Goodness gracious, it's been a long time since I've written anything. Would you believe it, it's been since Fall Break? There are no words. Only, the fact of the matter is that there are. There is an abundance of words that have just been welling up within yours truly until I've reached the breaking point and they must overflow. So far today I have already written two extremely long emails to my dear friends in Pennsylvania, that's one of the lovely parts of having writers for friends, you can send them emails that are roughly the size of a barge (BEAUTY AND THE BEAST REFERENCE) and they won't judge you. Anyway, I sent them emails and now I'm writing a blog post and hopefully soon I'll work on one of my stories, or start a new one, I haven't quite decided yet. It's wonderful to know that I have all the time in the world to do these things. At school whenever I take a writing break I always start feeling dreadfully guilty, which is why my correspondence is so poor when I'm there. As is my blog posting abilities, as can be seen.
Christmas Break is delightful.
So far today I have:
1.) Sat in a rocking chair and had coffee and toast. A long drawn out breakfast, in fact. Oh how I have missed that! I do not appreciate having to be rushed through breakfast. I feel that breakfast is one of those meals that should go at least three hours, four cups of coffee, and two slices of toast. As they say, waking up is hard enough in and of itself, and then we have so much rushing about in the mornings it's just dreadful. I mean, how can one fully come to grips with the fact that one must continue one's day in an orderly fashion when one is being rushed through it so quickly? NOT DURING CHRISTMAS BREAK. I sat for a satisfactory amount of time and had a satisfactory amount of coffee and then I felt satisfactorily ready to start my day. It was done, and it was good.
2.) Knitted. It has been too long between having a good knitting session. I realized this morning that I really do have a nice selection of yarns. I didn't even need to go to the yarn shop to get new stuff before starting on a project. I had it all with me, which gave me great satisfaction and I may or may not have emitted a few little cackles of appreciation.
3.) Wrote long emails. Thank you for putting up with me friends who are on the receiving end of my emails. I love you dearly and you are on your way to sainthood.
4.) I took a nap. Yes, yes I did. It was quite lovely, thank you.
In other news my plan for the rest of my day involves a continuation of such pastimes, with the addition of some story writing, some baking, and some reading of the Book Thief. That will all have to wait till after I've finished my hot chocolate, however. Finishing my hot chocolate is very important in my list of things to get done.
That shall be all, Jeeves. I shall return presently to regale you with tales of my adventures as the book healer. Actually, I think it would be neat to remodel this blog in that theme. I don't know if I really want to delete what I have so far, though. Maybe I'll make a new one. Oh dear, but I have such a bad habit of making far too many blogs. It's really terrible. I like a little bit of change, though, and then I feel so bad just deleting everything I've worked on. I can't decide at all.
"It has a fascination of its own, that bend. I wonder how the road beyond it goes- what there is of green glory and soft, checkered light and shadows- what new landscapes-what new beauties- what curves and hills and valleys further on." Lucy Maud Montgomery
Saturday, December 21, 2013
Saturday, October 26, 2013
Adventures of the Tea-Sippers
OR the Mostly True Recordings of Our Lives in College
Chapter the First
The following records the many and varied pursuits of the Tea-Sippers: a sisterhood formed by their mutual fondness of strong tea, off brand cookies, and intelligent discourse. Intelligent here being: conversation pertaining to the higher things of life (in addition, British witticisms and abstruse references were never disdained). These young women found themselves gathering together in the evenings when the need for tea and conversation grew strong. Their members were constantly changing, they grew in number and in friendship, but their foundational ties remained the same. It was a tie of kinship, of like souls finding like souls, and thus, the Tea-Sippers had found their beginning.
Polly had not been there for the first tea party. Indeed, she did not meet the Tea-Sippers till well nigh her second week of college. She would hear tell of that fateful night when the first tea party was held with a mixture of awe and longing. It had been the founding of a nation, that moment when the six girls first clinked cups. They were the Founding Mothers, and in their wake came the girls of the new nation. They were the Austenites, the novel writers, the tea snobs, the observers of mankind. They took the events of their days, their interactions and conversations, and regaled each other with these in manners of humor or pathos.
For Polly the days before the Tea-Sippers blurred together as an endless string of unfamiliar faces and events. In those days a few events took place that would later stand out to her as the formation upon which her future life at college would depend. One of these events was her introduction to Shirley.
The first thing Polly noticed about Shirley was her book-bag. It was a book-bag of the finest sort, crafted of canvas and upon it was written the title of that much beloved book, Pride and Prejudice. Polly had known from the moment she had first seen that book-bag she was destined to be friends with it's owner. The only question in her mind was how to bring about this friendship. It became a matter of much contemplation, scheming and plotting. Thus, when Polly found herself standing behind Shirley in the lunch-line one fine day, she felt as pleased with herself as if she had caused this encounter.
Now all I have to do is say hello, and voila! Polly thought happily. She stood behind Shirley a few minutes longer, trying to sort out just what she wanted to say.
"So...you like Pride and Prejudice, eh? Me too!" Polly turned the sentence about in her head and then came to the conclusion that it wouldn't do at all. Lots of people like Pride and Prejudice, Polly. You're not unique in doing so. She mentally shook herself and then tried to think of a new conversation starter.
"Nice day for lunch?"
"Hello, I'm Polly, we're destined to be friends because I like your book-bag?"
"HELLO. BE MY FRIEND?!"
Polly had just decided to take a normal approach and casually compliment Shirley (oblivious to the mental torture of the girl behind her) on her book-bag, but just then she heard "Hey, nice book-bag!" and turned to see someone had stolen her thunder.
"Nuts." Polly whispered to herself.
This failed attempt at conversation turned out to be much less of a catastrophe than Polly might have supposed, for, as is often the case, when people are meant to be friends, somehow, someway, they will be brought together. However, Polly had very little time for contemplating this interesting subject, because the next day school began.
Before we proceed with this story I must first tell you something of Polly. Polly may be sweet, perhaps even endearing, but she was without a doubt a trifle scatterbrained. Another thing to note about Polly is that she is quite clumsy and accident prone (but that is a story for another day). So it won't surprise you in the least when I tell you of Polly's first class. Polly's first class was English. Knowing herself well, she had intentionally arrived to her class ten minutes beforehand (giving herself time in case she tripped, slipped, or died along the way.) As it turned out this was a most necessary precaution.
Polly looked around the classroom feeling quite proud of herself. She had safely arrived, found an empty seat and laid out her books on her desk. Now she could relax. It was then that she began to notice something about the people in the room. It was all a bit puzzling. Hm, there's a lot of upperclassmen in my English 101 class. Polly mused to herself. She turned around in her seat and listened to a conversation at the desk behind her. I didn't bring the books they're talking about. She noted, and sat for a few more minutes staring at the Junior girl in the seat behind her.
"This isn't my English 101 class, is it?" Polly finally asked, her voice resigned.
The answer was, as she suspected, "no, this is not your English 101 class, dear."
Poor Polly was in a bit of a fluster when she finally found her seat in her proper classroom. It had been a rather busy morning. She leaned over to take her notebooks from her bag- that was when she noticed that much esteemed canvas bag with the words Pride and Prejudice. She turned around and saw that the girl who had just taken the seat next to her was Shirley.
To be continued...
Saturday, September 21, 2013
Perfect, beautiful days
There are those days that impress themselves on your memory as perfect days. It's been such a long time since I've sat down to write a proper sort of blog post that I don't know how else to begin this one. The past couple weeks have had their ups and downs for me, but then, I think that must be how everyone feels as they settle in for their first month in college. There have been moments of feeling lost, scared- feelings that everyone experiences.
Then again, there have been days like today; perfect, beautiful days. Days that are beautiful in their very simplicity, it almost doesn't feel adequate putting them into words. I always feel like that when I try to describe my perfect days. I suppose it's because they aren't the days filled with color and excitement, they're the days where the background is an underlying feeling of serenity and peace. Soft, fall colors, an undercurrent of sparkling light, but mostly a running stream of contentment where all the world feels right.
It's so lovely to be in a place that feels so very right. I miss home of course, I miss my dear ones, but if I'm to be anyplace- I'm glad it's here.
Today has been lovely because we went for a drive. A drive through the rolling hills of Virginia. A drive with the rain drizzling gently against the windows and the Fall leaves just beginning to fall. A drive to the dearest little coffee place. Quaint is the word that comes to my mind when I try to describe it. I think the loveliest thing about it was the smell of the coffee as we stepped outside of the car. Coffee has the best smell, and as we walked in the door it just grew better. It also helped that I was in the company of some of the dearest dears, really, the day was quite perfect.
Forgive my gushing, there really isn't anything else to be said.
Then again, there have been days like today; perfect, beautiful days. Days that are beautiful in their very simplicity, it almost doesn't feel adequate putting them into words. I always feel like that when I try to describe my perfect days. I suppose it's because they aren't the days filled with color and excitement, they're the days where the background is an underlying feeling of serenity and peace. Soft, fall colors, an undercurrent of sparkling light, but mostly a running stream of contentment where all the world feels right.
It's so lovely to be in a place that feels so very right. I miss home of course, I miss my dear ones, but if I'm to be anyplace- I'm glad it's here.
Today has been lovely because we went for a drive. A drive through the rolling hills of Virginia. A drive with the rain drizzling gently against the windows and the Fall leaves just beginning to fall. A drive to the dearest little coffee place. Quaint is the word that comes to my mind when I try to describe it. I think the loveliest thing about it was the smell of the coffee as we stepped outside of the car. Coffee has the best smell, and as we walked in the door it just grew better. It also helped that I was in the company of some of the dearest dears, really, the day was quite perfect.
Forgive my gushing, there really isn't anything else to be said.
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
I'm thinking...
There's a reason my favorite hour of the day is those hours just before I fall asleep. Those are my thinking hours. My hours of quiet. My hours to lie on my back and think of nothing or everything at once. Sometimes I find myself just staring off into the dark for hours at a time, thinking serious thoughts. Not serious in the unpleasant sense, on the contrary they are quite peaceful thoughts. They are serious in the contemplative sense. I like to think about people. How we all relate to each other. How our lives intersect in this complex pattern; like threads weaving together in a rug. I know that's a metaphor that's probably been used a lot, but it's interesting to think about isn't it? All those threads twisting together, all those lives that we affect and that affect us. Most of the time we look at the world from a rather self centered perspective. Even if we are considering someone else's feelings it is always from our own point of view. It's inevitable. We all approach things with different backgrounds, with different thoughts to build upon, there is no way to be completely unbiased. I just find it interesting to think about how all the other people in my life are feeling or acting when I'm not around them. Recently my brother said something about how someone acted more maturely around me. I remember that exact thought used to bother me about a year ago. I would wonder if people were merely mirroring what I was trying to be. I guess I was worried that I was seeing what I wanted to see rather than who people really were. Last night I was thinking about it again and I realized that it wasn't such a bad thing after all. I hope I have that affect on people. I hope that by being kind and thoughtful people will see something they want to be too. If they see me as mature, it will be something they will want to imitate. I want to be a positive influence. How people act around us is not so much "seeing a false side" as seeing the affect of our words and actions. It really makes you think about the impact of our presence. How do we make others feel? All interactions are about some give and take. Careless words uttered, negatively received, responded to in like, ending emotion unhappiness. Or it could be the other way completely. It's really interesting to think about. There's just so much to think about. Human relations. Human interactions. How our presence affects people. Or vise versa.
