/01/books-read-in-2011.html
  • see the 2010 list at http://thegirdleofmelian.blogspot.com/2010/12/books-read-in-2010-listed-here.html
  • see the 2009 list at http://thegirdleofmelian.blogspot.com/2009/12/books-read-in-2009-part-ii.html
  • also in 2009 at http://thegirdleofmelian.blogspot.com/2009/12/books-read-in-2009-part-iv.html
  • see the 2008 list at http://thegirdleofmelian.blogspot.com/2008/12/books-read-in-2008-part-ii.html
  • also in 2008 at http://thegirdleofmelian.blogspot.com/2008/12/books-read-in-2008-part-vi.html
  • also in 2008 at http://thegirdleofmelian.blogspot.com/2008/12/books-read-in-2008-part-iv.html