Update - My Hero Excerpt!

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Who has the most neglected blog on the internet, right?

I've learned that I punish myself for not writing by not allowing myself to make a blog post.

Which tells you just how long I went without writing.

But, for the past few days, I've been in a frenzy of writing productivity working on my long-overdue 2010 NaNo Novel!

Things are going very well. You would not believe how effective getting rid of Zach was.

I also changed a male character to a female character, which will make things a tiny bit tricky (you have no idea how annoying it is to have to change the masculine to feminine EVERYWHERE I've already written with this character).

I'll pause and explain WHY I did that.

I have 3 NaNoWriMo novels that are started and need to be rewritten to be finished. All three of those novels, 1) My Hero, 2) The Lion and the Frog, and 3) Leprechaun Holiday, have a 'big brother' character. This may have something to do with the fact that I don't have an older brother and have always wanted one.

Besides the 3 NaNo Novels, I have a 2-book set in my head based on the fairy tale Thumbelina, 4) Flower & Thorn, and 5) Tommelise, which will ALSO have a big brother character in it.

[Why are there too many story ideas and not enough time/energy to write them?]

So, I figured that wouldn't do. Books #2, #4, and #5 DEPEND on having a big brother character. So I'm working with what can be changed. Luckily, the fastest and easiest fix is to switch the big brother in My Hero to a big sister.

It actually makes more sense in the long run.

Yay!

Aside from those 5 potential novels, I actually have a musical in my head right now. The plot was originally from a story (obviously), but the story is about a couple who rashly decide to break their engagement off, and how they eventually learn they don't want to be with anyone else.

[WHY!?]

So, anyway, that's an update on what I'm working on.

And, to reward you for coming back to my blog after my embarrassing hiatus, I give you:

A NOVEL EXCERPT!

As usual, this is a first draft, so it may eventually be completely different, but for the time-being, its one of my favorite scenes I've written thus far. It's also one of those PAY ATTENTION BECAUSE EVERYTHING IN THIS SCENE WILL COME BACK AT SOME POINT IN THE BOOK scenes.

Enjoy!

“Look out!” a voice yelped.

Peach skidded to a stop right in front of Fr. Albert Gregg, the priest from Claypool who came to Bendbridge every Sunday to say the 10 a.m. Mass. Bendbridge had no priest of its own, only the big, broken down, supposedly haunted church. . Peach realized she and Sukie were nearly to the skate park – she was standing in the shadow of the St. Flannan’s Church steeple. Without thinking, Peach took a picture of Fr. Gregg’s startled face.

He laughed. “I look that good, huh?”

“Sorry, Father!” Peach cried. “I wasn’t watching where I was going,”

“No trouble,” he said. He lifted the stack of papers he held in his hands. “I’m just here to hang these around town,” He held one of them up, and Peach read the header quickly.  

ANNOUNCEMENT:

CHURCH OF ST. FLANNAN’S TO BE CLOSED AND DEMOLISHED SPRING 2011

Peach gasped involuntarily. “Oh my gosh – really?”

Fr. Gregg nodded, looking a little crestfallen. “Unfortunately, St. Flannan’s is being closed. The bishop sees no point in trying to keep it open. It needs too many repairs and doesn’t get enough donations,”

For some reason, Peach felt like crying. She wasn’t sure why. “I don’t want it to close,” she said sadly.

Fr. Gregg raised his eyebrows. “Do you go to church every Sunday, Patricia?”

Peach blushed, and shook her head sheepishly. “My mom works a lot of Sunday’s, and she wants me to stay home and clean for our renters, and…”

Fr. Gregg held up a hand to stop her. “I don’t need a confession, Patricia, I’m just trying to make a point. Very few people in Bendbridge even come to church every Sunday. And most of the people who do attend Mass drive to Claypool instead of going here in town. No one really likes the church. They all say it’s haunted. And maybe they’re right. Sometimes I’ve gotten plenty spooked in there. Anyway, it’ll be fine, Patricia. Anyone who is still interested in attending Mass can drive to Claypool either Saturday or Sunday,”

“Peach?” Sukie called from further down the sidewalk.