I'm creating...
I think perhaps this prompt would be better suited for today it were instead "something I'm working on." Because if it were that I would respond that I'm addressing my graduation announcements. It really isn't very creative, but it is the project I am currently working on. So that it was I'm putting down.
I'm wearing...
A dress with grey and black stripes, boots and my necklace with the Pride and Prejudice quote.
I'm reading...
Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief. Apparently it is a "classic of my generation" so I must read it. So I am. Also my brothers are very excited about my reading it.
Outside my window...
The clouds are really pretty today. I like watching them drift, it's really relaxing. They move so slowly, as if they knew the wind was propelling them ever forwards, but intended to take their time and enjoy the trip.
I'm listening to...
The washing machine whirl on it's last run. Or at least until that cycle is done and the next must be loaded.
One of my favorite things...
The feeling I had last night. My family all together. The little ones sleeping upstairs. My Mom and Dad sitting on one side of me. My brothers Marcus and Eli sitting on the other side. Warm and comfortable, curled up in a blanket. It was one of the best feelings in all the world.
There's a reason my favorite hour of the day is those hours just before I fall asleep. Those are my thinking hours. My hours of quiet. My hours to lie on my back and think of nothing or everything at once. Sometimes I find myself just staring off into the dark for hours at a time, thinking serious thoughts. Not serious in the unpleasant sense, on the contrary they are quite peaceful thoughts. They are serious in the contemplative sense. I like to think about people. How we all relate to each other. How our lives intersect in this complex pattern; like threads weaving together in a rug. I know that's a metaphor that's probably been used a lot, but it's interesting to think about isn't it? All those threads twisting together, all those lives that we affect and that affect us. Most of the time we look at the world from a rather self centered perspective. Even if we are considering someone else's feelings it is always from our own point of view. It's inevitable. We all approach things with different backgrounds, with different thoughts to build upon, there is no way to be completely unbiased. I just find it interesting to think about how all the other people in my life are feeling or acting when I'm not around them. Recently my brother said something about how someone acted more maturely around me. I remember that exact thought used to bother me about a year ago. I would wonder if people were merely mirroring what I was trying to be. I guess I was worried that I was seeing what I wanted to see rather than who people really were. Last night I was thinking about it again and I realized that it wasn't such a bad thing after all. I hope I have that affect on people. I hope that by being kind and thoughtful people will see something they want to be too. If they see me as mature, it will be something they will want to imitate. I want to be a positive influence. How people act around us is not so much "seeing a false side" as seeing the affect of our words and actions. It really makes you think about the impact of our presence. How do we make others feel? All interactions are about some give and take. Careless words uttered, negatively received, responded to in like, ending emotion unhappiness. Or it could be the other way completely. It's really interesting to think about. There's just so much to think about. Human relations. Human interactions. How our presence affects people. Or vise versa.
I'm creating...
I think perhaps this prompt would be better suited for today it were instead "something I'm working on." Because if it were that I would respond that I'm addressing my graduation announcements. It really isn't very creative, but it is the project I am currently working on. So that it was I'm putting down.
I'm wearing...
A dress with grey and black stripes, boots and my necklace with the Pride and Prejudice quote.
I'm reading...
Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief. Apparently it is a "classic of my generation" so I must read it. So I am. Also my brothers are very excited about my reading it.
Outside my window...
The clouds are really pretty today. I like watching them drift, it's really relaxing. They move so slowly, as if they knew the wind was propelling them ever forwards, but intended to take their time and enjoy the trip.
I'm listening to...
The washing machine whirl on it's last run. Or at least until that cycle is done and the next must be loaded.
One of my favorite things...
The feeling I had last night. My family all together. The little ones sleeping upstairs. My Mom and Dad sitting on one side of me. My brothers Marcus and Eli sitting on the other side. Warm and comfortable, curled up in a blanket. It was one of the best feelings in all the world.
Friday, May 17, 2013
I'm thinking...
Well, I've been talking quite a bit about Much Ado About Nothing the past couple weeks- but it's been a prominent part of my life so there seems no way around talking about it. (Of course, I like talking about it. So there is that) I was thinking though, how much better I understand the play after watching it over and over again. I had seen the movie adaption, but even so I think I only caught the most obvious lines. I think most Shakespeare plays are like that. You have to watch them several times over before you begin to catch on to all the lines. Well, I suppose most things are like that. The more times you watch or read something the more you get out of it.
I'm really proud of everyone who is taking part in our play. I think they've all done excellent jobs bringing out the characters. That's something else I find funny about plays, so much of it is about the personal interpretation. I find it so interesting to see how different people interpret the characters. Also, I find it really interesting how people act. It's something I didn't think too much about before starting this play, but there's so many different ways to act. Some people become the character. You can see them become the character, and then the minute the scene is over they go back to being themselves. Other people make the character like themselves. They never stop being like themselves, but simply use their characters words and actions as their own.
I'm reading...
Arabella by Georgette Heyer. I always feel like reading books over again after I lend them to someone. I love recommending and lending books. I think it's one of the best things in the world. That's another reason why I want to be well read in all sorts of books. So if ever someone came up and asked, "do you know a funny non fiction book?" I would say "Try A.J. Jacobs' books." or "What would you recommend from the YA section?" "Cinder, Entwined, The Fairytale Novels, The Fault in Our Stars, Paper Towns..." or "What mysteries do you like?" "Agatha Christie, Father Brown, Sherlock Holmes, but mostly Agatha Christie." (obviously I really want to be a Librarian)
Outside my window...
It's a cloudy day.
I'm wearing...
Jeans and a blouse. Also my TARDIS necklace.
I'm listening to...
A Michael Buble song just came on Pandora.
From the Kitchen...
I haven't made bread in a while. I should start doing that again. I love making bread.
I'm creating...
I was looking through some of my old stories again last night. It's funny looking back at things you wrote a long time ago, some things you find simply terrible, and then other things you're surprised with and like. Reading over my old things always makes me want to rewrite them.
Well, I've been talking quite a bit about Much Ado About Nothing the past couple weeks- but it's been a prominent part of my life so there seems no way around talking about it. (Of course, I like talking about it. So there is that) I was thinking though, how much better I understand the play after watching it over and over again. I had seen the movie adaption, but even so I think I only caught the most obvious lines. I think most Shakespeare plays are like that. You have to watch them several times over before you begin to catch on to all the lines. Well, I suppose most things are like that. The more times you watch or read something the more you get out of it.
I'm really proud of everyone who is taking part in our play. I think they've all done excellent jobs bringing out the characters. That's something else I find funny about plays, so much of it is about the personal interpretation. I find it so interesting to see how different people interpret the characters. Also, I find it really interesting how people act. It's something I didn't think too much about before starting this play, but there's so many different ways to act. Some people become the character. You can see them become the character, and then the minute the scene is over they go back to being themselves. Other people make the character like themselves. They never stop being like themselves, but simply use their characters words and actions as their own.
I'm reading...
Arabella by Georgette Heyer. I always feel like reading books over again after I lend them to someone. I love recommending and lending books. I think it's one of the best things in the world. That's another reason why I want to be well read in all sorts of books. So if ever someone came up and asked, "do you know a funny non fiction book?" I would say "Try A.J. Jacobs' books." or "What would you recommend from the YA section?" "Cinder, Entwined, The Fairytale Novels, The Fault in Our Stars, Paper Towns..." or "What mysteries do you like?" "Agatha Christie, Father Brown, Sherlock Holmes, but mostly Agatha Christie." (obviously I really want to be a Librarian)
Outside my window...
It's a cloudy day.
I'm wearing...
Jeans and a blouse. Also my TARDIS necklace.
I'm listening to...
A Michael Buble song just came on Pandora.
From the Kitchen...
I haven't made bread in a while. I should start doing that again. I love making bread.
I'm creating...
I was looking through some of my old stories again last night. It's funny looking back at things you wrote a long time ago, some things you find simply terrible, and then other things you're surprised with and like. Reading over my old things always makes me want to rewrite them.
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
Happy Birthday!
I would like to take a moment to say Happy Birthday to my dear friend Kieran. This is a birthday post for her. So Kieran, if you're reading this, Happy Birthday to you.
You're such a dear, sweet, lovely person, and I'm so thankful for you. I'm thankful for all of those memories from when we were little girls. I'm thankful for tea parties, dress-up, and prancing about the house. Do you remember composing poetry on the way up to the tulip fields? I think I might still have a couple sheets of paper that we were rhyming on. Then there was WYD. We had such different experiences; when we talk about memories there are so many different things we remember, and yet we intersected in and out of each other's memories. You were always there. That's what my hope is for our college years and beyond. It makes me so happy to know that while we're going to different places, the places we've chosen are very similar. The adventure we're starting out on is essentially the same. Our experiences throughout college are going to be very different, but our lives will still be intersecting. I hope you know I'll always be there. I'm so excited for you.
It's strange to think that we're both eighteen now. Just a couple more weeks and we'll both be graduating. Our last year of High School, and homeschool will be done. You've been my friend since before I can remember, and you will always be one of my very dearest, dearest friends.
Happy Birthday!
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You're such a dear, sweet, lovely person, and I'm so thankful for you. I'm thankful for all of those memories from when we were little girls. I'm thankful for tea parties, dress-up, and prancing about the house. Do you remember composing poetry on the way up to the tulip fields? I think I might still have a couple sheets of paper that we were rhyming on. Then there was WYD. We had such different experiences; when we talk about memories there are so many different things we remember, and yet we intersected in and out of each other's memories. You were always there. That's what my hope is for our college years and beyond. It makes me so happy to know that while we're going to different places, the places we've chosen are very similar. The adventure we're starting out on is essentially the same. Our experiences throughout college are going to be very different, but our lives will still be intersecting. I hope you know I'll always be there. I'm so excited for you.
It's strange to think that we're both eighteen now. Just a couple more weeks and we'll both be graduating. Our last year of High School, and homeschool will be done. You've been my friend since before I can remember, and you will always be one of my very dearest, dearest friends.
Happy Birthday!
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Thursday, May 2, 2013
Howl's Moving Castle
By Diana Wynne Jones
5/5
(By the by the above cover is not the cover of the copy I read. That cover was an atrocity. I refuse to have such an eyesore on my blog. Thus my reasoning in finding a picture of another copy's cover.)
