Dear Lucy Maud Montgomery,

Dear Mrs. Montgomery,
There are many authors who I could have chosen to write this first letter to; authors who I regard with more than a little awe. Authors who's work I have loved, that has inspired me, and makes me want to write- to create the beauty of those words strung together for my own. (Though at the same time striking such awe into me that it seems a desecration to even think of calling myself a writer, when they are called such.)

You were the only one I considered though. You have the first place in my heart, the first mention in my ramblings, and this, my first letter of October, belongs to you.

Your books have been such friends to me that through them I feel as if we were friends. I can imagine you wandering through the fields muttering dialogue to yourself, and sitting down to write. To write Anne, Emily and Valency, those characters so very real to me that they, as well as you, feel to be my very dearest of friends.

If I were ever to have met you, I would no doubt, have said "Mrs. Montgomery," in such a way as I begin my letter, and it would have been all that is most horrendously forward and presumptuous to even think of referring to you as "Maud." (Doesn't it make you just cringe when you hear someone who is writing an article or biography refer to that person by their first name? I always feel rather indignant "How dare you refer to Jane Austen, JANE AUSTEN, as Jane. As if you had that right. *indignant sniff* That's Miss Jane Austen, to you Sir or Madam." but as I am writing a letter, a letter that is already traveling back in time to reach you, I feel that it wouldn't be a stretch of the imagination to go back further to when you were a little girl and "Maud" and me being of much the same age as you, I would be "Emily." I think we would have been the best of friends.

I remember reading once that you always felt that you identified the very most with "Emily" out of your characters. Do you know, growing up she was one of my least favorite. I loved all your books of course, but back then I was especially attached to Anne and the Story Girl. It's been a while since I've read your Emily books (I have them on my nightstand, and I'm going to be reading them again next) but as I've gotten older I've appreciated Emily much more, and, I think, started identifying with her in a way I never did growing up. Maybe it's because Emily and I have much more similarity than I ever thought we did, that I always liked Anne better? You know, how you can be friends with the most dissimilar of people because you each admire the other for their strengths, while they might not be your own. Kindred Spirits, even though personality can be very different. Perhaps what draws me to Emily now is not personality (though there is some of that) but that Emily has more than just a liking of writing, she has this need to write. It was part of her- in that way that it is a part of me. I think too, that while Emily enjoys being surrounded with people, enjoys spending time with those she cares the most about, after a while she needs to be on her own and sort things out.

Your writing is beautiful, dear Mrs. Montgomery, I would read anything you wrote. In fact I think I've read practically ever story of yours (I especially love your short stories). I love reading stories about you too, but I couldn't read your journals. It would have been different if you had gotten around to editing them for the public, but those were yours, they weren't intended for any eye but your own. It almost makes me sick to think about prying eyes falling upon your heart and soul that you had transformed into words. I wish, oh how I wish someone had kept them from being published. I remember when I discovered them I read your recordings about your childhood days quite happily, and I was so happy to have discovered something about you in your own writing, but I decided after a while that you wouldn't have wanted me to read any further. So I stopped. I wouldn't have wanted anyone reading those words that I had clearly written as a way of thinking- a way of sorting through emotions that seemed impossible to understand and letting go of things that I had been bottling up inside. Those journals weren't for me to read, and they weren't for anyone else.

Much as I should love to keep writing to you, dear, I'm afraid I must finish off here. I only want to add how thankful I am that you wrote, and that you wrote such dear beautiful things as Anne and the rest. Thank you ever so much. You will always remain one of my very favorite authors, and have been ever since my Mom first read me Anne of Green Gables such a very long time ago. As I have grown older I have learned to love other books, but yours will always have that special place in my heart as being one of my first loves. Books that only get better with each reading.

Much Love,
Emily

"Emily, Awaken!"

The clock on the wall is ticking steadily on. Watch the second hand makes its round, now the minute hand is moving too, and now the hour is a thing of the past. A blog waits for promised posts, the girl who has promised to write so consistently? Nowhere to be found.

 

I beg pardon, this girl is quite easily found. It is true, however, she is not to be found with her fingers tapping away at her keyboard, but asleep on her bed.  She has gone off to have a long fall nap, a winter hibernation, and as she is properly bear like, she is not to be woken easily.

There she goes, hiding from the sunlight in a mountain of blankets, a fan roars like a hurricane, blowing the icy winds about her. The covers move, out pokes a bare foot, testing the open air. Will she awaken? Is the sunshine enough to open her eyes? Your question shows how little you know of Emily.

The door to her chambers is opened, her mountain of covers has been destroyed by a merciless hand. With a swift twist of a knob her hurricane has been silenced. “Emily, awaken!” comes a voice, much too cheerful when used in such a purpose. Oh cruel world, that wakes one with no true loves kiss to soften the blow.

On second thought, even true loves kiss is most definitely not worth waking up for. Sleeping Beauty and Snow White must have been awfully nutty.

 

 

As for Emily, she sleepeth on.

 

 

I’m listening to…

 I have just discovered how much I love listening to poems put to music. For the past week my favorite station on Pandora has been the Loreena McKennit one. I think it’s so beautiful because besides being lovely to listen to, each song is a story. Well, that can be said of almost every type of music, but it’s like reading a classic in comparison to a recent bestseller novel. I'm not saying one is better than the other, but listening to beautiful ballads of brave knights and fair ladies is quite delightful. I have to say, when simply reading poetry my mind sometimes wanders. I have a harder time of slipping into the story and living and breathing it like I do with prose, but with a musical accompaniment I find it easier to imagine out the story and enjoy the meter and rhythm to it. I'm not entirely sure why this is, but all I know is I find it much easier to sink into the tale when hearing it sung to me, rather than reading it myself. Though, I do like having the poem on hand if I miss a line or two.

