Reading The Painted Table
A few months ago I went to Baker Book House (my favorite, favorite, favorite book store in the whole world) to find something new to read.
Can I just tell you how good Baker has been to me? They have given me shelf space and recommended both Paint Chips and My Mother’s Chamomile to book clubs and church libraries. They are huge supporters of local authors. And they are my friends. (sigh) I always feel loved there.
Back to my trip to the book store (a dangerous pass time…I know {what Disney movie is that from?}).
Now, I am vain. So. Very. Vain. But I hear tell that other authors (big name authors, no less) do this very same thing when they visit a book store. I always walk to the bookcase that holds my books. I look at them out of the corner of my eye, hoping not to be too obvious. It’s silly, I know. And it’s a whole lot less awkward when my kids are with me because they ask to visit the books.
Anyway, a few months ago, when I visited my sweet first novels I noticed that the next door neighbor to Paint Chips was a book called The Painted Table. The author’s name? Suzanne Field.
Paint Chips. The Painted Table.
Susie Finkbeiner. Suzanne Field.
Too cool. I had to buy Suzanne’s book.
Saturday I read The Painted Table. Yes. The whole thing on Saturday. I couldn’t stop reading it. It resonated with me that much. I found within the pages a beautiful story, characters who were trying to find redemption, raw emotion.
I’m glad I picked it up. Glad I read it.
Suzanne wrote a book which is out of the box for Christian fiction. Yes, it is written from a Christian worldview. Yes, redemption is a major part of the plot. But The Painted Table is a character driven story, something not often found in Christian fiction.
Character driven story is less about plot moving along (this happens and then this happens which causes this to happen) and more about how the character is transformed, typically from the inside out. I truly appreciated the literary quality of Field’s book.
If you’re looking for a book this touching and introspective and, in the end, soothing, you’ll want to pick up this book. And when I say “pick up” I mean buy it. Support authors/artists/musicians with your purchases.
I’m glad to have her book on my shelf at home. And I’m super honored to have Paint Chips as a next door neighbor to The Painted Table at Baker.
*I bought this book with my own money…well…the money my husband and I share. No one asked me to write the post. I receive nothing but warm fuzzies from helping another author out.
Do Something About It
You see this clock? It’s been hanging in my kitchen for 11 years. For as long as I’ve been married that darn clock has tick-tocked like a fool, making my eyelid twitch. I’ve written three novels in the same room as that infuriating clock, trying to ignore its annoying sound.
For eleven years, this clock has made me angry.
This morning, as I sat at my computer trying to figure out what to blog about, I thought, “Maybe I wouldn’t have such a hard time focusing if that CLOCK WOULD JUST STOP TICKING!!!!”
Then, genius struck. Inspiration washed over me.
“Take the battery out of the clock,” I thought. “You’re an adult. This is your house. You spend more time in it than anyone else. You hate that clock? Do something about it!”
So, I did.
I grabbed a chair, reached for the clock, and tore it from the wall. As soon as I pried the battery out of the back, it was as if the angels were in full voice. And what did their song sound like? NOT A TICKING CLOCK!
You know, there are many times in my life when I’ve been upset/frustrated/discouraged. Some situations were completely out of my control (tornado, death of a loved one, disruption of a friendship). Those were times when I needed to rely on the help of others, prayer, divine intervention.
But then there are times when I just want to whine about — well — about an annoying clock. Or the extra – ahem – few pounds I carry around. Or that nobody put away the laundry or cooked dinner or…or…a host of other things. I moan and groan and wish something could be done. Oh me. Oh my.
What ever could the solution be? Oh. The solution is that I do something about it? Hm.
That’s the difficulty for me. Taking action can be a risk. What if my husband’s annoyed that I took the clock down? What if I can’t reach it? What if I’m late because I can’t see what time it is?
Well, if it’s a problem, we’ll just put another clock up. That noisy one could be moved to another room (preferably one I NEVER EVER ENTER). It’s not permanent. It’s okay.
It’s not a big deal. I can do something about it.
And this peace now? It was worth the tiny risk.
Now…if I could only get that refrigerator to stop humming…
According to Psychology Today, the extreme hatred of certain, every day noises is an actual disorder called Misophonia. To learn more about this…and why I can’t stand to hear someone chewing…click here.