I can't believe I haven't read this book before now! I knew from the very first page it was just the sort of book I would fall in love with. I love twists on fairytales.
"...It is quite a misfortune to be born the eldest of three. Everyone knows you are the one who will fail first, and worst, if the three of you set out to seek your fortunes. Sophie Hatter was the eldest of three sisters. She was not even the child of a poor woodcutter, which might have given her some chance of success."
See what I mean? As soon as I had read that paragraph I knew that this was a book that would find a place in my heart. I grinned manically at the page muttering in Captain America form "I understood that reference." This book was referencing my childhood. My childhood of fairytales. This was a good book. I knew this already- and I was only on the first page.
The rest of the book did not disappoint. Howl was hilarious. I was actually giggling out loud. There's something so endearing about Howl, even when he's sulking like a child. Actually, perhaps that's what I found the funniest. Sophie waggling her finger and nosing around the castle, and Howl putting up a fuss and telling her to stop cleaning everything she touched. The way he's described sulking and then suddenly flashing a smile at her and prancing off! Goodness gracious.
Actually, I loved all the characters. Michael is such a sweetheart and Calcifer is interesting to say the least, dear Sophie, and of course Howl.
There was only one chapter that I felt was a little bit drawn out, but other than that it was entirely and utterly enjoyable. It reminded me of Patricia C. Wrede and I do, do love her books. I have the other two books in the Howl's Moving Castle series on my nightstand (at least I think it's a series? Perhaps they're only connected in some form rather than being a series.) Anyhow, I'm very excited to read them both. I think there's also an animated film of some sort? I haven't seen it, but I know several people who have and like it a lot. I'll have to find it.
If you haven't read Howl's Moving Castle you really should find it. (Try to find the copy without the atrocious cover. As I said, monstrosity.) It's funny, has enough fairytale in it to warm your heart, and is just all round adorable. That is all.
5/5
(By the by the above cover is not the cover of the copy I read. That cover was an atrocity. I refuse to have such an eyesore on my blog. Thus my reasoning in finding a picture of another copy's cover.)
I can't believe I haven't read this book before now! I knew from the very first page it was just the sort of book I would fall in love with. I love twists on fairytales.
"...It is quite a misfortune to be born the eldest of three. Everyone knows you are the one who will fail first, and worst, if the three of you set out to seek your fortunes. Sophie Hatter was the eldest of three sisters. She was not even the child of a poor woodcutter, which might have given her some chance of success."
See what I mean? As soon as I had read that paragraph I knew that this was a book that would find a place in my heart. I grinned manically at the page muttering in Captain America form "I understood that reference." This book was referencing my childhood. My childhood of fairytales. This was a good book. I knew this already- and I was only on the first page.
The rest of the book did not disappoint. Howl was hilarious. I was actually giggling out loud. There's something so endearing about Howl, even when he's sulking like a child. Actually, perhaps that's what I found the funniest. Sophie waggling her finger and nosing around the castle, and Howl putting up a fuss and telling her to stop cleaning everything she touched. The way he's described sulking and then suddenly flashing a smile at her and prancing off! Goodness gracious.
Actually, I loved all the characters. Michael is such a sweetheart and Calcifer is interesting to say the least, dear Sophie, and of course Howl.
There was only one chapter that I felt was a little bit drawn out, but other than that it was entirely and utterly enjoyable. It reminded me of Patricia C. Wrede and I do, do love her books. I have the other two books in the Howl's Moving Castle series on my nightstand (at least I think it's a series? Perhaps they're only connected in some form rather than being a series.) Anyhow, I'm very excited to read them both. I think there's also an animated film of some sort? I haven't seen it, but I know several people who have and like it a lot. I'll have to find it.
If you haven't read Howl's Moving Castle you really should find it. (Try to find the copy without the atrocious cover. As I said, monstrosity.) It's funny, has enough fairytale in it to warm your heart, and is just all round adorable. That is all.
Matched
By Ally Condie
4/5
4/5
I think this is the first book I've read where I've found myself appreciating first person present tense. I was reading book reviews about Matched before I picked it up myself and I kept hearing the same things "beautiful writing" "like poetry" (paraphrasing) so that was something I was paying close attention to from the very beginning, and I would have to say I agree. I still dislike first person present tense as a writing style for the majority of the time but I think in this instance it worked. Especially when we look at the plot it went along with. It somehow fit the storyline and made the whole thing flow. It did remind me of poetry, very drifting and musical, feeding you the characters emotions through words that dwelled on the way the silky green dress felt and the way the lingering dirt on a rock looked. Most YA fiction is very plot driven so the writing style to this book made me happy. Not that I have anything against plot driven books, but it's refreshing to see books like this making an appearance.
( I guess part of the reason that I've been reading more YA fiction these days is because I'm a writer. I want to publish my own books someday. It feels a bit one sided, if that makes sense, to be dreaming of publishing my stories and hoping to have them read, when I have hardly read any of current titles. It's also been really interesting, and I've found quite a few of them that I've enjoyed. Plus, it's fun to review YA. There's always plenty to talk about. You have things that you really enjoyed and things that you really disliked. It's no fun to talk about a book that you found nothing to dislike in. You end up just repeating "I just really loved it. You really ought to read." This got a bit off topic but I was really just going to say that as a writer I really enjoyed the writing style in Matched. Bravo, Ally Condie, and I approve of all the book reviews I've read commenting on the writing.)
Can I just say that all dystopian novels that I've read have had the same affect on me? I end up walking away feeling very, very thankful. Sure, there's a lot of problems in our world today, but lets take a moment to count our blessings, shall we? Yes, we still have cancer, but would we want to live in Matched where the government is saying who you should marry to ensure good genes matching with good genes leading to a population of perfectly healthy people and thus eliminating cancer? Sure, there's a problem with over eating and under eating, but just take a moment to feel thankful that you know the taste of deliciously baked food, and that your diet isn't being overseen and restricted to the perfect amount of calories. Sure, there are rotten books and music out there, but gosh am I thankful there are if it means that we have an equal amount of GOOD books and GOOD music being created. Would we want to live in a world with just one hundred books and one hundred songs and no creating of anything new? I say long live that rotten paperback being sold at the grocery store if that means a book as good as that one is bad is being written at the same time!
Also, I think Matched presents a very good example of what happens when we lose our value for human life. In this story the government sets a year that you get to live to (I think it's eighty) and you get to live till that birthday- and then they kill you. They say it's eliminating all the horrors of old age, sickness and dementia etc. YOU SEE WHERE I'M GOING? It's a very slippery slope, people. First we convince ourselves that abortion is okay, suddenly we're saying it's okay to say "hey, you've reached your eightieth birthday, that's it. Done. Over." Where's the line? /Pro-Life speech for the day.
I will say I found the love triangle a bit annoying. I mean, it was better than most. It actually had a point to it, which most love triangles don't, but why are you playing with my emotions like that, book? I don't need this right now. I always, always end up feeling sorry for the poor little third corner of the triangle even if I originally liked the second corner better. Pet peeve = love triangles.
On another note, I would like to mention that there was nothing holding me back from recommending it wholeheartedly. No violence etc. (unique in the dystopian genre...) I wouldn't say it's my favorite book of all time, but it's won honorable mention on my list.
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
Devergent
By Veronica Roth
4/5
Oh my goodness, I could not put this book down. I read it in less than twenty-four hours and it's a thick book. (Actually, I have to say it's the perfect size. Nice and plump and yet not so thick that it would smash your face in if you dropped it while holding it over your head. Of course, it might give you a bruise but as long as the danger is not life threatening, allowances must be made for plump books. Besides, it would technically be our fault dropping books on our heads. Obviously I don't trust myself when it comes to anvil like books in close proximity to my head.)
Divergent is a dystopian novel (I've read a couple of these the past couple weeks and Divergent has been my favorite so far. That is, if we're not counting Fahrenheit 451. It's an interesting genre.) In this book society has been split into five different factions, each dedicated to upholding one particular virtue: Selflessness, Intelligence, Courage, Peace, or Honesty. On their sixtieth birthday the children of this society must choose which fraction (and virtue) they wish to dedicate their lives to. They may either choose to stay with their parents in the faction they've grown up in, or choose a different faction and separate themselves entirely from their previous lives. A person who is "divergent" shows equal strength in more than one virtue (basically a normal human being, right?) and thus considered dangerous.
What I found fascinating about this book was the idea of dedicating your life to one virtue. It's really thought provoking. Right at the beginning I found myself wondering alongside Tris which faction I would choose if given the choice. I started comparing the value of each virtue; comparing the lifestyles. Which really proves the point doesn't it? The people of this story weren't being forced into submission by an all powerful government (something you see in dystopian novels) they were choosing this life for themselves. (Of course, if they hadn't chosen something bad would most likely have happened, but that aside, THEY WERE CHOOSING) The problem is that all virtues are tied together; out of selflessness comes courage etc. and when we eliminate the other virtues we have an incomplete virtue. The whole point is off. Instead of valuing intelligence as something to be used for the benefit of others, it is used to gain power and riches. Besides which human beings are by nature complicated, their decisions and the conclusions they come to are created by a massive amount of different factors. When we look at a people focused on one thing and one thing only, we are looking at a very disturbing image.
It's a good example at why extremism is so bad. There needs to be some middle ground, a place where people from both sides can come to a compromise. I was doing some research recently for an essay I had to write on political gridlock, and this reminds me of that. Even if something might be good to begin with, when it is blown out of proportion and taken to extremes it loses the original object.
In the end, I started thinking about how beautiful humanity is. God gave us the ability to feel more than one emotion at a time, to think more than one thought. We were given free will and intellect, the ability to be compassionate as well as honest with one another, courageous as well as selfless. People are complicated, and that's what makes them so beautiful. We have the ability to go above and beyond any calculated expectation.
I probably would have given this book 5/5 except for the amount of violence. Too much. There were a couple bits that would make me hesitate to recommend it to everyone. Also. Can I just take a moment to say how much I dislike first person present tense? Ugh. Why is this writing style so popular right now? Present tense is pretty and poetic when used in small doses. VERY small doses. Please, dear young adult authors, no more first person present tense. I'm begging you. It's not poetic. It's robotic. Thank you.
4/5
Oh my goodness, I could not put this book down. I read it in less than twenty-four hours and it's a thick book. (Actually, I have to say it's the perfect size. Nice and plump and yet not so thick that it would smash your face in if you dropped it while holding it over your head. Of course, it might give you a bruise but as long as the danger is not life threatening, allowances must be made for plump books. Besides, it would technically be our fault dropping books on our heads. Obviously I don't trust myself when it comes to anvil like books in close proximity to my head.)