“Coming!” Peach replied, waving to her friend. She looked back at Fr. Gregg. “I’m still sorry. I’d go to Mass every day to keep it open. I’m going to miss it,”

Fr. Gregg smiled at her, and made her feel very stupid by patting her helmet. “Don’t get upset about any of it, Patricia. Keep reading your bible and praying, and everything will be fine,”

He hurried away into the Church, and Peach watched him go. She always felt like Fr. Gregg didn’t take anyone in Bendbridge seriously, and that made her sad, too.

She skated quickly to catch up with Sukie at the corner. They stopped to let some cars pass, and Peach found herself staring into the cemetery behind St. Flannan’s.

“What was that all about?” Sukie asked.

Peach sighed. “The church is going to close and they’re gonna tear it down in the spring,”

“Really?” Sukie sounded surprised. “Too bad. I wonder what they’ll put here instead. They can’t exactly move the cemetery,”

“I didn’t even think about that,” Peach said. Her Grandpa Roy’s grave was in the St. Flannan Cemetary. She hoped they didn’t stick a McDonalds or anything equally disrespectful in the center of town once the Church was gone. 

10 Ways to Seduce a Writer

This list is amazing. Just so you know, these aren't ways only to seduce writers...these would also work for anyone who wanted to become my best friend/favorite sister/brother/mother/father of the year.

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Composition Final Assignment, Senior Year

For one of my last assignments for composition, I had to write about what I think my 'writing voice' sounds like. So here is what I came up with after going back and rereading several things I've written over three years. My feelings are not hurt if you don't understand all of it...this was free-writing, so I wasn't even worried if things were spelled wrong. Imaginary Friend, Dust, The Tower Princess, Rapunzel Rapunzel, Cheesepuff, and Hot Air Balloon are all titles of things I've written, either poems, short stories, or novels. Maybe enjoy...if not, just know this is like an inside look at my brain.

Task 9.2

Something I definitely notice about my writing is REPETITION. From the repetition of phrases (Imaginary Friend, Dust, The Tower Princess [at the beginning]) to repetition of themes, such as curses, family problems, deep-rooted desires, popular older brothers you can’t compete with (My first two NaNo stories could have been morphed together without any issue)...stuff like that. I have things on my heart that stick, and so everything I write ends up having the same feelings, themes, ideas. I don’t know if that’s a bad thing. Maybe it means I’m just a one-hit wonder and once I get it perfect I’ll have to quit.

My writing voice sounds like the books I read (particular Gordon Korman, oddly enough. I’m thinking about Schooled, and I definitely see things there.), movies I watch (if dialogue inspires me I adapt it), conversations I have with people (mostly family). It all sounds so WANNABE. Its not particularly unique, but it does sound like me. I have more than one voice, but I’m not sure how many. I always have this angsty feel to what I write. Rapunzel, Rapunzel was an angst-fest. But that was one of my earliest books. I wish I could find my REALLY old novels that were basically Eragon knock-offs, just to see how far I’ve come.

My writing voice has changed by becoming more refined. I write things correctly, without five exclamation points or ALL CAPS WITH WORDS WRITTEN LIKE THIIIIISSSSSS TO ADD EMPHASIS WHERE NONE IS REALLY NEEDED ANYWAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Gosh, I feel like I’m reading Cheesepuff when I look at that sentence!

Since I don’t really know what my writing voice IS, its hard for me to say what parts ‘don’t sound like me’. Any part that’s really steamy or romantic often comes off cliche because I’m trying to write things I’ve never experienced, without consulting anyone who has. Movies are the LAST place to look for reality, that’s one thing I definitely know. I can’t access my Hot Air Balloon story right now, but I feel like that might be the best place to find ‘my voice’. Anyway....I know I use too many adverbs (anyone else notice how many times I use the word definitely in this?), not enough adjectives that actually work, and I rely too much on straight out TELLING the reader what is happening. I can show with words, but its best to use as few words as possible. I also struggle with making verbs work the way that they’re supposed to. I misuse them.