Reading Steinbeck
If you’ve known me for awhile, you’ve most likely heard me declare my love for John Steinbeck.
If not…well…I love John Steinbeck. Not in a I-want-to-marry-him way. I mean, have you seen my husband**? Ahem. Sorry. Anyway, when I say I love John Steinbeck, I mean that I greatly (GREATLY) admire his writing.
I first read Steinbeck in high school. Bypassing all the typical first reads like The Red Pony or The Pearl or Of Mice and Men (wait a second…I just need a moment…because I love OM&M…the book and the band…okay, I’m better), I went straight for the big daddy. The Grapes of Wrath.
I need another moment. Sorry.
Ahem. When I read Grapes, I was too young to fully appreciate it. I do believe that some pieces of literature are meant to be enjoyed by more mature readers. My contention is that, when folks tell me they hate Steinbeck (or a vast array of solid, classic-writing authors) and they only read him in high school, they weren’t ready for him.
At 15, I wasn’t ready for Steinbeck. Nobody made me read him. I just did it on my own. And I didn’t understand.
At 18, I gave him another chance. Amazing what 3 years can do. I was in love (not literally) instantly. I gobbled up everything I could find that he’d written. In college, I did a special study of Steinbeck, reading most of his novels in one semester (that was the semester when I slept, like, not at all). I’ve led discussions on Steinbeck, dreamt about writing a screenplay of Grapes (I mean, can you imagine seeing a dust storm on the big screen in HD?)
Now, not everybody loves Steinbeck. That’s okay. We can still be friends. Truly. I won’t debate anyone about literature. I’d rather just read.
I will, however, tell you why I read him. Because reading Steinbeck makes me a better writer. And reading Steinbeck gives me the itch to get to work, weaving vivid tales that are important. All of his novels were important. I want mine to be as well.
Last September, I was talking to an editor about an idea I had for a novel I hadn’t written yet. It was to be about a little girl and set in Oklahoma during the Dust Bowl/Great Depression. The editor asked me why a Michigan girl would want to write a novel set in Oklahoma. I answered, “I have this obsession with John Steinbeck.” The editor smiled and said, “If you’re going to have an obsession, that’s a good one.”
I wrote A Cup of Dust (releasing in October of this year with Kregel Publications) is a novel that has been stirring in my head since I was 15 and read my first Steinbeck novel. That’s 22 years (ouch…could that be right?).
Reading Steinbeck is good for me. It doesn’t particularly matter what book it is or article or essay. It’s good for me. Like spinach. Steinbeck helps me be the writer I want to be.
Oh, and Travels With Charley made me laugh and cry and smirk and cheer. It had been awhile since I read it. It meant more to me this read through than before. I suspect the same will be true when I read it in ten years.
**My husband: 
You’ve got to be IN the room
The other day, my husband asked our kids to clean the play room. It should have taken them less than half an hour. Instead it took f-o-r-e-v-e-r (according to one of my children). They’d clean for a minute, then collapse on the floor in exhaustion. I mean, it takes a lot of effort to pick up a Barbie shoe. Then they would harp on each other for not working hard enough. Or for having too many Hot Wheels. Or for dumping the box they’d just filled with those crazy making, itty bitty rubber band thingies.
And they left the room at least a septillion times each. “I’m tired”, “Can we be done?”, “This is taking f-o-r-e-v-e-r!”, “So-in-so isn’t doing anything! And I’ve picked up at least three Barbie shoes…it’s…not…FAIR!”.
At one point my husband said, “It is a lot easier to clean the room if you’re IN the room”.
“That’s a blog post,” I said.
You know, I’m thinking about writing about 75% of the day. The other 25% is spent trying to remember what I was doing before I traveled to La-La-Writer Land or trying to help my kids with their math homework (oy!).
When I’m thinking about writing, I often have fear in my periphery. Can I do this? Who do I think I am writing a novel about __________? Who told me I could do this? They were lying. Why would someone tell me I could do this when I. Can. NOT!?!?
Other times, I’m avoiding writing. Yeah. I do that some times. I check Facebook to see if anybody liked my status update. I read the comment sections of news stories. I search the house for chocolate. I check to see if anybody wrote a review of one of my books on Goodreads. I text somebody. Take an Instagram picture of my coffee mug.