Divergent is a dystopian novel (I've read a couple of these the past couple weeks and Divergent has been my favorite so far. That is, if we're not counting Fahrenheit 451. It's an interesting genre.) In this book society has been split into five different factions, each dedicated to upholding one particular virtue: Selflessness, Intelligence, Courage, Peace, or Honesty. On their sixtieth birthday the children of this society must choose which fraction (and virtue) they wish to dedicate their lives to. They may either choose to stay with their parents in the faction they've grown up in, or choose a different faction and separate themselves entirely from their previous lives. A person who is "divergent" shows equal strength in more than one virtue (basically a normal human being, right?) and thus considered dangerous.
What I found fascinating about this book was the idea of dedicating your life to one virtue. It's really thought provoking. Right at the beginning I found myself wondering alongside Tris which faction I would choose if given the choice. I started comparing the value of each virtue; comparing the lifestyles. Which really proves the point doesn't it? The people of this story weren't being forced into submission by an all powerful government (something you see in dystopian novels) they were choosing this life for themselves. (Of course, if they hadn't chosen something bad would most likely have happened, but that aside, THEY WERE CHOOSING) The problem is that all virtues are tied together; out of selflessness comes courage etc. and when we eliminate the other virtues we have an incomplete virtue. The whole point is off. Instead of valuing intelligence as something to be used for the benefit of others, it is used to gain power and riches. Besides which human beings are by nature complicated, their decisions and the conclusions they come to are created by a massive amount of different factors. When we look at a people focused on one thing and one thing only, we are looking at a very disturbing image.
It's a good example at why extremism is so bad. There needs to be some middle ground, a place where people from both sides can come to a compromise. I was doing some research recently for an essay I had to write on political gridlock, and this reminds me of that. Even if something might be good to begin with, when it is blown out of proportion and taken to extremes it loses the original object.
In the end, I started thinking about how beautiful humanity is. God gave us the ability to feel more than one emotion at a time, to think more than one thought. We were given free will and intellect, the ability to be compassionate as well as honest with one another, courageous as well as selfless. People are complicated, and that's what makes them so beautiful. We have the ability to go above and beyond any calculated expectation.
I probably would have given this book 5/5 except for the amount of violence. Too much. There were a couple bits that would make me hesitate to recommend it to everyone. Also. Can I just take a moment to say how much I dislike first person present tense? Ugh. Why is this writing style so popular right now? Present tense is pretty and poetic when used in small doses. VERY small doses. Please, dear young adult authors, no more first person present tense. I'm begging you. It's not poetic. It's robotic. Thank you.
I'm thinking...
I've often thought how hard it is to write down what you are thinking. It's almost nigh impossible. Thoughts are fickle things, you see. At the present moment I am thinking of half a dozen things, and yet I can only write on one. In the object of order and coherency it is necessary to stick to one train of thought, and yet the thoughts in your mind are in no such order. Thoughts, they flit in and out of your mind with no particular care for coherency. I'm thinking of rain falling on the pond, it looks like spots appearing as if a disease all across the pond's brown surface, or like spots on a Dalmatian. Then my mind goes back to the original thought and dwells on the shape of the raindrops falling. I remember watching a video about how the artists created the rain in Bambi, they filled a dropper with milk and watched slow motion videos of the milk dripping down and splashing into the bowl.
All of a sudden that train of thought is lost in thinking about the play I'm in. I think about how much I enjoy playing two characters in one play. I think about how I can make these characters as different as possible from each other, and how I'm planning on changing my hairstyle at least twice during the course of the play. I'm thinking about how easy it would be to talk too quickly, having each word we utter in the play memorized. Then I'm thinking about conversation. Sometimes I think out how conversations will go beforehand, I think about what I should say and how I should say it. In a sense I'm trying to memorize my conversation beforehand, as if it were simply an act in a play. But life rarely gives you an opportunity to speak that memorized speech, or at least as you planned it. Life is an adventure, not a play to memorize. We might think we know someone, but we will never know for sure what goes through their mind, what words will come out of their mouth. I suppose that's what makes me nervous about my interview for the scholarship on Thursday, I hope I do well, but I won't have a chance to think out my responses. I like to have time to think.
That's why I like writing so much. When you write you can put into words thoughts that you have been turning around in your mind for years and years. In most stories I've written I've found myself writing out thoughts about events from years ago. I always think what I'm writing is fictional, and then I read over it again and I find that I've put bits of myself into every character. Bits of me are scattered throughout the stories, the best of me and the worst of me. I remember talking about this a while back with a good friend, she asked if a part of my story was "real" and I said immediately "Oh no." because I thought it wasn't. It was completely from my imagination that story, I've never been in a situation similar to my heroine, I couldn't think of anyone more dissimilar than myself, but suddenly this heroine was spouting out thoughts I'd had myself. Those thoughts were mine and hers together. It's really interesting to think as you read of the author who has written this story. Writing is about digging into your soul. There is no way to write without sharing bits and pieces of yourself even if that is not your intention. I don't mean copying yourself and your life. No, that's not what I mean at all. I mean writing someone else's story, and then finding yourself in a brief thought or word that flouts through the story.
Now I've completely lost what I was thinking about when I started writing these thoughts on writing. I was going to talk about my interview on Thursday, but we'll leave that for now. It'll turn out as it turns out.
I'm reading...
Right now I'm reading Waking Rose by Regina Doman out loud to my brother. Waking Rose is my favorite of her books. I love that book because there's so many layers to it. Even though I've read it many times I still find something different in it. It's a story mixed with bits of reality and fantasy, with daily life at a Catholic College and with knights and ladies fighting for what is good and right. My favorite characters in it are the Knights of the Sacra Cor. They are funny and sweet, courageous and ready to stand up for what they believe. Then of course, there's Fish and Rose. Fish has always been the character I've loved most in her books, even in the first one. Which is funny because upon reading over them again he really isn't in the first book very much. Only two or three brief scenes, and yet I loved him best even then? Waking Rose is really his story. One of the things I really like about Regina Doman is that she doesn't pass over the after affects. You see characters in plenty of adventure books that have terrible things happen to them, and yet in the very next book they're back to their usual selves, tragic pasts being forgotten in the next adventure. Not so with the Fairy Tale Novels. We see Fish continually struggling with his past. His memories of the past are harder for him to deal with then when the actual event was taking place. When I read this book for the first time I didn't understand all that was going on, but now that I do I love it even more. It deals with some pretty deep topics, but what you're taking from it really depends on the place you are in when you're reading it. I also love Fish and Rose's relationship and how it blossoms. It gives a very real picture of love and what it's about. It isn't sappy love at first sight, nor is it a case of mutual dislike turned upside down (ugh it drives me nuts when this happens). It's shows love as a choice. My favorite bit about this is how Fish doesn't come to care for Rose in that way till he consciously opens up to her. He makes the decision to trust her and that is the beginning of something beautiful. Their relationship is that of a friendship blossomed into something that much closer and more beautiful.
I'm wearing...
A blue dress.
Outside my window...
The canoe has been hoisted half way up the hill and is now resting in the daisies between the pond and my window. Just beyond it a shadow divides the lawn. Dew drops can be seen on each blade of grass in this shadowed area, beyond the great divide the sun has dried all morning dew and the daisies have unfurled themselves. (Now that I have put you to sleep with my description of the outside world I shall proceed. Such a description would only be interesting if I tossed a character or two in there. Perhaps a dark and mysterious figure in the shade and sunny faced pleasant character in the sun. Don't mind me. I'm babbling.)
I'm creating...
I'm determined to finish the letters I've started writing. I really do need to get them in the mail. I'm a fearful procrastinator sometimes and I've been neglecting my correspondence horrendously. Then I'm wracked with guilt.
I've often thought how hard it is to write down what you are thinking. It's almost nigh impossible. Thoughts are fickle things, you see. At the present moment I am thinking of half a dozen things, and yet I can only write on one. In the object of order and coherency it is necessary to stick to one train of thought, and yet the thoughts in your mind are in no such order. Thoughts, they flit in and out of your mind with no particular care for coherency. I'm thinking of rain falling on the pond, it looks like spots appearing as if a disease all across the pond's brown surface, or like spots on a Dalmatian. Then my mind goes back to the original thought and dwells on the shape of the raindrops falling. I remember watching a video about how the artists created the rain in Bambi, they filled a dropper with milk and watched slow motion videos of the milk dripping down and splashing into the bowl.
All of a sudden that train of thought is lost in thinking about the play I'm in. I think about how much I enjoy playing two characters in one play. I think about how I can make these characters as different as possible from each other, and how I'm planning on changing my hairstyle at least twice during the course of the play. I'm thinking about how easy it would be to talk too quickly, having each word we utter in the play memorized. Then I'm thinking about conversation. Sometimes I think out how conversations will go beforehand, I think about what I should say and how I should say it. In a sense I'm trying to memorize my conversation beforehand, as if it were simply an act in a play. But life rarely gives you an opportunity to speak that memorized speech, or at least as you planned it. Life is an adventure, not a play to memorize. We might think we know someone, but we will never know for sure what goes through their mind, what words will come out of their mouth. I suppose that's what makes me nervous about my interview for the scholarship on Thursday, I hope I do well, but I won't have a chance to think out my responses. I like to have time to think.
That's why I like writing so much. When you write you can put into words thoughts that you have been turning around in your mind for years and years. In most stories I've written I've found myself writing out thoughts about events from years ago. I always think what I'm writing is fictional, and then I read over it again and I find that I've put bits of myself into every character. Bits of me are scattered throughout the stories, the best of me and the worst of me. I remember talking about this a while back with a good friend, she asked if a part of my story was "real" and I said immediately "Oh no." because I thought it wasn't. It was completely from my imagination that story, I've never been in a situation similar to my heroine, I couldn't think of anyone more dissimilar than myself, but suddenly this heroine was spouting out thoughts I'd had myself. Those thoughts were mine and hers together. It's really interesting to think as you read of the author who has written this story. Writing is about digging into your soul. There is no way to write without sharing bits and pieces of yourself even if that is not your intention. I don't mean copying yourself and your life. No, that's not what I mean at all. I mean writing someone else's story, and then finding yourself in a brief thought or word that flouts through the story.
Now I've completely lost what I was thinking about when I started writing these thoughts on writing. I was going to talk about my interview on Thursday, but we'll leave that for now. It'll turn out as it turns out.
I'm reading...