I know I’ve written to please an audience, and it just sounds pained. It’s like a dying whale gasping for breath even though it knows its a goner. I am only successful at writing when I have something to say, I know roughly what I WILL say, and I have time and resources to help me say it as clearly as possible. 

Reasons I shift into another voice? I hate the one I'm using. I will scrap pages of something if my main character starts off whiney I hate whiney main characters. I myself, the main character of my life, am pretty darn whiney, so they get it honestly. 

Oh, I also say 'I Think' and 'I Believe' more than should be legal in one essay.

The Man Who Was Thursday, Final Paper Assignment

Hello everyone! I owe this blog a post. It is now Holy Week...we are days away from Easter! Yay!

Yesterday I finally finished my last assignment for G. K. Chesterton's short novel, The Man Who Was Thursday: A Nightmare. It took me a really long time to figure out my paper topic, and now that it is complete, I'm very proud of it and wanted to share it with you. Enjoy!

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3/26/13

Literature Qtr 3 Week 7 Paper

G. K. Chesterton’s The Man Who Was Thursday: A Nightmare, is the story of seven anarchists who are not really anarchists. The driving force behind the action, terror, mystery and drama of the story is the giant, mysterious gentleman called Sunday. However, we never really know what or who Sunday is. We know he is the leader of the famed and feared Seven Days Council and gathers the heroic detectives who represent the days of the week, making them believe each of the others is a murderous anarchist. At the same time, Sunday is the wise and kind “man in the dark” who called each of the detectives into the police force. Because Sunday is the one thing we never have answers about but the thing we desire most to understand, I believe that Chesterton means what he says in subtitling the story A Nightmare, and that Sunday’s role lies in his possession of the truly nightmarish essence of the tale.

At the end of The Man Who Was Thursday, all seven men are gathered together and dressed in beautiful robes that represent the day of Creation they stand for. Sunday is the Sabbath, the day God rested. He tells the detectives that he is “the peace of God that surpasses all understanding.” When his back is turned, he seems terrifying, and evil. Face to face, he is still terrifying because of his massiveness, but there is something about his face that makes all of the detectives think of the good. Because Sunday seems to mirror the incomprehensible vastness of God, many people believed that his role in the story is that of a Deity. But Chesterton, in an article published in the Illustrated London News, explained that this was not the truth. “It was a very melodramatic sort of moonshine, but it had a kind of notion in it; and the point is that it described, first a band of the last champions of order fighting against what appeared to be a world of anarchy, and then the discovery that the mysterious master both of the anarchy and the order was the same sort of elemental elf who had appeared to be rather too like a pantomime ogre.  This line of logic, or lunacy, led many to infer that this equivocal being was meant for a serious description of the Deity; and my work even enjoyed a temporary respect among those who like the Deity to be so described. But this error was entirely due to the fact that they had read the book but had not read the title page. The book was called The Man Who Was Thursday:  A Nightmare.”

That is not to say that the story has no meaning, though Chesterton wrote it to have the discordance and confusion of a nightmare. Throughout The Man Who Was Thursday, the main characters are repeatedly faced with what at first seems to be true evil. But every time, they find there is just a clever trick or a simple misunderstanding that reveals that what they thought was evil is really good. Many people might believe that, by this, Chesterton means to say that evil does not exist; it is only a mask that good sometimes wears. But this is not the case. What Chesterton illustrates in this is that the power of evil means nothing. It would not matter if all but a few good men were left in the world; the greatest power of evil is weaker than the weakest power of good. This partially explains the role of Sunday; he’s supposed to scare us, confuse us, surprise us, and then leave us guessing. Although he could manipulate the detectives, we see that he had no power to harm them. Evil is real, and it can be corruptive and harmful, but evil has no power over us until we welcome it.