 

 

 

I'm reading...

 

 

 

 

Emily of New Moon: Oh, my dear L. M. Montgomery, you know I can only survive being parted from your books for so long. I remember a time when 'Emily of New Moon' was one of my least favorite, actually, but with each reading I love it more.

 

 

Common Sense 101 (Lessons from G. K. Chesterton): Again, a post due soon. Again, really a must read.

 

Party Shoes: NOEL STREATFEILD WROTE A BOOK THAT I HAVEN'T READ YET? MUST READ.

 

 

Decline and Fall: After reading Brideshead Revisited I've always wanted to read another of Evelyn Waugh's books. I'm excited to start this one.

 

The Short Stories of F. Scott Fitzgerald: I'm only about a hundred pages away from the end of this book. I've really enjoyed these. There's a couple that I've liked especially. My favorite are the few where he bamboozles you (isn't bamboozle an interesting word?) with some outrageous happening which turns out to be all the work of the character's imagination, and trickery of some other character. (The Offshore Pirate, Rags Martin-Jones and the Pr-nce of W-les) I also quite like Bernice Bobs Her Hair. I just bought the movie Midnight in Paris which has Scott Fitzgerald as a character, so it's been fun to read some of his stories after watching that movie again.

 

Brideshead Revisited: I just really want to read this book again.

 

The Fault in Our Stars: I just finished reading this one and honestly I haven't really sorted out my thoughts on it entirely. I felt like the book captured the characters very well, without my ever feeling precisely fond of them. Perhaps simply because they and I would not be "Kindred Spirits," if we were to meet. We would have different life-styles, values and what-not. That doesn't make me not appreciate them, as characters I felt very much as if they captured a very real sort of person, and also exemplified the author's main focus of questions on life and death. I got rather tired of the amount of sentences begining with 'and' or 'but' (which really ought to be an exception to the rule rather than the rule itself) and fragment sentences. (I feel rather guilty writing this as I know I'm a far from perfect writer myself...but...) Anyhow, I'm still deciding what I really think about it, so enough for now.

 

A Picture thought I'm sharing...

 

 

I just felt like taking a picture of some crayons.

 

 

 



 

 

 

A New Year- A New Blog

I have to say that the beginning of this new blog does rather have the affect of making me feel rather fickle-minded. Especially considering the vast amount of time I spent perfecting my last, but that is in fact the real reason I have decided to create a new blog entirely. I think most bloggers, when they get tired (as everyone eventually does) of their theme, or their title, or any other aspect of their blog, simply make the few editing changes and voila! enjoy the delightful newness of it all. (Newness doesn't seem like it ought to be a word, does it? I have just assured myself that it is indeed an actual word, in the dictionary no less, but still, there is a discordant sound to it. I'm not sure why this is. If I had not decided to remark on it I would most likely change my word choice, but having pointed it out the word shall stay.)

Of course, I could quite easily do as I was just supposing that other bloggers do; namely, do a little editing and change it all up. The trouble is, while I desperately want something new to look at and create posts for, I really do love my old blog. I spent hours fiddling with the settings, learning how to create it into what it is now. I went through dozens and dozens of pictures to find just the right ones to turn them into my header, and spent much thinking time on coming up with a title I liked properly. I don't want to let go of any of that, and I rather want to have it to go back to, thus my reasoning of creating a new blog entirely.

I don't mean for this to seem as if I were giving up on that blog- moving on is a better way to describe it.

I feel as if I were a different person, needing a different sort of blog and for a different sort of reason. (Not to mention my other blog was beginning to feel just a little cluttered to me. I wanted something with cleaner lines, simpler, less cluttered if that makes sense. I'm also going to try tagging my posts properly with this blog, don't even ask my about the tags on my other, they were a hopeless mess!) This year, my last year of high school, I want to spend some more time blogging, but writing up lengthier and more frequent posts. Perhaps they will be a little less well thought out, as I'm also planning on attempting to sit down and write and then post, rather than thinking over an idea for weeks and weeks and perhaps never actually writing it up (yes, this was a great difficulty of mine last year.) and I needed some change to inspire me.

Sometimes change is such a nice thing. (This is why I have a habit of moving my bed around the room every few months or so. I like looking at different corners of my wall. It feels like an entirely different room looking from the right side as compared to the left side. Really, it's remarkable.) I like the feeling of starting something new, of beginning over, of opening a new book. It's the most discouraging thing in all the world if you are to open a textbook from last year and have to start up in the middle. You have all your smudges and mistakes and misspellings to come back and haunt you as you turn the pages. Opening a new book though! A thing most delightful! Glancing through the crisp unmarked pages, taking out that first sharp pencil, it is those things that make starting up school again in the fall a thing of joy!

All this is to account for the reasoning behind a new blog.

Those ardent admirers of Lucy Maud Montgomery will note that the quote (and title that finds it's origins in the said quote) are to be put under that great lady's name. I always liked Anne's ramblings about the 'bend in the road' and 'one chapter ending the next begining' (she says something like that towards the end of Anne of Avonlea, doesn't she? It's one of my favorite scenes.) This particular quote is to be found in the first Anne book, Anne of Green Gables, if anyone happened to be in doubt. All of which reminds me (as did looking through my copies to find the right quote) that I really must reread all of my favorite L. M. Montgomery's sometime very soon. It's been too long. For now- bed. There shall be time for more post writing, quote infatuation, book love, and general ramblings tomorrow.