A Bruise Called Zippy

Words since March 23: 26,641

I wrote 4309 words this weekend without meaning to. At this rate, I should be done in approximately 10 days.

But before I write another word, I want to congratulate all the Bram Stoker Award winners, especially Lisa Morton for her short story “Tested”! WOO!

I finished A Girl Called Zippy, which pretty much continued to run back and forth around her years through 4th grade. The last memory was the best, and certainly the one she should have ended with, but the book meandered terribly. By the end, I disliked this woman as a little girl, which was a shame, I think. And I seriously wanted to clobber people who wrote review blurbs — like, oh, USA Today — saying it was a memoir about a happy childhood. I’m not sure what exact combination of potent, mind-altering drugs these people were taking when they read the book and wrote those blurbs, but hey. That said, Kimmel did manage to capture the voice of the little girl — as obnoxious as she was — and tell each story well. The only places her writing became problematic were when the adult voice broke through unintentionally. The chapter about poetry was the most problematic this way.

And can I get a reality check from my female friends? How many of you actually fought with your friends? I don’t mean shouted insults on the playground. I mean punched, tossed, bruised, and perhaps even broke bones. And how frequently? This little girl had an astonishingly violent set of friends with whom she seemed to always been physically fighting. I think I tussled with my younger sister from time to time, and I had childish feuds with kids who weren’t my friends, but on the whole my friends themselves weren’t remotely violent. Did I just grow up in some kind of odd bubble? Did I miss out on all the Ultimate Fighting Championship action or what? I was living in L.A. I don’t understand it!

The Frenchman and I had a lovely walk yesterday that I think I’ll try on my own. Maybe later today.

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