In conclusion, The Man Who Was Thursday only makes sense when we look at it as a nightmare. It is a fantastic and funny tale, with heroism and courage and wonderful characters. But Chesterton did not write it to be a funny mystery story. The story is not a good dream; it is a nightmare. Chesterton said of this perplexing masterpiece of his, “It was not intended to describe the real world as it was, or as I thought it was, even when my thoughts were considerably less settled than they are now. It was intended to describe the world of wild doubt and despair which the pessimists were generally describing at that date; with just a gleam of hope in some double meaning of the doubt, which even the pessimists felt in some fitful fashion.” Sunday is, therefore, the embodiment of this ‘wild doubt and despair’ with ‘just a gleam of hope’, the vehicle for Chesterton’s intentions in writing such an imaginative story.

NaNoWriMo 2012: Character Reveal

First December character reveal anyone?

Introducing the closest thing to a legitimate villain in my very weird, unconventional novel...Professor David Bunk!

David was made at elouai.com

Age: 37 

(this is a rough estimate, I haven't exactly calculated how old he is)

Story Role: Mysterious Stranger/Intellectual/Antagonist      

Archetype: 10. The Sage

Motto: The truth will set you free

Core desire: to find the truth.

Goal: to use intelligence and analysis to understand the world.

Biggest fear: being duped, misled—or ignorance.

Strategy: seeking out information and knowledge; self-reflection and understanding thought processes.

Weakness: can study details forever and never act.

Talent: wisdom, intelligence.

The Sage is also known as: The expert, scholar, detective, advisor, thinker, philosopher, academic, researcher, thinker, planner, professional, mentor, teacher, contemplative.

Physical

Eyes: Brown    Hair:  Light brown

Height: 5”8   Build: Average

Professor David Bunk is a strange and mysterious fellow, who, for the first half of the book is believed to be a psychotic stalker who is following Padraig around Europe. As it turns out, this is pretty much true. Prof. Bunk has been trying to prove for the past 25 years that leprechauns exist, and Padraig Offaly is all the proof he needs. 

NaNoWriMo 2012: The Nineteenth Chapter

This is the entire nineteenth chapter of my NaNo Novel, Leprechaun Holiday. It is one of my favorite scenes in my novel, because its a really heartfelt piece, for both me and Padraig Offaly.
At a certain point a few days before NaNoWriMo story started, I got this idea in my head called 'The Superman Complex'.
Superman has a lot of amazing powers, but whenever he uses them, he vanishes. No one ever gets to thank the hero, and they never truly understand him.
One of the biggest plot points in my novel is that my Leprechaun grants wishes, and every time he does, he runs away. He has a Superman Complex. So this is the scene that I wrote embodying that whole idea. It is set at the Eiffel Tower in Paris, France. It is early December.
Enjoy!

The Nineteenth Chapter

The Leprechaun and the ‘Superman Complex’

Padraig needed some fresh air. He left the apartment late during the evening, around 9:30 p.m., and walked to the Eiffel Tower. It was not something he had planned on doing, but everything had gone so completely and unexpectedly wrong, he figured it might be worth trying something completely unexpected. On his way there, he bought a tall bottle of beer.

The tower looked just like it did in all those romantic pictures of Paris at night. There was hardly a soul around for once, and Padraig went up to the left front support of the tower and sat down on the steps tiredly. A small line of people was going in at the ticket counter, but Padraig didn’t feel like going up just yet. So he just sat in the glow of the Eiffel Tower, drinking his beer, and thinking, for a long time.

He thought about what his life had been like five years ago, and before that fateful day. The day Edwin died.

As he followed his gloomy, nostalgic train of thought, for some reason he started to think about Superman.  He remembered being seven years old and thinking Superman was the greatest thing in the world. He would watch the old cartoons with his dad on Saturday mornings. But what he was really thinking about was this; I’m just like Superman. I have an incredible gift, but I’m the only one. And whenever I use it to help anyone, I have to leave. I just run away. I never let anyone thank me. I never let anyone really know me. Because I’m the only one. No one can help me. No one can show me who I am. I’m the only one with super strength and heat vision. No one will ever understand how it feels.

