My least favourite book is Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen.
(Shh… Listen… Do you hear that? That’s the sound of every single English teacher and almost every single woman in the world screaming in outrage. Ah well… Each to their own, right?)
- Love The Bad Guy
Awww… This is cruel. Who has only one favourite book? Seriously.
Okay, okay. Let’s see… I very much enjoyed The Strange Case of Dr Jekyl and Mr Hyde by Robert J. Stevenson. Ditto for Breath by Tim Winton, as well as The Time-Traveller’s Wife by Audrey Niffenegger. And the Harry Potter series, of course. But my favourite book right now (right now… It changes often) is:
Wicked Lovely (and the other four books in the series) by Melissa Marr
The story is compelling, the characters are intriguing, and the cover art is simply beautiful. And I do love me some supernatural/fantasy romance!
- Love The Bad Guy
While browsing through the blog, Dodging Commas, I came across an interesting, random little doohickey called the 30 Day Book Challenge. I do enjoy random doohickeys, so I decided to give it a go! The basic outline is below; have a crack on your own blog, if the desire grabs you, or feel free to leave a comment with your answer for the day’s challenge.
Day 1: Favourite book
Day 2: Least favourite book
Day 3: Book that makes you laugh out loud
Day 4: Book that makes you cry
Day 5: Book you wish you could live in
Day 6: Favourite young adult book
Day 7: Book that you can quote/recite
Day 8: Book that scares you
Day 9: Book that makes you sick
Day 10: Book that changed your life
Day 11: Book from your favourite author
Day 12: Book that is most like your life
Day 13: Book whose main character is most like you
Day 14: Book whose main character you want to marry
Day 15: First “chapter book” you can remember reading as a child
Day 16: Longest book you’ve read
Day 17: Shortest book you’ve read
Day 18: Book you’re most embarrassed to say you like
Day 19: Book that turned you on
Day 20: Book you’ve read the most number of times
Day 21: Favourite picture book from childhood
Day 22: Book you plan to read next
Day 23: Book you tell people you’ve read, but haven’t (or haven’t actually finished)
Day 24: Book that contains your favourite scene
Day 25: Favourite book you read in school
Day 26: Favourite nonfiction book
Day 27: Favourite fiction book
Day 28: Last book you read
Day 29: Book you’re currently reading
Day 30: Favourite coffee table book
Gauntlet thrown – let the challenge begin!
- Love The Bad Guy
Good morning, starshine! I have been a busy little bee lately, studying for exams and learning the ropes at a new job and what not, but I am finally here with another little something for you to read. As usual, I would be insanely ecstatic for any comments/constructive criticism that you have to offer. Other than that, enjoy!
“White roses are a symbol of eternal love, did you know that?”
Emily distractedly wiped her hands on her apron and turned as Andrew entered the kitchen with a Cheshire-cat grin upon his face. “Is that right?” she questioned lightly, tilting her head with bemusement.
“Yes, a white rose represents purity, innocence, love beyond death, and… other stuff,” he finished lamely. She frowned curiously until he pulled from behind his back a single, beautiful, white rose.
She gasped appreciatively, taking it with eager hands. “Oh, it’s gorgeous! Thank you,” she trilled. “What’s the occasion?”
“Do I need an occasion to give a lovely flower to a lovely girlfriend?” Andrew asked, faking insult. Emily folded her arms and stared until he confessed, somewhat guiltily, “Okay, truth is, I found it as the bus stop just now, but it’s the thought that counts.”
Any complaints that Emily may have had were cut off by a deep and gentle kiss.
* * *
Marie was perched on the edge of the bus stop bench, and had been for some time. She was waiting for a bus; more specifically, she was waiting for the bus that would finally bring her husband home.
He’s served his country long enough, Marie thought fervently. I won’t wait any longer.
Staring down the star-lit road was making her anxious, so she pondered the rose in her hands instead. It was beautiful, really, but someone has thoughtlessly left it on her store counter.
Finders, keepers, she thought childishly, then giggled as she imagined the look on Albert’s face when she presented him with the white rose. “Sook,” he’d call her. “I’m not a bloody woman!” But then he’d take her into his arms, and the past four years would be forgotten…
When the bus finally arrived, Albert didn’t step off. An unfamiliar army marshal approached her, his hat held respectfully in his arms, and Marie’s world stopped spinning in one single jarring moment. She didn’t give the man the chance to say the words “I’m sorry”, or “He died bravely”.
She simply dropped the rose on the bus stop bench and walked away.