Right now I'm reading Waking Rose by Regina Doman out loud to my brother. Waking Rose is my favorite of her books. I love that book because there's so many layers to it. Even though I've read it many times I still find something different in it. It's a story mixed with bits of reality and fantasy, with daily life at a Catholic College and with knights and ladies fighting for what is good and right. My favorite characters in it are the Knights of the Sacra Cor. They are funny and sweet, courageous and ready to stand up for what they believe. Then of course, there's Fish and Rose. Fish has always been the character I've loved most in her books, even in the first one. Which is funny because upon reading over them again he really isn't in the first book very much. Only two or three brief scenes, and yet I loved him best even then? Waking Rose is really his story. One of the things I really like about Regina Doman is that she doesn't pass over the after affects. You see characters in plenty of adventure books that have terrible things happen to them, and yet in the very next book they're back to their usual selves, tragic pasts being forgotten in the next adventure. Not so with the Fairy Tale Novels. We see Fish continually struggling with his past. His memories of the past are harder for him to deal with then when the actual event was taking place. When I read this book for the first time I didn't understand all that was going on, but now that I do I love it even more. It deals with some pretty deep topics, but what you're taking from it really depends on the place you are in when you're reading it. I also love Fish and Rose's relationship and how it blossoms. It gives a very real picture of love and what it's about. It isn't sappy love at first sight, nor is it a case of mutual dislike turned upside down (ugh it drives me nuts when this happens). It's shows love as a choice. My favorite bit about this is how Fish doesn't come to care for Rose in that way till he consciously opens up to her. He makes the decision to trust her and that is the beginning of something beautiful. Their relationship is that of a friendship blossomed into something that much closer and more beautiful.
I'm wearing...
A blue dress.
Outside my window...
The canoe has been hoisted half way up the hill and is now resting in the daisies between the pond and my window. Just beyond it a shadow divides the lawn. Dew drops can be seen on each blade of grass in this shadowed area, beyond the great divide the sun has dried all morning dew and the daisies have unfurled themselves. (Now that I have put you to sleep with my description of the outside world I shall proceed. Such a description would only be interesting if I tossed a character or two in there. Perhaps a dark and mysterious figure in the shade and sunny faced pleasant character in the sun. Don't mind me. I'm babbling.)
I'm creating...
I'm determined to finish the letters I've started writing. I really do need to get them in the mail. I'm a fearful procrastinator sometimes and I've been neglecting my correspondence horrendously. Then I'm wracked with guilt.
Friday, April 26, 2013
I'm thinking...
Isn't it funny how things can change over the course of a year? Everything changes. It changes as a year passes, as a month goes by, as each day turns into the next. We change- but never entirely. We grow from the single building block we were to begin with to a castle of blocks. Parts of that castle are knocked over, our clumsy hands have knocked down what we were trying to form, but the blocks are lying on the ground waiting to be picked up and placed back into position. Each event, each memory, each success and each mistake, meshing together, forming our castle. There's the story Mom and Dad told me of how I sobbed when I first watched Hercules at age three, saying "He shouldn't leave his Mommy and Daddy." Time passes and I'm ten, waiting for my parents to return from a weekend trip, knowing that my grandparents are worried because I've been sulky all day long. "I just want to go home. I just want my parents home." I mummer grumpily to a pillow. Time goes by yet again and I've just turned thirteen. I'm laying in a bunk bed at a summer camp repeating over and over again to myself "I don't want to be here. I'm calling Dad and Mom in the morning. I'm not staying here. I don't like it." Then all of a sudden I'm sixteen and on a bus traveling through Europe. I glance out a window and let myself sniffle a bit. I miss home and my family, but as I look out the window I know I wouldn't go home that instant if I could. I would still wait till my trip was ended, even though it hurt. Then I'm seventeen, kneeling in a little chapel on a college campus, thinking this is where I want to be. I want to go here. Isn't it funny how people change? Funny, and beautiful.
I'm reading...
Rapunzel Let Down by Regina Doman. Wow. I don't quite know what to say. Everything feels real in this book. It breaks your heart. The world seems very dark and everything has gone black. There is so much very real pain. It hurts. Really, really hurts. Then you are filled with peace and there's beauty coming out of the darkness. The whole theme of this book is how God can take something bad, something ugly, and through His grace, something beautiful is brought about. It's very- real. That's all I can say. Her other books are books that I read over and over again because I love them. They make me happy whenever I read them and go to them when I'm looking for an old favorite. Rapunzel Let Down isn't like that. It isn't the sort of book you would read again and again because you enjoy it, but it is the sort of book that will last in your mind. Something to think about, to ponder. It's because part of it hurts so much that what follows is so beautiful and makes you feel so peaceful. It goes back to how without suffering we wouldn't understand what joy is, without dark we wouldn't understand light, but that doesn't make you stop wishing that it hadn't happened. If only they had chosen differently, if only sin didn't exist. Because their lives were destroyed before something beautiful came from the destruction, and it doesn't have to be that way. It shouldn't be. I'm probably putting this badly and I haven't quite finished it so I haven't yet finished sorting out my thoughts, but...I just, wow.
Outside my window...
Everything is looking very, very green. Green grass. Brilliant green leaves. Darker Green trees. Green bushes. Green.
I'm listening to...
the Loreena McKennett station on Pandora. I love this music because so much of it is old poetry that's been put into song. I love listening to the words of this music.
I'm creating...
I started knitting again at the last rehearsal of Much Ado About Nothing (did I mention I'm taking part in a play?) and I want to keep going with my red slouchy hat again. I always forget when I'm not knitting how much I enjoy knitting. Though, I'm not watching murder mysteries while knitting late at night again. I don't think I've quite recovered from last time I was silly enough to do that. Miss Marple, indeed.
Also, on a creative note, I thought it would be fun to try and make one of those video book reviews. I always write them, and it would be sort of fun to try making them in video form for once. At least to try it out.
A picture thought I'm sharing...
This is one of the pictures of the tulip fields that Mom took yesterday. Look at the gorgeous tulips!
Isn't it funny how things can change over the course of a year? Everything changes. It changes as a year passes, as a month goes by, as each day turns into the next. We change- but never entirely. We grow from the single building block we were to begin with to a castle of blocks. Parts of that castle are knocked over, our clumsy hands have knocked down what we were trying to form, but the blocks are lying on the ground waiting to be picked up and placed back into position. Each event, each memory, each success and each mistake, meshing together, forming our castle. There's the story Mom and Dad told me of how I sobbed when I first watched Hercules at age three, saying "He shouldn't leave his Mommy and Daddy." Time passes and I'm ten, waiting for my parents to return from a weekend trip, knowing that my grandparents are worried because I've been sulky all day long. "I just want to go home. I just want my parents home." I mummer grumpily to a pillow. Time goes by yet again and I've just turned thirteen. I'm laying in a bunk bed at a summer camp repeating over and over again to myself "I don't want to be here. I'm calling Dad and Mom in the morning. I'm not staying here. I don't like it." Then all of a sudden I'm sixteen and on a bus traveling through Europe. I glance out a window and let myself sniffle a bit. I miss home and my family, but as I look out the window I know I wouldn't go home that instant if I could. I would still wait till my trip was ended, even though it hurt. Then I'm seventeen, kneeling in a little chapel on a college campus, thinking this is where I want to be. I want to go here. Isn't it funny how people change? Funny, and beautiful.
I'm reading...
Rapunzel Let Down by Regina Doman. Wow. I don't quite know what to say. Everything feels real in this book. It breaks your heart. The world seems very dark and everything has gone black. There is so much very real pain. It hurts. Really, really hurts. Then you are filled with peace and there's beauty coming out of the darkness. The whole theme of this book is how God can take something bad, something ugly, and through His grace, something beautiful is brought about. It's very- real. That's all I can say. Her other books are books that I read over and over again because I love them. They make me happy whenever I read them and go to them when I'm looking for an old favorite. Rapunzel Let Down isn't like that. It isn't the sort of book you would read again and again because you enjoy it, but it is the sort of book that will last in your mind. Something to think about, to ponder. It's because part of it hurts so much that what follows is so beautiful and makes you feel so peaceful. It goes back to how without suffering we wouldn't understand what joy is, without dark we wouldn't understand light, but that doesn't make you stop wishing that it hadn't happened. If only they had chosen differently, if only sin didn't exist. Because their lives were destroyed before something beautiful came from the destruction, and it doesn't have to be that way. It shouldn't be. I'm probably putting this badly and I haven't quite finished it so I haven't yet finished sorting out my thoughts, but...I just, wow.
Outside my window...
Everything is looking very, very green. Green grass. Brilliant green leaves. Darker Green trees. Green bushes. Green.
I'm listening to...
the Loreena McKennett station on Pandora. I love this music because so much of it is old poetry that's been put into song. I love listening to the words of this music.
I'm creating...
I started knitting again at the last rehearsal of Much Ado About Nothing (did I mention I'm taking part in a play?) and I want to keep going with my red slouchy hat again. I always forget when I'm not knitting how much I enjoy knitting. Though, I'm not watching murder mysteries while knitting late at night again. I don't think I've quite recovered from last time I was silly enough to do that. Miss Marple, indeed.
Also, on a creative note, I thought it would be fun to try and make one of those video book reviews. I always write them, and it would be sort of fun to try making them in video form for once. At least to try it out.
A picture thought I'm sharing...
This is one of the pictures of the tulip fields that Mom took yesterday. Look at the gorgeous tulips!
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
In the Name of the Star
By Maureen Johnson
2/5
(Aaaand I feel like I'm going to be negative for my first of the book reviews. Sowwy. Last book I read)
When I began this book I literally had no idea what it was about. It was one of three books that were placed in my hand by someone at work about a week ago. I don't think I had even heard the name before that moment.
Basically the story is about a seventeen year old named Rory. She is going to London to attend school for a year. London is in a panic because there's a bunch of murders taking place- murders that seem to be mimicking the murders of Jack the Ripper.
Basically, gruesome is a good word.
Very, very gruesome.
(Can I just take a moment to say I am very confused by the cover after having read it? First of all I really have no idea who the girl is supposed to be. The main character does not have red hair and never does she curl up in a ball on the ground. I mean. Wut. There is a girl mentioned in a newspaper who is said to have red hair but she is mentioned only once during the entire story? Why would the cover picture depict her? Secondly, the shadowy figure in the background is clearly dressed in regency garb and I can only assume it is supposed to be the original Jack the Ripper but as he is not the real villain of this story I am again brought to...why? I don't know, the cover just doesn't make sense to me.)
SPOILERS BELOW.
So I guess it should have been obvious to me from the beginning that this was a ghost story. Actually, it sort of was, but I kept hoping I would be proved wrong and it was all some mastermind plan created by man. You know, non-dead man.
I guess this is a personal preference and I just really don't like ghosts in stories. I find them very unbelievable and I'm not sure why. I'm not usually that person who complains about believability. For the most part I'll swallow anything. You could tell me that the main character jumped from a flaming building, turned part cyborg, had an obsession with unicorns and ate only celery and I would nod my head happily and go along with it. So I'm not sure why it is that as soon as a ghost is mentioned I roll my eyes and sigh. It doesn't bother me much as long as they're nonessential to the storyline, but if they're heavily involved in the plot of the thing I find it all rather a bore. I guess that this is because I feel like it's a bit of an easy way out. "Oh so all these murders are happening but nobody can see the murderer in any of the security cameras? SURPRISE WE HAVE A GHOST."