But every time Superman saved Lois Lane, even though he flew away and she never got to thank him, he always saw her again. Once upon a time, that had been Padraig, too. He’d grant a wish, need to run away, but he could return. All the times he’d granted Edwin one more little wish, just to help his best friend one more time. All the mornings he stuck a coin in Mrs. Walsh’s mailbox for her to find, just so she could pay the rent one more time. All the Sundays he dropped a little gold coin in the offering plate, knowing Mr. Doherty, the parish treasurer, would put it to good use.

All that had stopped after Edwin died. The Superman Complex had changed dramatically. He still ran away; but these days, he never came back.

Now, his ‘super powers’ were more like his personal kryptonite than anything else.

“Superman was really lucky,” Padraig murmured softly to himself. “I think that’s the big difference between him and me,”

But, there was one thing about Superman no one could ever deny. No matter what, he did the right thing. He kept his promises, he paid for his mistakes, and he always managed to save the day.

Padraig finished his beer, and got up to throw the bottle in a waste bin. Then he went into the ticket office, and bought a ticket to the top of the tower. He took the elevator up and just stood up there for a long time, staring out at all the glittering, golden lights of Paris. If he leaned forward and held out his arms, it was like he was flying.

At 10:45, someone came up to him and explained that the tower was closing in fifteen minutes, and he needed to head down. Padraig did, and then just sat down on the steps again. He thought about everything and everyone. He thought about poor missing Deirdre. He thought about Leal and Sandrine. He thought about Stian and his amazing magical powers. He thought about his parents; his mother who understood him too well and his father who didn’t understand him at all. He thought about Barbara Peplum, especially her huge head of curly hair and the way it bounced when she moved. He thought about Edwin. My goodness, he hadn’t thought about Edwin so long and hard in many, many years.

And he thought about Superman.

By morning, Padraig had made up his mind. It was time to be Superman. It was time to do the right thing, even if it hurt, and especially because it would mean making a sacrifice. 

NaNoWriMo 2012, FINAL DAY...

I have won. My word count is 50,048.

Is my novel done? No. I might end up with 100,000 words before this story is complete, but in spite of a violent attack of the flu, hosting an entire NET team over Thanksgiving, and moving to a new house with one week of notice, I have, by the grace of God, done it. 

The Leprechaun Holiday will continue until Padraig is safely back in Ireland and they all get a reasonably happy ending.

I love NaNoWriMo. 

NaNoWriMo Day 16: BOOK TRAILER

Well, instead of actually writing, which is what I should have been doing, I made my NaNo Novel a trailer. 

It was a lot of fun, so I figure it was worth getting a little behind on my word count to finish up. Unfortunately, I have no way of posting it to this blog, but I was able to post it to my tumblr, and here is a link for it! Feel free to watch it and tell me what you think! 

My family loves it, and my mom is pestering me to let her read the book as soon as December 1st gets here. I have agreed to this only because I need someone to edit it for me. 

My current word count is 24,329, and it should be at least 26,672, but I have a quiet house today, so I'll be working ahead, hopefully enough that I won't have to write so much during the Thanksgiving holiday, as we're having a lot of company over!

Would anyone care for an excerpt to go with their trailer? Note that 'eejit' is the Irish pronunciation of 'idiot'. Enjoy!

Finally, it was time for Padraig to be on his way. He hung the pink/red plaid duffel over his right shoulder and held his suitcase in his left hand. That was all he had, and, hopefully, all he’d need. The suitcase was heavy. His back pocket seemed even heavier, holding that bleedin’ Visa card with who-knew-how-much money just waiting for him to spend all over Europe.

Gosh, his back hurt.

He stood in front of his family’s tiny white cottage with its gray roof, surrounded by meadows where the ship grazed. He just stood there, waiting to start off down the road.

He looked at his family, who were eagerly taking pictures of him and giving last-minute advice. Ruari finally remembered to say, “Get me something everywhere you go! It doesn’t matter what, just get me something, as long as its not really made in China! Promise me!”

Padraig sighed. “I promise Ruari.” He set his duffel and suitcase down, and opened his arms up. “Come here,”

Ruari took and running start and tackled him, which was surprisingly painful considering she only weighed about thirty-six kilograms. He held his baby sister tight, his heart pounding painfully inside his chest. He was going to miss the little devil so much. She talked his ear off and made him promise all sorts of ridiculous things, but he didn’t mind. He even forgave her for sitting on him at 7:30 in the morning.