* * *
Eli silently considered the trinket box in his hand, but soon returned it to the shelf. It was nice, but not perfect. Lily deserved perfect.
“Something for the girlfriend, hon’?” a kind-faced woman asked. Her name tag read Hello, my name is MARIE, and she held a ring of keys in her elderly fingers.
“Fiancée, actually,” Eli answered with a hint of pride. “Are you waiting to close up?” He gestured to her keys, but she waved him off.
“Soon hon’, but take your time.” She retreated to the storeroom, but stared intently at the clock as she passed. Eli looked guiltily around the store; despite her kind words, she seemed eager to close, and he didn’t want to keep her from anything she had planned for the night.
Perhaps the rose would be enough. Eli inspected it again; it was very pretty. An old man had passed him on the street, pressing it into his hands with some gentle words. Eli didn’t know who he was, but Lily would surely love the elegant white flower.
Speak of the devil, Eli smiled as his phone vibrated with a text. Still smiling, he flipped open his phone and read the message. The smile didn’t fall from his face until he’d read it through six times, and it finally sunk in – Theres some1 else. I am so sorry.
Lily wouldn’t be there when he got home.
Dazed, Eli lifted a shaking hand, placed the rose on Marie’s counter, and ventured alone out to the cold, darkening street.
* * *
“We are here today to farewell Trudy Anne Fisher—loving mother, sister and wife.”
Miles pulled at his too-tight necktie; the afternoon sun was making him feel drowsy. He nearly snorted at the thought of what Trudy would say if he fell asleep at her funeral: “Miles Fisher! God knows I love you, but if you snore during my ceremony, you won’t hear the last of it!”
Miles did laugh then, oblivious to the scandalised stares from the rest of the mournful crowd. After 47 years of marriage, he could predict just how Trudy would have reacted.
The funeral came to a quiet end. People began to approach the coffin for their final goodbyes, but Miles didn’t need to join them.
“God knows I love you too, Trude,” Miles whispered as he walked away from the cemetery. He strolled vaguely down the peaceful streets of town. It was only now that he realised he was still holding the white rose, pretty and fresh in his hand; he was meant to have placed it on the coffin, or some nonsense. Trudy did love roses—she would never have wanted it buried alongside her; she’d want it in the hands of someone who would appreciate its delicate beauty.
The sun was slowly setting, spilling a rich blend of pinks and yellows across the sky. Miles paused for a moment and closed his eyes, basking in its soothing glow. He remained there until a soft voice entered the silence; Miles looked up to see a young man talking on his mobile, leaning against the wall of a small gift shop.
“Hey Lil, uh, you’re clearly not home right now, but I just wanted to tell you I’ll be home in, like, half an hour, so… Yeah. Okay… I love you.” He hung up with a smile on his face. Miles knew that look; he’d smiled just like that the day he’d met Trudy. It was the smile of a man in love.
He surprised the lad when he grabbed his wrist and pushed the slender flower into his hand, gently wrapping his fingers around its thornless stem.
“You look after that, son,” Miles said; a wistful glint entered his weathered eyes. “White rose are a symbol of eternal love, you know.”
- Love The Bad Guy
Picture taken from here
I am not a poet. Poetry is hard, to read and to write. However, every now and again, it’s nice to step out of your comfort zone and test the waters, so when I wrote a feature article about keeping up with university work, I decided to open with a short poem. After posting Theseus Within the Labyrinth a few days ago, the poetry-bug within me urged me to post! So please enjoy my first (and, quite possibly, ONLY) example of my poem-ish writing.
’Twas the night before Monday, and deep in his dorm,
A student was facing an impending storm.
His paper was due on the very next day,
And his weekend, it seemed, had floated away.
His classmates were nestled all snug in their beds,
But he lay awake filled with numerous dreads.
This paper was worth more than half of his grade;
That wouldn’t change, despite how he prayed.
Six weeks he did have, to get it completed. Six weeks, which in truth, had been most mistreated.
He had once made a plan he’d intended to follow,
But each day he’d decided to wait till tomorrow.
It seemed much more fun to spend time with friends.
Who wants to hunch over with paper and pens?
He thought that, just maybe, he’d work on the intro,
But somehow wound up with drinks at the bistro.
Movies and parties and walks in the park
Had always seemed better than making a start
On the paper that now whispered taunts in his brain.
Oh, if only he could do it all over again!
He would never redo his silly mistakes.
He’d fight through the boredom and old muscle aches
To put thoughts to paper and write something astounding,
And restart his future on much firmer grounding.
But now it’s too late – he truly is screwed.