My other problem with this story was that we don't find out for sure that this is a ghost story until half way (?) through the book. I think this was intentionally done but for me this added to the unbelievability. For half of the story we see a normal girl going to a normal (ish) school and everything is normal (we have some questions in our minds as to the weird kid who sits in the dark, sure, but questions are what keep our interest) and then the entire story turns around at the half way point and we have a ghost story.
This brings me to the part of this book I like the most; the relationships between all the characters. (Which is funny because I honestly didn't feel all that attached to any one of them individually) However, I found it very interesting thinking about how Rory's viewpoint changes over the course of the story. Everything changes for her. At the beginning she forms all these normal friendships, with Jazza and Jerome, but after seeing ghosts she just can't go back to these normal friendships she had. What I liked about this was the parallel I found myself drawing with this fantasy situation and a real life one. Rory's friendships at the beginning were the friendships of a child and you could compare the changes that affect her once she starts seeing ghosts with the changes of a child that is forced to quickly grow to an adult. Watching her try to slip back into her friendships with Jazza and Jerome were like watching an adult trying to pick up a friendship with someone who hasn't grown up yet, who is still a child. I found that an interesting thought. Sad, but interesting.
In the end I don't think I would read this book again, and unless I was really desperate I don't think I would be searching out the sequels. My overall reaction was "Eh."
In it's favor I did read it all the way through, but I felt like I was forcing myself at times.
2/5
(Aaaand I feel like I'm going to be negative for my first of the book reviews. Sowwy. Last book I read)
When I began this book I literally had no idea what it was about. It was one of three books that were placed in my hand by someone at work about a week ago. I don't think I had even heard the name before that moment.
Basically the story is about a seventeen year old named Rory. She is going to London to attend school for a year. London is in a panic because there's a bunch of murders taking place- murders that seem to be mimicking the murders of Jack the Ripper.
Basically, gruesome is a good word.
Very, very gruesome.
(Can I just take a moment to say I am very confused by the cover after having read it? First of all I really have no idea who the girl is supposed to be. The main character does not have red hair and never does she curl up in a ball on the ground. I mean. Wut. There is a girl mentioned in a newspaper who is said to have red hair but she is mentioned only once during the entire story? Why would the cover picture depict her? Secondly, the shadowy figure in the background is clearly dressed in regency garb and I can only assume it is supposed to be the original Jack the Ripper but as he is not the real villain of this story I am again brought to...why? I don't know, the cover just doesn't make sense to me.)
SPOILERS BELOW.
So I guess it should have been obvious to me from the beginning that this was a ghost story. Actually, it sort of was, but I kept hoping I would be proved wrong and it was all some mastermind plan created by man. You know, non-dead man.
I guess this is a personal preference and I just really don't like ghosts in stories. I find them very unbelievable and I'm not sure why. I'm not usually that person who complains about believability. For the most part I'll swallow anything. You could tell me that the main character jumped from a flaming building, turned part cyborg, had an obsession with unicorns and ate only celery and I would nod my head happily and go along with it. So I'm not sure why it is that as soon as a ghost is mentioned I roll my eyes and sigh. It doesn't bother me much as long as they're nonessential to the storyline, but if they're heavily involved in the plot of the thing I find it all rather a bore. I guess that this is because I feel like it's a bit of an easy way out. "Oh so all these murders are happening but nobody can see the murderer in any of the security cameras? SURPRISE WE HAVE A GHOST."
My other problem with this story was that we don't find out for sure that this is a ghost story until half way (?) through the book. I think this was intentionally done but for me this added to the unbelievability. For half of the story we see a normal girl going to a normal (ish) school and everything is normal (we have some questions in our minds as to the weird kid who sits in the dark, sure, but questions are what keep our interest) and then the entire story turns around at the half way point and we have a ghost story.
This brings me to the part of this book I like the most; the relationships between all the characters. (Which is funny because I honestly didn't feel all that attached to any one of them individually) However, I found it very interesting thinking about how Rory's viewpoint changes over the course of the story. Everything changes for her. At the beginning she forms all these normal friendships, with Jazza and Jerome, but after seeing ghosts she just can't go back to these normal friendships she had. What I liked about this was the parallel I found myself drawing with this fantasy situation and a real life one. Rory's friendships at the beginning were the friendships of a child and you could compare the changes that affect her once she starts seeing ghosts with the changes of a child that is forced to quickly grow to an adult. Watching her try to slip back into her friendships with Jazza and Jerome were like watching an adult trying to pick up a friendship with someone who hasn't grown up yet, who is still a child. I found that an interesting thought. Sad, but interesting.
In the end I don't think I would read this book again, and unless I was really desperate I don't think I would be searching out the sequels. My overall reaction was "Eh."
In it's favor I did read it all the way through, but I felt like I was forcing myself at times.
I'm thinking...
I really want to start blogging on a regular basis again. Not just journaling pages, but real blog posts. Especially book reviews. I frequently say I'm going to start posting book reviews- but then I read so many books that I get overwhelmed and don't know what to say. This time I'm really going to start writing them. I am. I love reading other peoples book reviews and they always make me want to post some myself. They will be book reviews with plenty of spoilers however, so be warned. (I shall put a spoiler warning at the top of each post). My favorite book blog is Sarah's and I really like her method of rating books (See: http://thearomaofbooks.wordpress.com/about/ratings-method-of-fictional-work/)
I also made a new GoodReads account: http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/12739408-emily so if you have one do do find me because it's much funner if you know plenty of people.
Outside my window...
Looking outside today makes me long for summer. Of course, I don't exactly want to skip spring, but I'm so looking forward to long sunny days, curled up in a patch of sunlight reading. Yes, this is the way I think about summer. I think about reading in a warm patch of sunlight.
One of my favorite things...
This video is pretty much my favorite thing on the Internet right now. Yep. Pretty much.
I'm reading...
Divergent by Veronica Roth. *emits inhuman squealing noises* I don't know how else to put it but keyboard smashing AIUGHDGKHAGKH. (The Internet has taken it's toll on yours truly.)
I'm wearing...
Jeans and a grey dress over top. Undignified, yes. Comfy, also yes. Besides this dress is too short to wear without pants, but it's too comfy to throw away. I wear it only at home days. Now you know my secrets. Guard them well.
A few plans for the rest of the week...
I shall write my first book review this week. There it is, written in black and white. No backing down now. Not even if procrastination and laziness swallow my soul and I whither up beneath their evil claws. Wow, that sentence went melodramatic, and I'm not even going to backspace. What is the world coming to?
Also, schoolwork.
Also, reading.
Also, writing. I'M A NOVEL WRITER (...I cry pathetically as unwritten words wrap around me and crush me to the floor) I SHALL NOT BE DEFEATED.
Obviously, I'm in a melodramatic mood.
A Quote I'm sharing...
My birthday is coming up this week, and that made me think of this quote. I remember stumbling on it a little while ago and loving it. I've never read the story it's from, but I like the quote so much that I am definitely planning on it. I believe it's from a short story called Eleven by Sandra Cisneros. Beyond that I really don't know much about the story, but it's a lovely quote. Bear with me since it's a little longer than quotes I would normally post. It's the perfect quote for the week of a birthday.
"What they don’t understand about birthdays and what they never tell you is that when you’re eleven, you’re also ten, and nine, and eight, and seven, and six, and five, and four, and three, and two, and one. And when you wake up on your eleventh birthday you expect to feel eleven, but you don’t. You open your eyes and everything’s just like yesterday, only it’s today. And you don’t feel eleven at all. You feel like you’re still ten. And you are — underneath the year that makes you eleven.
Like some days you might say something stupid, and that’s the part of you that’s still ten. Or maybe some days you might need to sit on your mama’s lap because you’re scared, and that’s the part of you that’s five. And maybe one day when you’re all grown up maybe you will need to cry like if you’re three, and that’s okay. That’s what I tell Mama when she’s sad and needs to cry. Maybe she’s feeling three.
Because the way you grow old is kind of like an onion or like the rings inside a tree trunk or like my little wooden dolls that fit one inside the other, each year inside the next one. That’s how being eleven years old is."
I really want to start blogging on a regular basis again. Not just journaling pages, but real blog posts. Especially book reviews. I frequently say I'm going to start posting book reviews- but then I read so many books that I get overwhelmed and don't know what to say. This time I'm really going to start writing them. I am. I love reading other peoples book reviews and they always make me want to post some myself. They will be book reviews with plenty of spoilers however, so be warned. (I shall put a spoiler warning at the top of each post). My favorite book blog is Sarah's and I really like her method of rating books (See: http://thearomaofbooks.wordpress.com/about/ratings-method-of-fictional-work/)
I also made a new GoodReads account: http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/12739408-emily so if you have one do do find me because it's much funner if you know plenty of people.
Outside my window...
Looking outside today makes me long for summer. Of course, I don't exactly want to skip spring, but I'm so looking forward to long sunny days, curled up in a patch of sunlight reading. Yes, this is the way I think about summer. I think about reading in a warm patch of sunlight.
One of my favorite things...
This video is pretty much my favorite thing on the Internet right now. Yep. Pretty much.
I'm reading...
Divergent by Veronica Roth. *emits inhuman squealing noises* I don't know how else to put it but keyboard smashing AIUGHDGKHAGKH. (The Internet has taken it's toll on yours truly.)
I'm wearing...
Jeans and a grey dress over top. Undignified, yes. Comfy, also yes. Besides this dress is too short to wear without pants, but it's too comfy to throw away. I wear it only at home days. Now you know my secrets. Guard them well.
A few plans for the rest of the week...
I shall write my first book review this week. There it is, written in black and white. No backing down now. Not even if procrastination and laziness swallow my soul and I whither up beneath their evil claws. Wow, that sentence went melodramatic, and I'm not even going to backspace. What is the world coming to?
Also, schoolwork.
Also, reading.
Also, writing. I'M A NOVEL WRITER (...I cry pathetically as unwritten words wrap around me and crush me to the floor) I SHALL NOT BE DEFEATED.
Obviously, I'm in a melodramatic mood.
A Quote I'm sharing...
My birthday is coming up this week, and that made me think of this quote. I remember stumbling on it a little while ago and loving it. I've never read the story it's from, but I like the quote so much that I am definitely planning on it. I believe it's from a short story called Eleven by Sandra Cisneros. Beyond that I really don't know much about the story, but it's a lovely quote. Bear with me since it's a little longer than quotes I would normally post. It's the perfect quote for the week of a birthday.
"What they don’t understand about birthdays and what they never tell you is that when you’re eleven, you’re also ten, and nine, and eight, and seven, and six, and five, and four, and three, and two, and one. And when you wake up on your eleventh birthday you expect to feel eleven, but you don’t. You open your eyes and everything’s just like yesterday, only it’s today. And you don’t feel eleven at all. You feel like you’re still ten. And you are — underneath the year that makes you eleven.
