So, I'm writing a book review for a book I read last summer (yes, yes, behind on my book reviews), and I came across a note I had made in the book that read, "Von Clausewitz." Not recalling who this person is, I searched for him and recalled he's a Prussian general and military theorist from the early 1800s. Oh boy, I thought, this'll be good. He wrote On War, which, along with The Art of War and The Book of Five Rings, is considered one of the classic military strategy books around. Not having read the book, I can't confirm this, I'm taking that statement off the Intarwebs, but I am interested enough in the book (working towards my 13 books non-fiction for the year), to look for it on Amazon.

And found a half dozen "this book sucks, it is incomplete!" versions of the book.

Okay, then, save myself that ninety-nine cents, and went to my library to see if the library had it. I searched for "On War" and a list of books came up.

A list I find interesting.

After the book, "War", there's Caliban's War, yep, science fiction, read it.

Next one was American War, yep, dystopian future, read it.

And then War and Peace. That one is a slog to read.

The Art of War, yep, still reading that one.

A few books later, The Forever War shows up. Yep, science fiction, read it.

Not done yet!

There's The Daylight War, also science fiction, also read.

The War of the Worlds. Yep.

And another few that, wow, I hadn't read. I didn't see Old Man's War, which surprised me.

What also surprised me is the number of books I've read with "War" in the title. The count is far from zero.

"Want to see something neat?"

"Sure."

"Look! I edited this video! I added this, and this, and this. And, okay, you are probably rolling your eyes, 'Whatever, I did that twenty years ago.'"

"I'm not rolling my eyes. I'm excited for you."

When I was a college student, I had this retrospectively annoying attitude that, if someone already did it, I didn't want to learn about it, it had already been done. What I was doing at that time was being an asshole. I am not that person today.

Today, I am EXCITED when someone, anyone, kid or adult, shows me this new thing they learned how to do. I am bouncing with joy at their victories, even when that victory is very, very small. I am going to clap and cheer for that accomplishment, because it is new and you learned it, you did it.

Somehow, as a youth, I had lost my childlike sense of wonder. It had been beaten out of me by the anger and bitterness and frustration of an imperfect life.

And yet, again somehow, I found it again: that sense of wonder, that joy of creation, the delight of making something that didn't exist before, something that needed to exist, to be born. I am sad at those years I spent missing how amazing this world is and can be.

So, no, I am not thinking, "Whatever."

I am saying, "That's awesome. Show me more."

They think someone should do something, but never them. Not me. It’s a classic collective action problem: we know things are bad, but they only affect each of us a little bit. So who is going to take care of it for us? Plenty of people believe in the theory of so-called great men of history, but who believes I am that great man?
Location: 437

How am I realizing only now that my book reviews aren't really book reviews, they are stories about how I came upon said book, what I thought about the book, and where the book is on my book review scale, followed by quotes from the book? I don't give plot summaries, that's what EVERY OTHER BOOK REVIEW IS FOR. I'm not a fan of spoilers, though I do skip to the end of nearly every suspenseful book I read.

How is NOW when I realize this?

Years ago, I auditioned for my school's variety show, as a one-person stand-up act. I didn't manage to secure a solo spot, but I was invited to participate as the girl-who-auditioned-and-fell-in-lust-with-the-cute-guy-also-auditioning intro girl for another act. I came onto the stage "practicing" my script, then spun around all gushing about this boy who was also at the auditions. Interestingly, I was carrying a box of chocolates in a Valentine box for him. As luck would have it, he walked across the stage towards me, saw me, then broke into song, as I wandered around the stage swooning at him. I have no idea how well I swooned.

That time on stage, however, was the end of my acting career.

Some things have natural endings, like my acting career. Some things continue beyond their peak in a bad way. Very, very few people have the wisdom to go out on top. Even rarer are the things that surprise us by continuing in a good and surprisingly wonderful way.

I believe this site has come to its natural end. If not a full stop, at least a long hiatus. It has given me an outlet when I needed it, and a place to remember after I spent years, decades, trying to forget. I expect I'll find another place to write, but this particular site has reached its end.

There are, as far as I can tell, three people who read what I post here, and none of my family are in those three. To you, my loyal three readers, there are more interesting places to be on the Intarwebs. Adventure is out there!

The end.