He will have to prepare for the upcoming feud.
So as he drifts off to the tune of defeat,
He ponders his chance of a last-minute cheat…
- Love The Bad Guy
Picture taken from here
Everyone has that one thing that they find fascinating, while no one else seems to. For me, that thing is Greek Mythology. I love reading legends about the Gods, Goddesses and heroes of ancient times. Of course, I also like to read contemporary stories and poems about such things. One of my favourites is a poem called Theseus Within the Labyrinth by Stephen Dobyns.
For those of you who don’t know the legend of Theseus, here it is in a nutshell: Theseus went to Crete to slay the Minotaur (half-bull and half-man), which dwelled within the Labyrinth. Ariadne, daughter of the King of Crete, fell in love with Theseus and gave him a skein of thread to guide him out of the maze. Together, they fled for Athens, but on the way, they stopped at an island where Ariadne was abandoned (either through an accident, or, as is more popularly believed, through Theseus’s own betrayal). He returned home, but his ship was still displaying the usual black sails; he had promised his father that he would raise white sails if he had succeeded in his mission. His father saw the black sails from a distance and, believing them to be the sign of his son’s death, threw himself off a cliff.
Here, Dobyns present a very interesting interpretation of the legend… Enjoy!
The lives of Greeks in the old days were deep,
mysterious and often lead to questions like
just what was wrong with Ariadne anyway, that’s
what I’d like to know? She would have done
anything for that rascally Theseus, and what
did he do but sneak out in the night and row
back to his ship with black sails. Let’s get
the heck out of here, he muttered to his crew
and they leaned on their oars as he went whack-
whack on the whacking board—a human metronome
of adventure and ill-fortune. She was King Minos’s
daughter and had helped Theseus kill the king’s
pet monster, her half-brother, so possibly
he didn’t like feeling beholden—people might
think he wasn’t tough. But certainly he’d spent
his life knocking chips off shoulders and flattening
any fellow reckless enough to step across a line
drawn in the dust. If you wanted a punch thrown,
Theseus was just the cowboy to throw it. I’m only
happy when hitting and scratching, he’d told Ariadne
that first night. So he’d been the logical choice
to sail down from Athens to Crete to stop this
nonsense of a tribute of virgins for some
monster to eat. Those Cretans called it eating but
Theseus thought himself no fool and liked a virgin
as well as the next man. Not that he could have got
into the Labyrinth without Ariadne’s help or out
either for that matter. As for the Minotaur, lounging
on his couch, nibbling grapes and sipping wine, while
a troop of ex-virgins fluttered to his beck and call,
Theseus must have scared the horns right off him,
slamming back the door and standing there in his lion
skin suit and waving that ugly club. The poor beast
might have had a stroke had there been time before
Theseus pummelled him into the earth. Then, with
Ariadne’s help, Theseus escaped, and soon after he
ditched her on an island and sailed off in his ship
with black sails, which returns us to the question:
Just what was wrong with Ariadne anyway?
But nobody like Theseus likes a smart girl, always
telling him to dress warmly and eat plenty of fiber.
She was one of those people who are never in doubt.
Had he sharpened his sword, tied his sandals?
Without her, of course, he would have never escaped
the labyrinth. Why hadn’t he thought of that trick
with the ball of yarn? But as he looked down
at her sleeping form, this woman who was already
carrying his child, maybe he thought of their
future together, how she would correctly foretell
the mystery or banality behind each locked door.
So probably he shook his head and said, Give me
a dumb girl any day, and crept back to his ship
and sailed away. Of course Ariadne was revenged.
She would have told him to change the sails,
to take down the black ones, put up the white.
She would have reminded him that his father,
the king of Athens, was waiting on a high cliff
scanning the Aegean for Theseus’s returning ship,
white for victory, black for defeat. She would
have said how his father would see the black sails,
how the grief for the supposed death of his one son
would destroy him. But Theseus and his men had
brought out the wine and were cruising a calm sea
in a small boat filled to the brim with ex-virgins.
Who could have blamed him? Until he heard the distant
scream and his head shot up to see the black sails
and he knew. The girls disappeared, the ship grew
quiet except for the lap-lap of the water. Staring
toward the spot where his father had tumbled
headfirst into the Aegean, Theseus understood
he would always be a stupid man with a thick stick,
scratching his forehead long after the big event.
But think, does he change his mind, turn back
the ship, hunt up Ariadne and beg her pardon?