Like some days you might say something stupid, and that’s the part of you that’s still ten. Or maybe some days you might need to sit on your mama’s lap because you’re scared, and that’s the part of you that’s five. And maybe one day when you’re all grown up maybe you will need to cry like if you’re three, and that’s okay. That’s what I tell Mama when she’s sad and needs to cry. Maybe she’s feeling three.
Because the way you grow old is kind of like an onion or like the rings inside a tree trunk or like my little wooden dolls that fit one inside the other, each year inside the next one. That’s how being eleven years old is."
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
I'm thinking...
There's such a lot of things I could be writing here. I don't know if I've mentioned, but I was recently accepted into my school of choice, so that's been filling my thoughts quite a lot recently. It's a lovely feeling to know not only where I want to attend, but also that I'm an official student for the Fall of 2013. It's funny, it felt that I was waiting such a very long time and I had so much time to imagine out how I would feel if I got that white envelope with an acceptance letter, that it almost didn't feel real. I felt that I had only to blink and I would be back to the waiting process and realize that I had only been imagining it out again. The powers of an overactive imagination I suppose. Anyhow, I'm so very excited. I still feel a little worried about things, but I'm trying not to dwell on that too much. It's so easy to spend all your time worrying and then find that you wasted that time that was supposed to be filled with peace and happiness. These months are supposed to be months that I get to enjoy all the time of expectancy and excitement. Months of planning. I don't want to waste them in worrying. I know this is the college and I need to trust that everything will work out as it's supposed to.
On another note my head has been brim full with Much Ado About Nothing lines. Apparently my brain would not rest upon having memorized my own lines and is now forcing me to memorize everyone else's as well. Shakespeare lines go flouting through my head all day long and I believe if I'm caught unaware sometime I shall suddenly shout at somebody "BOYS. APES. BRAGGARTS. JACKS. MILKSOPS." or, as it is more likely, I shall random start muttering dialogues that have nothing to do with my character. "What? My dear Lady Disdain, are you yet living?" "Is it possible that disdain should die when she has such meat food as Signor Benedick?" I'm afraid I've already caught myself at this obvious sign of insanity, and I'm finding it quite hard to keep from chattering to myself as I shelve books at the library. It's always been hard not to drift into dialogues (most often dialogues I'm writing for my own stories) at work, and even harder to keep from repeating things that I've memorized. Once you know the alphabet backwards and forwards and are slipping books and DVDs into their places at top speed you find your mind has far too much room for thoughts pertaining to other things than the job at hand.
On the subject of Shakespeare plays I recently went and saw Love's Labor Lost, which I would almost say is my favorite play now. It was awfully funny and very cleaverly done. They had set it in a 1920s area, a timeperiod I love and it was really fun watching it, especially from the viewpoint of someone who is currently taking part in a Shakespeare play. What I loved most was all the physical humor, at one point they had one of the characters reading a love poem that he had written all over his arms and puzzling how he was to send it.
Outside my window...
Little beads of dew are dripping off the blades of grass. There's something red hidden in the grass but I can't quite make out what it is, perhaps a ball of some sort. I can also see some of those tiny daisies appearing, though they don't seem to be open. Just closed little buds waiting for some sunshine to appear.
I'm listening to...
A CD of piano music called Overcome by David Nevue.
I'm creating...
I don't know if I'm really creating anything at the moment. No continuous project, I mean. Saturday afternoon Ella and I sat on the table and painted pages and pages of green watercolors. I painted a poster with that John Green quote "My thoughts are stars I cannot fathom into constellations." I think that's my favorite quote, or part out of any of his books. A sentence of brilliance.
Oh but camp NaNoWriMo is coming up! I think that's in June? I haven't read too much about it, except that I know there is one (I get the newsletters, you see.)
Oh and in May I'm going to get to sew! We're going to sew lovely vintage dresses and I'm so excited to think about it.
From the kitchen...
I thought perhaps I would write out a sentence regarding the dinner I wished to make, but having written it out I decided it sounded far too mundane and instantly backspaced.
On a random note we've been discussing what we're going to do for my birthday and I'm really excited now. I think we're maybe going to get dressed up and go to see Jersey Boys which is playing at one of the gorgeous theaters, or perhaps go and listen to the Symphony which would be splendid fun as well.
All in all this has been a rather excitable journaling page. I'm in just an excitable mood. That is, I would be if I weren't so tired. Sleep is good.
There's such a lot of things I could be writing here. I don't know if I've mentioned, but I was recently accepted into my school of choice, so that's been filling my thoughts quite a lot recently. It's a lovely feeling to know not only where I want to attend, but also that I'm an official student for the Fall of 2013. It's funny, it felt that I was waiting such a very long time and I had so much time to imagine out how I would feel if I got that white envelope with an acceptance letter, that it almost didn't feel real. I felt that I had only to blink and I would be back to the waiting process and realize that I had only been imagining it out again. The powers of an overactive imagination I suppose. Anyhow, I'm so very excited. I still feel a little worried about things, but I'm trying not to dwell on that too much. It's so easy to spend all your time worrying and then find that you wasted that time that was supposed to be filled with peace and happiness. These months are supposed to be months that I get to enjoy all the time of expectancy and excitement. Months of planning. I don't want to waste them in worrying. I know this is the college and I need to trust that everything will work out as it's supposed to.
On another note my head has been brim full with Much Ado About Nothing lines. Apparently my brain would not rest upon having memorized my own lines and is now forcing me to memorize everyone else's as well. Shakespeare lines go flouting through my head all day long and I believe if I'm caught unaware sometime I shall suddenly shout at somebody "BOYS. APES. BRAGGARTS. JACKS. MILKSOPS." or, as it is more likely, I shall random start muttering dialogues that have nothing to do with my character. "What? My dear Lady Disdain, are you yet living?" "Is it possible that disdain should die when she has such meat food as Signor Benedick?" I'm afraid I've already caught myself at this obvious sign of insanity, and I'm finding it quite hard to keep from chattering to myself as I shelve books at the library. It's always been hard not to drift into dialogues (most often dialogues I'm writing for my own stories) at work, and even harder to keep from repeating things that I've memorized. Once you know the alphabet backwards and forwards and are slipping books and DVDs into their places at top speed you find your mind has far too much room for thoughts pertaining to other things than the job at hand.
On the subject of Shakespeare plays I recently went and saw Love's Labor Lost, which I would almost say is my favorite play now. It was awfully funny and very cleaverly done. They had set it in a 1920s area, a timeperiod I love and it was really fun watching it, especially from the viewpoint of someone who is currently taking part in a Shakespeare play. What I loved most was all the physical humor, at one point they had one of the characters reading a love poem that he had written all over his arms and puzzling how he was to send it.
Outside my window...
Little beads of dew are dripping off the blades of grass. There's something red hidden in the grass but I can't quite make out what it is, perhaps a ball of some sort. I can also see some of those tiny daisies appearing, though they don't seem to be open. Just closed little buds waiting for some sunshine to appear.
I'm listening to...
A CD of piano music called Overcome by David Nevue.
I'm creating...
I don't know if I'm really creating anything at the moment. No continuous project, I mean. Saturday afternoon Ella and I sat on the table and painted pages and pages of green watercolors. I painted a poster with that John Green quote "My thoughts are stars I cannot fathom into constellations." I think that's my favorite quote, or part out of any of his books. A sentence of brilliance.
Oh but camp NaNoWriMo is coming up! I think that's in June? I haven't read too much about it, except that I know there is one (I get the newsletters, you see.)
Oh and in May I'm going to get to sew! We're going to sew lovely vintage dresses and I'm so excited to think about it.
From the kitchen...
I thought perhaps I would write out a sentence regarding the dinner I wished to make, but having written it out I decided it sounded far too mundane and instantly backspaced.
On a random note we've been discussing what we're going to do for my birthday and I'm really excited now. I think we're maybe going to get dressed up and go to see Jersey Boys which is playing at one of the gorgeous theaters, or perhaps go and listen to the Symphony which would be splendid fun as well.
All in all this has been a rather excitable journaling page. I'm in just an excitable mood. That is, I would be if I weren't so tired. Sleep is good.
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
I’m
thinking…
As I begin this day, and this journaling page I want to start off with this
prayer:
Prayer of Saint Francis of Assisi
Lord, make me
an instrument of your peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
and where there is sadness, joy.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
and where there is sadness, joy.
O Divine
Master, grant that I may not so much seek
to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive;
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life. Amen
to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive;
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life. Amen
I
went into Mass on Sunday feeling upset and hurt, and walked away feeling
peaceful and happy. I think lately I’ve been a bit caught up on how things are
affecting me specifically; how people are affecting me, how events specifically
affect me and that viewpoint has been making me feel unhappy and upset. I’ve
been feeling used and walked upon because I’ve been focused on other people’s
actions and words, rather than how my actions and words are affecting other
people. The thing is, you can’t change anyone else, and you can only change
yourself, and work on your own outlook. You can only control the person you are
going to be and the affect that person is going to have on others. I can either
focus on my own hurt, or I can focus on how I can try and bring joy and
happiness into others lives. I can either choose to be unhappy, or I can choose
happiness. It’s often as simple as that.
I
want to stop putting myself in a situation where I often come away feeling
second best, a back-up plan. I’m going to stop going out of my way only to find
myself sitting again curb feeling discarded. This isn’t anyone else’s problem,
it’s mine. There’s a difference between being a good friend who is there when
someone needs you and jumping up at their beck and call at the least notice.
This doesn’t mean I’m upset or angry anymore- and I’ve been there. I’ve been in
a place where I’m so angry that I don’t want ever to be around people again.
This isn’t constructive either. I’m going to try and be a good friend, someone
who can visit and be friendly, and yet at the same time not throw myself into
trying to make everything perfect only to be dropped.
I’m
not going to focus on those people who hurt me. I’m surrounded by so many
people who love and care for me, my family, and I want to be happiness in their
lives. I want to be focusing on others rather than myself.
Yes,
I’m a far ways away from being that person. From being the person I’m trying to
be. I’m working on it though. I know the sort of person I want to be, and that’s
half the battle. I know I want to take this prayer truly to heart. I want to
turn this viewpoint of mine upside down. I want to be happy because I’m
focusing on those changes that I can make, because I’m fixing those things that
can be fixed and not making myself unhappy about those things that can’t. I
want to focus on the good in people.
I'm listening to...
The Les Miserables Soundtrack.
I'm creating...
I need to finish working on several scholarship applications with deadlines that are quickly approaching. I suppose this can be listed under creative work, can't it? It certainly needs effort in creating.
A few plans for the rest of the week...
This week I want to spend more time reading. More time drawing. More time writing. Much more time writing. Less time on the computer. More time creating. More time thinking, imagining, working. Less time on things that don't really matter at all. I want to write. To write stories, and blog posts and poetry. I want to read, biographies, fiction, short stories and poetry. I want to learn. I want to grow. I want this week to be a happy, productive, beautiful week.
Outside my window...
