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Sounds like post-nano-burnout to me. I learned after the first (or second?) nano year that I could pretty much expect December to be about elation plummeting into despair. That's just how it went for me.

And sheep . . . baaaa . . .

I'm reading the Caldecott Medal Winners in reverse. It's interesting to see the difference in what is rewarded then versus now. In November I read:

Healing With Words by Diana Raab about a woman's diagnosis (breast cancer) and how she used writing to work through the experience. Includes poetry and journaling exercises/prompts.

The Witches by Roald Dahl which I surprisingly loathed. Something Dahl's suggesting a bald woman is indecent and remembering my mother's bald head just put me off altogether and early on.

Harvesting Minds by Roy Fox about how Channel One is used in the classroom and the effect that the mandatory commercials have upon the children who are forced to watch day after day.

The Book Thief by Markus Zusak is to wonderful to put into words. Young German girl in WWII, her life, her friends, as told by the narrator Death. Ultimately, about the power of words and writing to give meaning to the self, etc.

Portrait of a Marriage by Nigel Nicolson which was far more loving than that movie. I'm still furious about some added nonsense in that one.

Imperfect Birds by Anne Lamott which I guess is my turn to say baaaaaaa

Lost in a Good Book by Jasper Fforde is a fun bit of fluff reading, with a lot of literary allusions and painful puns.

The Vagina Monologues by Eve Ensler which a friend wanted me to read and I enjoyed but I think could have been much better. I think I'm not oblivious enough to adore it.

Bliss by Katherine Ramsland which I can only recommend to someone who is riding the post-Julia Cameron's The Artist's Way high. Or someone far younger than I.

Friction by E R Frank a young adult novel about a girl who goes to a private alternative school and a new student that wreaks havoc in a lot of lives.

Dear Anais by Diana Raab is a collection of poems that also serve as a memoir, of sorts. Some redundant metaphors and poor editing on the publisher's part but not so elevated that I felt lost. *cough*Nox by Anne Carson*cough*

Weight by Jeanette Winterson whom I adore and who, even at her worse, is amazing. I want to be her when I grow up.

Call Me Mrs Miracle by Debbie Macomber is a bit of schmaltzy Christmas fluff. It was free. I had to read it to write a review to earn my free book. Ummm . . . yeah . . . there's a Hallmark movie coming out too. After reading the book I won't be watching the movie or the other Mrs Miracle movie because apparently this book is a sequel. The best thing I can say about it is that it has a good salad recipe. Oh, it's short so that helps too.

Bliss To You by Trixie Koontz was a random gift from my mother. A cute book for the sincere dog lover. (Apparently writing dogs have cat issues and never learn grammar. Then again, all writers, dog or human or what have you, seem to have issues.)

Yeah. That's what I read in November. I think I need to come over and raid your bookshelf in December. I need some help in my book choices.

i guiltily watched "it's complicated" on cable, too. i was riding on the hope of meryl streep.

OMG, ROOM sounds like a VC Andrews book and I MUST READ IT.

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