Far better to be stupid by himself than smart
because she’d been tugging on his arm; better
to live in the eternal present with a boatload
of ex-virgins than in that dark land of consequences
promised by Ariadne, better to live like any one of us,
thinking to outwit the darkness, but knowing
it will catch us, that we will be surprised like
the Minotaur on his couch when the door slams back
and the hired gun of our personal destruction bursts
upon us, upsetting the good times and scaring the girls.
Better to be ignorant, to go into the future as into
a long tunnel, without ball of yarn or clear direction,
to tiptoe forward like any fool or saint or hero,
jumpy, full of second thoughts, and bravely unprepared.
(1987)
Dobyns, S. ‘Theseus within the Labyrinth’ in Velocities: New and Selected Poems,
Great Britain, Bloodaxe Books, 1996, pp.204-206.
- Love The Bad Guy
I am currently surrounded by three books on Greek mythology, several dozens leaflets on narrative structure in film, a guide to writing a textual intervention, a tall pile of Italian flashcards, eight balls of scrunched up paper, a broken pencil, three different types of dictionaries and a very distracting (but very content) cat.
Yes, the life of a university student is rather daunting at times, which is why it’s so nice to have a moment to pause, take a breath, check my blog stats, and realise…
The stars seemed a little bit brighter and the assignments seemed a little bit lighter as I looked at that perfectly round number and felt like virtual love was reaching me from across the World Wide Wonderful Web.
Of course, the comments are rather few and far between (…take the hint…) but each time I post an interesting quote or a story that I poured my soul into, life just seems better.
So thank you to those who have come and gone, and THANK YOU to those who have taken time to leave a few words on my posts; I guarantee that each and every one puts a cheshire-cat smile on my face that is not easily removed.
Finally, I’d like to give a shout out to http://therhymingmedstudent.wordpress.com/ and http://thingsyourealizeafteryougetmarried.com/, who gave me my first comments, as well as the lovely jdurley from over at http://1000awesomethings.com/. You all made my day with your kind words! (:
- Love The Bad Guy
Picture taken from here
I don’t know about you, but when I was at high school, I hated learning about the different techniques involved with a variety of writing styles. Metaphors, similies, alliteration, assonance, oxymorons, hyperboles, genres, bildungsroman, meters, rhyming patterns, binary opposites, soliloquys; the list goes on and on and on and on.
Don’t get me wrong – that stuff is important, and I LOVE writing – but seven and half lessons of analysing it was enough to make me want to stab myself in the neck with a plastic spoon.
But then something strange happened…
I graduated. I went to University, and I chose to do units about communication and english techniques, and – wouldn’t you bloody know it? – I had to learn about metaphors, similies, alliteration, assonance, oxymorons, etc. etc. All. Over. Again.
But I realised something. Something so mind-blowingly AMAZING that, at first, I was sure I was suffering some sort of Vanilla Coke-induced euphoria. But no: there I was, re-learning techniques that I’d suffered through for years…
…And I was loving it.
I am not sure what happened. Perhaps most writers enjoy these lessons from the get-go. Or perhaps I simply had to scale the proverbial wall of education and get to a point where I was studying writing techniques because I wanted to study writing techniques.
Either way, I like to think that my University units and – God forbid! – even my high school lessons have provided me with the knowledge that will one day see me making a career out of writing, despite the fact that, for many years, I had absolutely loathed receiving said knowledge.
And that, my friends, is called irony.
Once you master your writing techniques, why not put them to good use? Use your experience and ideas to write a book! Have you ever considered using one of many available self publishing services that will adjust to your needs as a new author? There’s more than one way to bring your words to life.
- Love The Bad Guy
I’ve got another little story for you today — short and sweet. I hope you enjoy the quick read!
The moment David saw her, he knew she was the one for him. Sleek and stunning, she was turning the heads of every man in the area (and a few women, too!). He swallowed heavily as his heart thumped out a painful, nervous rhythm; with a deep breath, he stepped cautiously forward to meet her—
…Only to veer off at the last second, with disappointment burning in his chest. He waited for a moment, but when he looked again, he saw that she was still there, the centre of attention, and the man who’d intercepted David was standing close at her side. His hand was resting casually on her as he chatted with a small group of people.
David scowled at his own cowardice; she didn’t belong to anyone; he had as much right as anyone to approach her.
He straightened his tie, smoothed down his hair and steadied his shoulders. With a purposeful stride, he marched across the yard and tapped the man on his shoulder. He turned quickly and flashed David a sharp grin. “Can I help you, sir?” he enquired in a voice like silk.
“Yeah,” David replied confidently. “…How much is this car? She’s a beauty.”
- Love The Bad Guy