Next he hugged his dad one more time, though they said nothing to each other.

Then he hugged his mother tight, nodded at everything she said, and assured her he’d be better when he got home. Better. Maybe that was a promise he could actually keep.

Finally, he opened his arms up and smiled at Deirdre, but she just looked at him, her eyes filled with anger and worry. “Bye, Porry,” she said.

“Didi,” he said. “Don’t I get a hug?”

Reluctantly, she went to him and wrapped her arms around him. “Eejit baby brother. You better be happy when you come home. I miss the happy Porry,”
“I’ll try,” he said. She tried to pull away, and he hugged her tighter. “Deirdre,” he whispered. “Are you really okay?”

Deirdre shook her head. “No. But you’re leaving. It’s not your problem, Padraig. Go and get better. Go.”

She pushed him gently but firmly away and walked back into the house.

Padraig watched her go, than saluted weakly to his parents and Ruari. Then he picked up his bags and turned his back on Slieve Bloom. He walked quickly, listening to Aoifa call out after him and Ruari singing him The Parting Glass, but he didn’t look back once. He didn’t look back, because he knew if he did, he would start crying and he might never stop. He hadn’t cried in five years and he didn’t want to ever do it again.

He had a three day walk ahead of him and a tight schedule, and his back was killing him. 

NaNoWriMo Day 12: Character Reveal!

Introducing our Leading Lady, the main Female Character who is quite frankly more fabulous than I will EVER be...Barbara Peplum!

Barbara was made at http://elouai.com/

Age: 22 DOB: 2-7-1990


Story Role: Female Protagonist    

Archetype: 5. The Explorer
Motto: Don’t fence me in
Core desire: the freedom to find out who you are through exploring the world
Goal: to experience a better, more authentic, more fulfilling life
Biggest fear: getting trapped, conformity, and inner emptiness
Strategy: journey, seeking out and experiencing new things, escape from boredom
Weakness: aimless wandering, becoming a misfit
Talent: autonomy, ambition, being true to one’s soul
The explorer is also known as: The seeker, iconoclast, wanderer, individualist, pilgrim.


Physical
Eyes: Brown    Hair:  Curly, curly, CURLY ash brown
Height: 5”5   Build: Curvy


A little bit about Barbara: Barbara is a very talented singer and actress from the Twin Cities in Minnesota. When Padraig runs into her in London, she is going throughout Europe singing to raise money for a school for disabled children back in her hometown. She is due for a surgery on her throat when she gets home, as her voice has been overused. Barbara is an independent, confident young woman, but she is troubled by how fortunate she is when the rest of her friends and family have suffered so much.

Word Count: Currently 19,301. Padraig and Stian are about to go a little crazy in the English countryside, and there will be Deep Personal Sharing, which is like my favorite thing ever.

In other news, I just packed a whole box filled with clothes in preparation for moving out sometime in the near future (nothing definite, but its amazing how much room I have now that most of my clothes are packed away). I miss my best friend (I love you!). I read 100 pages, wrote two papers, and recited a poem today. And I just ripped seven CD's to my laptop. All while writing a 50,000 word novel.

Amen.

NaNoWriMo 2012: STORY ANNOUNCEMENT!

In 2010, it was My Hero. 

In 2011, it was The Lion and the Frog. 

This year, 2012, it is......

I am terrifically excited about this one! It follows the story of a (yet unnamed) leprechaun who, after a series of unfortunate events, is diagnosed as depressed. His friends and family urge him to take a 'holiday', something almost unheard of for a modern-day leprechaun, who is very busy keeping from being noticed, granting wishes to the deserving, and protecting his gold. All the misconceptions about leprechauns can be so terribly tiresome, you know. 

His attempts to have a proper holiday lead him to many unexpected adventures and very good friends. Everything would be rosy...except that a leprechaun who grants wishes to those in need must always move on in the end. 

Always remember....not all the Irish are lucky. 

