2018 Reading List...so far

I'm excited about 2018 for several reasons, but mostly because I (should) have more time to read. This year will also mark my last summer in Sewanee as a student (MFA), so I'm sure to have a good 10+ books to read for summer semester. Here is a glimpse of my reading list so far....

Books read in 2017

As usual, I had planned to read at least 52 books in 2017. This did not happen. I barely made it to the halfway point, mainly because of my teaching schedule. If only I could count those 400+ papers I had to read from my students this past year. But that isn't quite literature, is it? The good news is that I'm not longer teaching as an adjunct professor. My MFA thesis is on the horizon and I knew I couldn't devote enough time to researching/writing if I had other things on my plate. I'll have no excuses if I don't reach my reading goals in 2018.

Disclaimer: I read mostly "cozy" mysteries in 2017...because if I didn't read something easy, I wouldn't have had the strength to read at all (again, so many student papers). I love M.C. Beaton's books--even if they aren't considered "high" literature. Better to read something than nothing, right?

Completed books in 2017:

I Heard the Owl Call My Name by Margaret Craven

Don't Let's Go to the Dogs Tonight by Alexandra Fuller

History of Wolves by Emily Fridlund

The Girl on the Train by Paula Hawkins

The Vanishing Year by Kate Moretti

The LIttle Red Chairs by Edna O'Brien

Going Out with Peacocks and Other Poems by Ursula Le Guin

A Christmas Hope by Anne Perry

Haunting Years by William Linton Andrews

Death of a Dreamer (Hamish Macbeth #21) by M.C. Beaton

Death of a Bore (Hamish Macbeth #20) by M.C. Beaton

Death of a Chimney Sweep (Hamish Macbeth #26) by M.C. Beaton

Death of a Greedy Woman (Hamish Macbeth) by M.C. Beaton

Death of a Valentine (Hamish Macbeth #25) by M.C. Beaton

Death of a Witch (Hamish Macbeth #24) by M.C. Beaton

Death of a Village (Hamish Macbeth #18) by M.C. Beaton

Death of a Celebrity (Hamish Macbeth #17) by M.C. Beaton

Death of a Scriptwriter (Hamish Macbeth #14) by M.C. Beaton

Death of a Macho Man (Hamish Macbeth #12) by M.C. Beaton

Death of a Snob (Hamish Macbeth #6) by M.C. Beaton

Death of a Prankster (Hamish Macbeth #7) by M.C. Beaton

Death of a Perfect Wife (Hamish Macbeth #4) by M.C. Beaton

Death of a Gossip (Hamish Macbeth #1) by M.C. Beaton

2017: 52 Books A Year Challenge

So far....

Daily Poetry Reading

Coming down the mountain #Sewanee #AutumnFoliage

A photo posted by Emily Wallace (@southernemma) on Nov 8, 2014 at 1:10pm PST

A very good friend and mentor suggested that I should spend 15 minutes every day reading poetry, so I've started the practice today using autumn as my theme. Here are the poems I read (aloud) in the span of 15 minutes. I plan to reread these and make some reflections in the near future.

"North of Boston" and "November" by Maggie Dietz

"The Hawk's Cry in Autumn" by Joseph Brodsky

"The Season of Phantasmal Peace" by Derek Walcott

"The Thrush" by Edward Thomas

"Autumn" by Joan Mitchell

"November for Beginners" by Rita Dove

Birds in Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights: my article in the Bronte Studies journal

After many months of editing, my essay "Caged Eagles, Carrion-seekers, and Songsters: Birds in Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights" has been published by the Bronte Studies journal. You can find it online and in the print journal for September.

"H is for Hawk" by Helen Macdonald

A friend recommended that I read Helen Macdonald's memoir, "H is for Hawk," and after close to a year, I've finally started reading it. Not only is the memoir an excellent informer on falconry (something I know very little about), but it also explores grief and how different people deal with loss (something I know a lot about). Bird lovers will certainly enjoy it, but those who have no interest in birds can take away something meaningful from it as well.

Reading this book reminds me of an event from my short time as a wildlife rehabber, of which I've related below.

    In my late teens and early twenties, I volunteered as a wildlife rehabilitator. I mostly cared for abandoned baby squirrels and songbirds, but occasionally, I would get a more interesting call. One evening, a local farmer called me about an injured red tailed hawk. The hawk, flying too low, collided with the farmer’s barbed wire fence. The hawk couldn’t fly. I arrived ten minutes after the call, walking up to the bed of the farmer’s pickup truck to attempt an injury assessment. I’d never transported a hawk before and certainly had never rehabilitated one. A special permit was needed when dealing with raptors of any kind, whether it was hawk, eagle, or owl. My job would be to transport the animal to the nearest animal clinic. In this case, the Cat and Bird Clinic in Hartselle, Alabama— twenty-five minutes from where I lived. 

    The farmer had somehow contained the bird of prey in a small animal carrier. He managed this by wrapping it in an old towel, covering it’s head and body as he maneuvered it into the travel crate. At least I wouldn’t  be responsible for that task. I’d dreaded the task of containing the bird during my drive over. Raptors were dangerous, especially to someone with no thick leather gloves or experience. Their talons alone could rend flesh from bone in seconds. That was, after all, their main purpose. The sharp beak was my other concern. I imagined my eye gouged out, shuddering at the thought. Protective eye wear wouldn’t have been out of the question if I had more time to prepare. Now there was no worry. Everything had been done before I arrived and I thanked the farmer before driving off with the hawk in its carrier on the backseat of my Honda Civic. 

     The lady vet who met with me after-hours managed to extract the hawk from the carrier onto a cold metal table in one of the smaller exam rooms. She allowed me to stay, but only after I mentioned that I’d worked as a veterinary assistant at another locally prominent animal clinic. It took her all of ten seconds to examine the wing before reaching a verdict. The hawk would have to be put to sleep. It’s wing injury was too serious to mend with success and besides, who would (or could) maintain a crippled raptor. I didn’t like it, her death sentence. “Is there nothing you can do?” I asked before resigning myself to the hawk’s fate. “I’m afraid not,” she returned, “and it would be an unhappy life for the hawk.” Perhaps she was right. She was the professional. I returned to my car, downtrodden. Had it been any other animal, I would’ve taken it back home with me, attempting to cure it myself. But this wasn’t any other animal. It was dangerous and illegal for me to keep it for myself. The hawk would be gassed into its endless sleep. I wasn’t sure if that brought me comfort or distress. At least the animal would be out of pain. And its pain must have been great to endure such an injury with so little fuss to its human handlers. 

Long winter, no see

Winter came (around January in Alabama), and brought with it snow, the flu, and a huge case of writer's block. It was so bad, I had a hard time even reading...and I can't say that's ever happened to me before. But, low and behold, a light bulb finally came on in my winter-logged brain, and I've found a topic for an upcoming essay for this summer's SOL creative non-fiction workshop with Diane Thiel. I'm also reading for a 19th century American poetry class with Dr. Jenn Lewin (one of my favorite SOL professors). 

April's Camp NaNoWriMo begins on April 1, and I've set my word count goal at 10,000, during which time I'll be working on my essay for the summer.