Mud, mud, mud. Which would be delightful- that is if I had the proper footwear for it. I need a new pair of rubber boots rather desperately. Very necessary around here.
From the kitchen...
It's almost lunchtime, and so, this must be
The End.
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
I’m thinking…
I have
decided that one of the things I need to work on is beginning to like preparation
work. Unfortunately, as of right now I loathe it, and I really think I always
have. There is a reason why I have always hated writing outlines before
writing, why I hate cutting out patterns before sewing and there’s nothing I
like less than taping off a room before painting it. This isn’t productive for
obvious reasons. It’s necessary to do the taping before you paint and the
cutting out of patterns- at least if you want your finished product to be of
any worth. I find it awfully like torture though. When I start a project I am
so very excited to actually start. I can’t wait to write those first few words
on the page, to make that first splash of paint on the white wall, and putting
off that visible start is awful. Perhaps this can be simplified to saying that
I need to work on patience, the patience to do the necessary work before I’m
able to begin the enjoyable part of the work.
Actually,
patience is definitely something I need to work on. I’ve found this out over
the past couple months from long hard lessons of waiting for college and
scholarship applications to be returned to me.
You can picture me here strangling a mail box and then slowly crumpling
up and dying. Yes, this is melodramatic, but Emily is melodramatic on occasion
(as we know too well) and suspense is not something I handle well. This would
be why I read books so quickly. Not because I’m a fast reader (though I suppose
you could say that as well) but because I simply won’t put the book down until
I have finished it because I don’t handle suspense. (Let me here recommend the
book Entwined, which has been my record breaker fast read for the year. Yes, I
know, it’s only March.)
I’m listening
to… King of Anything, Sara Bareilles.
Outside my
window… it’s lightly raining outside. I hope it gets harder. What I hope most
is that we have a great big storm and the power goes out. That’s always my
favorite. I love lighting candles and wrapping up in blankets. I love the
feeling of it being cold and rainy outside and being nice and cozy inside. I
really love storms.
I’m reading… Cinder.
I’m actually not very far into it but so far I’ve found the whole premise quite
interesting. Normally I wouldn’t be too interested in books about cyborgs etc.
but I’ve heard quite a few favorable recommendations of it so I thought I’d
give it a go.
From the
kitchen…about as soon as I finish this I shall start on making up Chicken Enchiladas
for dinner.
I’m creating…
a drawing of a duck. It’s for a scholarship I’m going to be trying to enter. I
would post it but I don’t think you want to have things you’re going to enter
in contests published on anything, even if it’s only you’re personal blog. I
think that’s usually the procedure. Could be wrong.
Monday, January 28, 2013
Happy Birthday Pride and Prejudice!
As today is
the 200th anniversary of Pride and Prejudice, I want to write a blog
post wholly devoted to that lovely subject. No, really. This has been something
I’ve been looking forward to for days. Two hundred years. It’s rather amazing
when you think about it. First published January 28, 1813, a book, that two
hundred years later is so universally beloved and appreciated. Let’s just talk
about the amount of film adaptations that have been created from this book,
shall we? They come out every few years.
There is the
black and white version that came out in 1940, starring Greer Garson and Laurence
Olivier. I actually haven’t seen the entirety of this version, but I have seen
several clips from throughout the film. What I did see I found enjoyable, even
though this was partly because I found it amusing. What with the dresses that
seemed more reminiscent of Gone With the Wind than the regency era and the exaggerated
accents. Not to mention it beginning with a race between the Bennet family and
the Lucas one, as they wildly try to get home first (and thus send out
husbands/fathers to meet the newly arrived Mr. Bingley). Their mad disarray as
they galloped homewards was amusing to say the least. It reminded me of the
scene in Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, where they’re racing their wagon
after kidnapping the girls. I thought Greer Garson made a lovely Elizabeth
Bennet however, even if quite a lot of it verged on the ridiculous. It was the
sort of thing that was amusingly ridiculous, and enjoyable because of that.
Next we have
the BBC mini-series with Colin Firth and Jennifer Ehle, perhaps the most
beloved of all the versions; it has Colin Firth after all. Everyone knows that he
is Mr. Darcy. We really can’t accept any other actor as Mr. Darcy after him! We
have been spoiled forever! After once having been introduced to Colin Firth,
there was no going back. I love this version of course, how could I not? But I
can’t say I think it absolutely perfect. I think the problem I have with this
version is that everything’s a bit too exaggerated. Mrs. Bennet will of course
always grate a bit on the nerves, but she’s almost unbearable in this. Mr.
Collins, Lydia, etc are just the same. My other thing is I just feel that
Wickham’s a little bit…obvious. He’s obviously the “bad guy,” and everything
points to that. Now, when I read Pride and Prejudice I remember being truly surprised.
Wickham is supposed to take us in; we are supposed to be entirely fooled by his
good looks and his charm. Now, I usually wouldn’t make comment about an actor’s
looks for a part, since that’s superficial and stupid, but it does sort of bug
me when the “bad guy” is cast as looking definitely less handsome than the “hero”
(unless of course, that’s they’re supposed to look like that.) Same with when
the leading lady is cast as being especially beautiful in contrast to a lesser
character (Jane) who is in the book supposed to be much prettier than leading
lady. It just bothers me. Like “all our favorite characters must be beautiful
and gorgeous but all the bad guys and less characters get to be plain and
unattractive.” (That turned into a bit of a rant, didn’t it? But Wickham is
supposed to fool us! He isn’t supposed to seem sleazy till Mr. Darcy reveals
his true nature!) This might all seem a bit harsh considering it’s probably my
favorite version, but you see if I didn’t talk about the things I don’t like I
wouldn’t have quite as much to talk about. I can’t just babble “I love it. I
love it. I love it,” for a blog post, when I very well might if I were just
talking about it. It’s the most near to the book, and thus the most near to my
heart. I’ve watched it so many times, and I never get tired of it.
Now I want to
talk about The Lizzie Bennet Diaries, which is a series I’ve been watching
recently. I don’t know if it could strictly be called a “film adaption.” It’s
actually a series of vlogs (video blogs) of about four or five minutes each,
and they’ve been coming out for a couple months now (I think there’s a total of
about eighty videos now). It’s a modern adaption filmed as if Lizzie Bennet is
filming these videos herself and blogging about her life. I think it’s a really
interesting take on the story, and I think the actors have done such a good job
in bringing to life characters from a different century into this one without
losing too much of their essence in the translation. It’s actually made me
think a lot about what has and what hasn’t changed over the years. What has
remained the same while the entire world around us has changed. I’ve gone back
and looked up particular sections of Pride and Prejudice and compared them to
seeing it brought out in a modern day and age.
Anyhow, happy
200th anniversary of Pride and Prejudice! I hope everyone has a
lovely day, and I wish to send you tea and many regency dresses!
I think the
most recent movie version is the one that came out with Keira Knightley and
Matthew Macfadyen. What I always say about this version is that I like it as a
movie but don’t like it when comparing it to the book. As a movie it’s the sort
of thing I watch over and over because it’s nice and relaxing and the music is
my favorite. That’s the best thing about that movie, the music. The music is
beautiful.
Monday, January 21, 2013
After Night and Before Morning
I’m
thinking:
I’m
reading:
Actually,
I’m in-between books. This of course shan’t last beyond a couple hours more
before I go digging into my stacks and fishing up a new one to read. I just
finished reading “Daddy-Long-Legs” and also “The Lioness and Her Knight” the
second a book I read fully over a couple days worth of breaks at the library.
It was an easy (yet really quite enjoyable) read, in which I could finish a
full fifty pages over a break, so it didn’t take me long at all to finish.
Outside
my window:
I’m
listening to:
Celtic
music. I’ve had it playing just about as long as the coffee pot has been
brewing, so rather a long time indeed.
From
the kitchen:
On
the topic of coffee, it won’t be long before I shall be needing to make another
pot. The other one has grown quite cold by now, and Mom still needs to have her
coffee so another pot I shall make.
I’m
hoping and praying:
For
snow. I really want it to snow. Well, perhaps I’m not exactly praying about
snow, but I’m most certainly hoping. Other than that I am praying that I can
stop fretting so much about things and trust that things will turn out exactly
as they were meant to. It’s no help fretting and worrying, and I shouldn’t, and
I know that, but the problem is I still do. So I need to stop.
A few plans for the rest of the week:
Well, I suppose just continuing doing what I'm doing. Starting with finishing up this journaling page and getting back to work on Algebra. I'm planning on going to see Les Miserables again on Thursday though! Which will be a lot of fun! Oh and I'm also quite excited about Cabin Pressure on Wednesday, yay!
This
morning I got up quite early, lit a candle on the table and set the coffee pot a
brewing, and started upon blank notebook paper with my sharpened pencils. I was
determined to make some progress before the world woke up, and I hope that I
can say I have made some at least. The funny thing about getting up so early is
that it feels for a bit as if you’ve been transported to another world without
time. A continuous dark has settled upon the world, a dark that does not seem to
lift and stays pressed against the windowpanes. It is neither night, nor is it
morning, but a time (or timelessness) in between. At times it feels like
somebody has pasted blackened paper on the other side of the windows and if you
could only get past it you would see a different world, but instead you
continue to travel through a timeless space. Perhaps it is what it feels like to be
traveling about in a spaceship with no day or night by which to gage the
passage of days. I can imagine those hours between night and morning as being
somewhat similar to what it must feel like drifting about in a weightless, timeless
orbit. I keep repeating the word “timeless,” don’t I? If I were listening to my
inner editor I should immediately go back and erase the numberless usages, or
quickly think of some other word that would be better fitting for my sentences,
but at the moment I simply don’t mind. I don’t mind if I use the word “timeless”
once or a dozen times in this paragraph, for I belong to a timeless word where
time is too precious to be wasted fretting about silly things such as that- for
time is so precious as there is no time at all.
I’m
creating:
Well,
I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it before or not but next Monday is the 200th
anniversary of the publishing of Pride and Prejudice, so I rather thought I’d
write up a series of blog posts about various screen adaptations, but we’ll see
how far I get. I have a couple starts to them, a few sentences at the top of
the great many word documents I have open at this moment. The problem never is
the beginning though, it’s what comes after that is tricky. I’m also at work on
another knitted hat, exactly like the one I just finished, because that one
turned out so nice.
It
seems impossible that morning’s are ever stormy (of course they are and that
statement’s simply ridiculous, but at the moment it seems impossible) for the
pond is so glassy still, the trees all standing still and motionless as well,
not a single breeze to be seen. Everything is still, as it seems like it ought
to be in the morning time. Night and darkness is the time for wild winds and
rattling of windows as raindrops hit them in a fury, but morning is a time of
stillness, of awakening. You never see a thing wild with any great emotion just
as it first wakes, would it make sense for the world to be so? For the morning
to come roaring to life? To my mind it makes far more sense for it to wake
gradually, coming more and more to life as the minutes pass, but very still
just at first. Very still.
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