Then there are days when I go to Starbucks, thinking it will spur me on to write more. But then I spy on the people there, wondering why that woman is ALWAYS smiling and nodding like that or why one guy is coughing so much (and hoping he keeps his icky germs to himself). Then I look up when Cheez Whiz was invented because THIS is important to know right this very NOW!
Ahem.
In short. I have writing days that resemble the way my kids clean a room.
It’s easier to clean a room when you are IN the room.
It’s easier to write a novel when you are…well…IN the novel. When you are focused, hands on the keyboard, file pulled up on the screen, characters and plot in mind.
I suspect this is true for all of us, writers or not. It’s easier to get our purpose accomplished if we’re actually there and ready.
So, here I go to work on my writing for the day…
Wait…what’s that? A guy ordered from Starbucks in a Slingblade voice? Shiny puppies? There’s going to be a Comedy Central Roast of Justin Beiber? Or is it Bieber? Where’s my chocolate…
Time to Read
I read a lot.
Last year, I kicked off in January with the Empty Shelf challenge from Jon Acuff. Every time I finished a book, I added it to a previously clear shelf and took a picture of it.
But then I got comments like, “I wish I had time to read” and “SLOW DOWN! You’re making me look BAD!” and “I’m jealous of all your free time”. Now, FYI, I was not offended by any of those comments. They didn’t annoy me or make me feel superior, either. I did, however, stop posting pictures of the books I read because I feared some would think I was bragging. Also, I didn’t want to make people feel badly about the amount of books they read.
When I started posting pics this year, I had the same reaction. Sigh.
Here’s the deal. I don’t look down on your reading. It doesn’t matter if you read 5 books last year or 105 (which is more than I read, by the way). I think it’s super that you read! Also, if you read fluff, go for it! I’m not judging you!
Oh, and another thing. I was taught that a writer needs to read a super ton. That training has helped my writing grow and mature. I was also trained (by high school teachers and college professors) that I needed to read a vast array of books. This, also, has helped to strengthen my writing.
I am a full time writer. This is my job. And although it doesn’t bring home a load of cash (seriously, writers aren’t usually able to support themselves on their royalties and advances), it’s my career. Reading is what keeps me on my game.
Accountants have to keep up with new tax laws and they have to continue practicing their math skills. Doctors and nurses are always educating themselves on new treatments and medicines. Builders need to learn new techniques with the variety of structures they work on.
It’s the same for writers.
By the way, any writer who says they don’t read is cheating themselves and their readers. (steps off soapbox and runs away from the angry mob)
As I told someone the other day, if I stop reading or decrease my literary diet, my writing brain would shrivel up into a crusty raisin. Nobody wants that to happen.
How do I find time to read? I make it. Read more Here. Want to read more about the advantages of reading for the writer? Click over to This post.
Give it Sweetness
My friends, it’s bitterly cold today in Michigan. I’m sure it’s this cold in other places like, say, Saskatchewan. But, right now, I’m focused on how freezing cold my toes are.
December wasn’t this cold. It wasn’t snowy or icy or dreary. December was kind.
Then January came and sucker punched us right back into reality. It said, “There’s a price to pay for living in the state with the coolest shape. That price? Winter.”
John Steinbeck wrote in Travels with Charlie, “What good is the warmth of summer, without the cold of winter to give it sweetness”.
Yes. I love summer so much because I have context for how very cold winter is. There’s a contrast. I have something to compare it to.
You know, I’ve gone through different figurative seasons in my life. I’m sure you have, too. Times when life wasn’t what I’d hoped it would be. Periods of stress and depression. Days that just plain sucked the joy out of me.
Other times, life is good. I’m genuinely happy. I laugh more easily, let go of offenses more readily. I have a good outlook. The joy overwhelms.
When all is well, I am tempted to forget about the darker days. To deny that part of my history.
Should I do that, the good wouldn’t seem as special to me. I wouldn’t appreciate it as much.
It’s the struggle that makes the smooth times so precious.
As a novelist, I deal in the struggle times of my characters. I mean, who wants to read a book about the time when everything was happy and good? Nobody. Even the fluff books don’t do that. There’s always conflict.
Why?
So that the resolution to the story (even if it’s not complete) is so much more satisfying. The conflict is the contrast to the resolution. The story is how the characters survived (or didn’t) the struggle/hardship.
