Wednesday, March 25, 2015

"Magic is a drug. Careful how you use it."

You can't judge a book by its cover--granted. However, a really great cover did entice me to pick up Dirty Magic from the shelf of my local bookstore. Once I read the back of the book and flipped through a few random pages to get a sense of the writing style, I knew I'd be taking the book home with me. After reading a few chapters, I knew I'd be picking up the rest of the series (however long it went) and also adding the author's name to my list of "always keep on the radar; buy anything written by".



Jaye Wells has created a world (continued in Cursed Moon and Deadly Spells) with a tremendous amount of depth and a wealth of enticing characters. Magic exists, but unfortunately can be as addictive and detrimental as drugs. The lead character is Kate Prospero, a magic adept and police officer. As the trilogy is named "Prospero's War", you know you'll be delving into her life for at least the duration of the series, and you won't be disappointed. However, even the supporting characters are so well fleshed out that it's difficult to think of them as "supporting". I wanted to learn so much more about Kate's colleagues, and I think there's at least a novel's worth of exploration for each and every character Wells devised. And that's only if the author gets bored of the world of Babylon, Ohio. She could do a series featuring any one of the members of the Magical Enforcement Agency task force and I'd be all in, each and every time!



Both the author and the main character are women. The only reason this is noteworthy is because it appears that women are still given short shrift in the world of fantasy/science fiction literature, even after so many strong female characters and so many incredibly talented female authors.It is my hope that the works created by brilliant authors such as Jaye Wells help to dissolve this issue once and for all. Personally, I didn't consider NOT purchasing Dirty Magic because of the gender of the author nor of the hero. It was an intriguing premise set in a fascinating world--that's why I bought it. I have no reservations about recommending these novels to anyone interested in supernatural fiction, urban fantasy, or crime stories, simply because the writing is "too feminine"--whatever that might mean. It is flat out a great series written by an incredible author.


I don't pre-order many books these days, simply because the "to be read" stack on my bookshelf has grown so large that it is now spawning little offspring stacks. But in this case, I bought Cursed Moon and pre-ordered Deadly Spells at the same time, because I knew I'd be anxious to read the third installment ASAP after finishing the second. Jaye published the novella Fire Water between books two and three as an e-book. I purchased that one as well; it was a nice diversion while waiting for the third book's release date (but it made the wait for a longer adventure that much more difficult!)


I'm now making my way through some of the author's other series, and what I've read so far is as engrossing as this one. However, "Prospero's War" will always be the series that introduced Jaye Wells to my bookshelves, and so I'll always feel a special affinity for the gritty world of Babylon, Ohio.

Tuesday, March 24, 2015

How I've Been

This is that blog entry. This is the one that I've known for a long time that I wanted to write next, but that I found difficult to do. And because it was perpetually "next", I've let my blog lapse--once again--into oblivion. The lag this time has been 4 months. I'm not the kind of blogger people read, but I still like the idea of having a blog that is somewhat up-to-date, if only for myself.

I'll just put it out there: I've been diagnosed with chronic depression. "Dysthymia", if I try to mask in in medical terms. I've probably had it for quite some time, possibly decades. Am I embarrassed to admit this? Not really. Worried that putting this out on the Internet will affect my current or future career opportunities? Not particularly. It's just this thing about me, this thing I'm addressing, and it almost feels like I'm more ashamed about it if I don't talk about it.

I was a little concerned about my first visits with a therapist, almost a year ago. The word "depression" came up early in our conversations (and therefore in my thoughts with increasing frequency), but I really felt that couldn't apply to me. I was wary of claiming depression because I had heard that people who were depressed, clinically depressed, were almost unable to function. Hours or days were spent on the couch or in bed, because they couldn't escape the greyness of their own thoughts. Additionally, I actually felt a little guilty for even considering the notion that I was depressed, because what did I have to be truly depressed about? What right do I have to be depressed? With only the odd bump in the road here and there, I really don't have a lot in my life to complain about (not legitimately).

My therapist explained to me that was a common perception of depression, but the can't-get-off-the-couch feeling is only one manifestation, one level of severity. The day I was actually diagnosed with chronic depression, he put it in a way that I'll never forget: "You're able to function all right, but it's as if you're always walking around in three or four feet of water. Now, three or four feet of water isn't going to kill you, but who wants to do that all the time?" I don't know if this is his analogy or a description commonly used by psychologists talking to patients, but that nailed it. Right on the head.


There was such a wave of relief at hearing a description that so crystallized how I feel. I think it almost validated my own feelings and made it seem okay to admit that I actually did need help and that what I was doing was going to be good for me. I still think that, and I hope I continue to make progress at addressing this part of me.

I'm not one hundred percent certain why I felt such a need to write this up and launch it into the infosphere, laid bare for any and all to see. What if my family reads it? What if my co-workers read it? Shrug. It's just me; it doesn't mean I'm crazy or broken or anything that I haven't been for the past twenty years. On the contrary, it might be part of the explanation for (without excusing) the fact that I've definitely become much more cynical and grouchier and, at times, meaner over the years.

The difference now is that I'm coming to terms with that and trying to fix it. And not all by myself.