A Tale of Two Cities

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times..."

I finished reading A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens yesterday afternoon. I had to read it for my Senior Year Literature class. I was convinced I was not going to like it at all, because I read Oliver Twist in like, 8th grade, and was, quite frankly, not ready to appreciate great literature. I also 'sort of'' read A Christmas Carol, but I mostly skimmed it because of my intense dislike of Oliver Twist.

So, yep, I finished the book....

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I'm not even kidding. 

This was my favorite (and also the most heart-wrenching) part:

The supposed Evremonde descends, and the seamstress is lifted out next after him. He has not relinquished her patient hand in getting out, but still holds it as he promised. He gently places her with her back to the crashing engine that constantly whirrs up and falls, and she looks into his face and thanks him.

"But for you, dear stranger, I should not be so composed, for I am naturally a poor little thing, faint of heart; nor should I have been able to raise my thoughts to Him who was put to death, that we might have hope and comfort here to-day. I think you were sent to me by Heaven."

"Or you to me," says Sydney Carton. "Keep your eyes upon me, dear child, and mind no other object."

"I mind nothing while I hold your band. I shall mind nothing when I let it go, if they are rapid."

"They will be rapid. Fear not!"

......

"You comfort me so much! I am so ignorant. Am I to kiss you now? Is the moment come?"

"Yes."

She kisses his lips; he kisses hers; they solemnly bless each other. The spare hand does not tremble as he releases it; nothing worse than a sweet, bright constancy is in the patient face. She goes next before him- is gone; the knitting-women count Twenty-Two.

"I am the Resurrection and the Life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die."

The murmuring of many voices, the upturning of many faces, the pressing on of many footsteps in the outskirts of the crowd, so that it swells forward in a mass, like one great heave of water, all flashes away. Twenty-Three. (The Footsteps Die Out, A Tale of Two Cities) source

Sydney Carton is sitting in the prison, waiting to be executed so the woman he loves won't lose her husband. He starts talking to the seamstress. They ride to the place of execution with 53 other innocent people. They're standing at the scaffolding, waiting to die. They are just standing there, talking to each other like nothing in the world is wrong. And than he kisses her goodbye, and in less than ten seconds, they're both dead.

I completely lost it. I finished the book and wandered around my room (which is quite small) for almost ten minutes, just sobbing. It positively rendered my heart in two. 

That book was seriously the most fantastic piece of literature on the face of the planet. I couldn't even write my paper on it yesterday...I felt like my heart had been dragged across a mile of gravel. It was so incredible, and I felt like I was there for pretty much the entire book. I couldn't keep from imagining how I would feel if I was in Sydney Carton's place...but especially the seamstress's place. I would be so terrified. And there's nothing I like better than a book that makes me feel and see and hear exactly what is going on. 

What's interesting is this book almost killed my best friend, because he hated it. Well, it almost killed me, too, but definitely NOT because I didn't enjoy it. 

I usual don't like things that are 'popular' in literature, but I completely understand why this novel is as famous and highly revered as it is.  I feel horrible for every time I said "Dickens is boring" before now. I can't say I enjoyed Oliver Twist at all, or that I put any effort into reading A Christmas Carol, but this book? It is flawless.

"It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; 

it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known."

I thought my hair was long...

But....

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Not anymore. 

My mom has been telling me to look up Crystal Gale for years, and I finally did it. Oh my goodness. I WISH my hair was that long. 

And that's kind of always been an aspiration of mine.

When I was little, I would read this book called Coal Mine Peaches

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And IN this book, the main character's grandfather is telling her about when he met her grandmother. She had hair long enough she could sit on it.

For some reason, the thought of having hair so long you could sit on it was absolutely enchanting to me. It still is, weirdly enough.

And then, y'know, there's Rapunzel's hair...

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*sigh*

Yeah. Perspective blown. My hair really isn't that long. 

Books + Art = PERFECT

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Oh my goodness.

THIS is my kind of art. 

Because if you fold the person back down, the book is still perfectly usable. The figures don't make sense on their own...they only reveal the story when they two books are opened together.