While I was writing A Cup of Dust (due out with Kregel Publications this coming fall), I put my protagonist through some difficult things. The whole time, I kept reminding myself that the resolution was coming. It was the only way I could power through the scenes that were especially difficult to write.
I found that the conflict I put in Pearl’s way (she’s my protagonist, I think you’ll love her), made the resolution that much more powerful.
Just as it is in real life.
The cold/hardship/pain/sadness opens our eyes to how very good the warmth/ease/healing/joy is when it comes along.
Reading Lisa Samson
I’ve written about Lisa Samson in posts past. Like here where I write about how one of her books helped me mourn the death of a good friend. Or here where I use her as a name-drop about 30 times in a ranty post. Anyway, I love Lisa Samson.
She’s the reason I didn’t give up on writing. No kidding.
Well, last week I picked up a copy of her newest (and last) novel A Thing of Beauty. It officially releases this week. Somehow I got a copy at my favorite place, Baker Book House. I may or may not have gasped, held the book to my chest, and wept like a baby. Okay. Not the weeping part.
Did I say that I love Lisa Samson? Because I do.
Jittery, I waited to begin reading until I had time to really dig in. I wasn’t disappointed.
Here’s the thing about this book: it’s very different from what one might expect from the “Christian” publishing world.
The characters in A Thing of Beauty are very human. A few of them are broken and in possession of quite a bit of baggage (literally and figuratively). There is no salvation message. No explicit mention of Christ or Christianity. People, there are CUSS WORDS in this book.
But you know what was there? Redemption. Community. People living selflessly to prop up somebody else. Love (all 4 kinds…if you’re a C.S. Lewis nut like me, you’ll know what they are). There’s a story of healing and forgiveness and reconciliation.
This book really is beautiful.
However, if you read “Christian” fiction as a means of isolating from the world…this isn’t your book. If you’re offended by hard words…move along, little doggy. If you want something fluffy (which is totally fine!)…pick another novel.
If, though, you want to be moved by a book, made to feel a bit uncomfortable, if you would like to be challenged … you’ll want to get your hands on a copy.
Lisa is moving on to exciting things in life and leaving the writing world. But she’s given her readers a nice little “see ya” gift.
A small token. A story of hope. A Thing of Beauty.
Other books by Lisa Samson:
and more.
A Circle of Drums, Writing, and Clapton’s Blazing Guitar
Yesterday morning I flipped to NPR after dropping the kids off at school. They featured an interview with Neil Peart, the drummer from Rush.
Now, I’ve never been too much of a Rush fan. However, hearing Peart talk about the hard work that went into becoming one of the world’s best rock drummers was inspiring. The dude has a set that is a complete circle. That takes some skill…or, really, a LOT of skill.
Apparently, he makes a rather intense face while playing. His mom asked why he doesn’t smile during concerts. He said, “Mom, drumming’s hard!”
That endeared him to me.
In the interview, he discussed some of his rock influences including the drummer from The Who. The interviewer asked if he’s ever intimidated or harbors feelings of competition with other drummers.
Peart said that he’d heard once about how Eric Clapton claimed that, after hearing Jimi Hendrix play, he wanted to set his guitar on fire. Peart said, “When I hear a great drummer, it just makes me want to practice.”
“Yeah!” I hollered from my van. “That’s the stuff!”
See, here’s the thing. There is always going to be somebody who is better at things than we are.
I’m not fishing for reassurance, I’m being honest here: There’s a whole gaggle of writers who are better at the craft than I am. Want a list? Well…that would take a lot of effort. You’re just going to have to trust me on this (also, comparing writers is so subjective, it’s impossible to say who the very, very best is). Do you know how many times I read a book and think, “Cowabunga! This dude/dudette is killing this story…in a good way!”?
I say that quite often.
And, quite often, I know that author is more skilled at a certain aspect of story-writing than I am. Do I gather all my purple pens and my MacBook and light a match?
Um. No.
You know what it makes me want to do?
It makes me want to practice. Write. Read more. Work harder. Grow.
Yeah! That’s the stuff!
No matter what it is you do, there’s always somebody who is, most likely, better at it. I say that not to discourage you. I say that as a friend, pointing out the truth.
Guess what. It doesn’t matter. What matters is how you react when realizing that someone is more skilled/talented/etc. Do you give up on your passion? Or do you keep working? Do you allow bitterness and envy to poison you? Or do you cheer on that other person (even from the couch in your living room) and allow inspiration to sweep over you?
