I love catalogs.

(This feels like a confessional. Is there a support group for those of us addicted to ordering-by-mail?)

It’s not that I order a lot of stuff, though I have been known to place an order for something not completely unnecessary just because I love receiving stuff in the mail, much to my husband’s (and our pocketbook’s) chagrin. Mostly I like getting the catalogs in the mail. I know you can order all the stuff over the Internet, but where is the fun in that? It’s convenient when I know exactly what I want, but to just browse (which is what catalogs are for, aren’t they?), it’s not as exciting. I once read someone saying that he (of course) loved to get the Victoria’s Secret catalog — it was, for him, kind of like a secret feminine world that he invented stories about. I can relate (well, not to the Victoria’s Secret thing): every time I get a catalog, it’s like opening a whole new shopping world of fantastically overpriced (usually) but wonderful things.

There are four catalogs that if I had all the money in the world, I’d order everything in: Chinaberry (for the books), Lands End (for the clothes, though I think I like Lands End Kids better), Baker’s Catalog (great cooking supplies), and Pottery Barn/Pottery Barn Kids (mostly for decorating ideas). Every time one of them comes, I drop everything else and spend twenty heavenly minutes looking at all the things I can’t order. Then I spend the next day or so obsessing over said items and fighting the urge to just pick up the phone and order something.

I am not the catalog queen, though. The woman who lived in our house before us was. Over the past four months, catalogs that I’ve never heard of have come in the mail. Along with some forgotten ones, too. And that’s reignited my love of catalogs. I haven’t seen Williams Sonoma for a long time, and I’ve missed it. I enjoyed browsing through the Gaiam catalog, and I’ve been amused at the overpriced clothes at Title Nine (along with the “life stories” of “real women”). There have been others: Sundance, some Hawaiian shirt catalog, and a few wine and cooking ones that weren’t especially memorable. I’ve been good, though, and I haven’t ordered anything.

But it made my week when Femail Creations showed up in the mail. I died laughing — this catalog was filled with some hokey, some fun and some incredibly pointless things. Still, I was hooked when I saw this:

The text says: “She is too fond of books, and it has addled her brain.” Louisa May Alcott was supposed to have said it. She may not have. At any rate, I need this. No, really.

I don’t need this, but I really laughed:

And then there’s this:

But not for me. For a friend.

I’d like to place an order, please.

Being an “aspiring” writer (I’m not entirely willing to take on the implications of declaring myself a “writer” yet), I started going to a local writers’ group. I’ve known about it for months (it’s run by the mom of our babysitter), but hadn’t made the time (gotten up the courage?) to go. But, yesterday, I figured it’s a new year, why not give it a try.

There were five of us there (not including my daughter) — four women and one man. Three stay-home-moms, two university professors. Interesting mix.

Observation #1: I hate being the newcomer (excuse why I never go), even though the others made me feel welcome. It’s still intimidating. Everyone already knows each other, and has a history together. I’ve got… a two-year-old who needs to eat lunch (which I brought). Thankfully, my dear sweet daughter wasn’t terribly disruptive (other than displacing the group from the comfortable living room to the not-so-comfortable dining room). If she’d only been less obsessive about the dog and going potty…

Observation #2: What’s it with science fiction writers? The only other person (aside from me; intimidation aside, I brought something to share) who read what they’d written was a sci-fi writer. He’d been working on this story for 2 years or so, and was getting ready to submit it to some contest or another. I don’t want to be cruel, and I have to admit that I was managing my daughter much of the time, but… I thought his story was lame (I obviously didn’t tell him this, not wanting to offend on my first day). There was way too much exposition in my view and not enough action. And when you boil it all down, after 7 single-line spaced typed pages and 45 minutes of reading, there wasn’t much story there. The basic plot: A guy is mad at his neighbor’s wife (because she implicated his daughter in some theft that his daughter didn’t do; the writer had to explain that after), and wants to kill her, but doesn’t but then she dies via breast implant explosion (gross!) and he feels guilty.

Why is it that sci-fi writers feel they can devote all their time to world creation (that’s what most of the exposition was about: wry and slightly humorous observations of his future world) and none to the story? I know, much of science fiction/fantasty is like that. But it seems to me that they would be better served by coming up with a good story — or two or three good world ideas (Card talks about this in his intro to Speaker fo the Dead; how it took two different ideas — that of a speaker and that of an alien race — to make a compelling story) — and then create a world to fit it.

Observation #3: I’m not dealing with people who read children’s fiction. I read my stories — two versions of the same one — and I got comparisons to Barney and illusions to Dr. Seuss. Not that I’m complaining; they did make some valid observations, and some helpful suggstions. But I do have to admit that I was disappointed that their points of reference were so limited. Then again, it’s not like I can give constructive criticism on poetry, so I really have no reason to complain here.

I’m going to go back, in spite of the bad science fiction and lack of children’s writing refrences. I need something to motivate me to write… and there’s nothing like an audience, right? Maybe I’ll even get into the habit of posting observations on our weekly (mostly) meetings here. Could make it even more interesting.

No, that’s not the title of a book.

I was in the library on Friday, looking for books to check out, and realized something. Everything on my “gotta read” list is either serious or long. Neither of which I was in the mood for on Friday. I wanted something light, fluffy, fun, funny, non-serious to read. And nothing sprang to mind. (Granted, we have a very limited library, so if there was something on my list, the libarary may not have had it anyway. But that’s beside the point.)

So, I figured that I needed to put a non-review up and see what happens. Maybe I can get some recommendations for books that I can read when I’m in a non-serious mood.

Either that, or I’ll just have to wait until my requests for Peter and the Starcatchers or Mrs. Kimble come in. Though I’m supposing the latter is both long and serious… sigh.