Wow. 

I'm kind of in love with this.

Someone restrain me...I'm thinking of expendable books in our house...

Composition Qtr 3 Week 5 Composition, Fictional Character

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In 2006, Kate DiCamillo wrote a book called The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane. A friend had given her as a gift a lovely china rabbit, and one night, Kate dreamed that the rabbit was lying face down on the bottom of the ocean. She wrote his story to find out how he got there.

            The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane by Kate DiCamillo is a very moving, beautiful story about a china rabbit named Edward. Edward Tulane was a very fine, beautiful rabbit who lived on Egypt Street. He had been specially ordered for a little girl named Abilene by her grandmother. He was white, with beautiful blue painted eyes, and was made entirely out of china, except for his whiskers and real rabbit-fur ears. He was pampered beyond luxury by his adoring mistress, but he did not love her. Abilene loved Edward more than anything else in the world, but Edward loved only himself. Pellegrina, Abilene’s grandmother, was gravely disappointed in Edward, because his purpose had been to love Abilene and care for her. She warned Edward what could happen to those who refused to love, but he didn’t listen. And one day, Edward was lost. The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane is the story of how he was found again, and how he learned to love.

            Edward is the kind of character with a well-guarded heart. He is so frozen in selfishness, because his heart is just as breakable as the rest of him, that he is incapable of any feelings. The first feeling he experiences in his story is fear, and he slowly allows his hard china heart feel gratitude, and joy, and at long last, love. Slowly, very slowly, Edward comes to life. His journey from being aloof and self-centered to loving and grateful is a truly miraculous one filled with achingly beautiful characters who all teach Edward something about being willing to risk a fragile heart to loving, losing, and loving again anyway.

            As I went along with Edward on his miraculous journey, meeting fishermen and hobos and children, I saw a lot of myself in him. I recognized his unwillingness to love, because loving is hard, and it can hurt us very badly. I recognized his selfishness, and I understood his desire to be detached from the world, where he and his fragile little heart would be safe. But Edward was able to love, even after his heart was broken. The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane is a very simple, very short tale, but to this day, it has greatly impacted me. It made me see myself differently, because it forced me to think of how I have often been blinded to beauty, and it made me see stories differently, because at some points, you forget it is a story and feel you are right there with Edward. I will always remember how it felt to go from being angry with Edward, to feeling sorry for him, and finally rejoicing with him when he is found. Edward found his way into my heart, and I think he will always have a place there. 

A few of the books I will share with my children...

* When Frank Was Four, Celeste Sails to Spain, and all the other books I can find by Alison Lester.

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* Each Peach Pear Plum by Janet Ahlberg

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* Anything by Kate DiCamillo, particularly The Adventures of Bink and Gollie, The Tale of Despereaux, and The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane. 

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* The Chronicles of Narnia, by C. S. Lewis

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* I'd Really Like to Eat a Child by Sylviane Donnio

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* Our Tree Named Steve, by Alan Zweibel

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* The many literary works of Rick Riordan, Gail Carson Levine, and Shannen Hale

* Frindle by Andrew Clements. And all his other books.

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* Drums, Girls and Dangerous Pie and Notes From The Midnight Driver by Jordan Sonnenblick

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* Charlottes Web, The Trumpet of the Swan, Stuart Little, by E. B. White

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There are so many more. But I think that's a good start.

Books. Books! BOOKS!

I like books.

I haven't read a lot recently...I got into the habit of reading very slowly (which would always annoy my sisters and mom when we were all reading the same book and I was taking forever to finish it...). But I've started to break that habit, and I thought I'd share my most recent reads.

What I read last:

The Weka-Feather Cloak, Leo Madigan.

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What I'm currently reading:

Sun Slower Sun Faster, Meriol Trevor

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What I'll be reading next:

Uprising, Margaret Haddix

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And

A Countess Below Stairs, Eva Ibbotson

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And, my current 'improve thy skills', 'oh my gosh this book is AWESOME' book:

Rip the Page!, Karen Benke

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Ah, Books...how I love thee.