I don’t know about you, but this MacBook isn’t going to burn any time soon. And, for that matter, neither did Clapton’s Stratocaster. Why not? Because my abilities are not made less by how truly awesome someone else is. But they can be sharpened by seeing masters do their thing.
Yeah! That’s the stuff!
Just had to get that in there one more time.
Reading Vonnegut
Remember how I determined to purge books last week? Well, I got two boxes and one bag out the door. Whew! Yes, I’m proud of myself. Yes, I feel better. And I’ve got that Empty Shelf for this years books.
You know, one good thing about sorting through something? You find little treasure you’d forgotten about. I found a whole stack of books I purchased long ago (college days), but never got around to reading. Those poor books have been moved from Lansing to Grand Rapids, from apartment to house to house to house…well, let’s just say, they’ve been around.
One of those books? Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughter-House Five.
Now, don’t go around saying I’m recommending this book. I’m not. It isn’t for everybody. It’s…well…it’s different. Good old Vonnegut wrote with “gallows humor”. So, there’s that. He also blended Sci-Fi with humanism with war stories with F-bombs. So, there’s that too.
His book won’t be next to an Amish Romance in your favorite Christian book store. Yeah, that’s a good way to say it.
Vonnegut was, true story, a prisoner of war during World War II. He was in an underground meat locker while Dresden was bombed. He survived a horrific ordeal. Slaughter-House Five is his fictional retelling of that terrifying experience.
Light weekend reading, huh? Well, maybe not.
Lately, I’ve read a lot about war. I have a pile of books I still need to go through, all about one specific war. War is ugly. It makes little sense to me. It is heartbreaking. It is anything but glorious.
All of those were reflected in Vonnegut’s writing.
Here is something from the novel that has truly stuck with me.
“Everything is supposed to be very quiet after a massacre, and it always is, except for the birds. And what do the birds say? ‘Poo-tee-weet’.”
And what does that mean?
There’s nothing that can be said that can make sense of war.
That’s something I’m learning lately.
So, what are you reading? What books have you read that are sticking with you? Why do they stay in your head? Read anything that made you scratch your head and say, “what in the world was that all about?”?
I have too many books
When I was in high school I bought a copy of Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte. I had a small, particle board book case in my bedroom and I lovingly placed the book on it.
That was the beginning of my book obsession….er….collection.
Those were the days of $3 Bantam Classics. And the days of roaming the shelves at Barnes and Noble, trying to decide which book my $3 would buy. I mean, when I had to babysit a whole hour for that three bucks, I wanted to get something that counted.
My collection expanded and I was excited when I filled the shelf with treasures. Books, I might add, that I did read. At least once.
Zoom ahead a few years (or 20…depends on your definition of “few”). Yesterday I was looking at my book shelves (yes, there are multiple now), trying to find space for my 2015 Empty Shelf.
“I have too many books,” I whispered.
I immediately slapped my mouth, gasping at the obscenity I’d just muttered. Heresy! How can one have too many books?
But…but…
I do. It’s true.
Many of the books I own are ones I won’t read again. They’re books I won’t recommend to my kids when they get old enough. A few of them are books that I most likely won’t read. Ever.
Last year, I determined to be the kind of reader who is choosy. I realized that the quality of what I read directly impacts the quality of what I write. For the sake of my craft, I need to stick to books that will make me stronger, better. I’ve also been acutely aware of the limits of time. I need to invest my reading hours in books that matter.
To be honest, there are many books on my shelves that are just not going to make the cut.
So, they need to go.
Do you realize how hard that is for me?
Last year I read a book called Satisfied by Jeff Manion (who just so happens to be my pastor). In the book, he writes about “lightening the load”. Reflecting on an exercise in getting rid of stuff he didn’t need/want/like, Jeff said, “Ironically, I feel richer for owning less.”
Pow.
Bang.
Ah-oooo-gah.
I have too many books. And too many of them are weighing me down. They aren’t doing me any good. So. To the boxes they go. Into the van. To the library. I’ll shut my eyes and pat the box one time before grabbing my tax form and walking away.
But I’ll feel lighter. And richer.
And I might just need a hug…and some chocolate.
Okay. Off to the book purge.
susiefinkbeiner.com 