Rainy Day Reads

(I'm telling the histories of some of the old, used books on my shelves. Read the series introduction  here ) I got this when I worked at a used bookstore. We had people donate boxes of used books, and if we couldn't/didn't want to sell them we would put them on the clearance shelf.  And the great thing about the clearance shelf was the rule where employees could take home the clearance books for free. It was great for me, because there was often used copies of classics I wanted to read that weren't in bad condition, they were just older editions that weren't very lucrative. Such the case with The Hunchback of Notre Dame. I've seen the Disney movie, but I heard the book was different, and wanted to see for myself, and this cover isn't horrendous, so I took it home. Usually classic book covers are hideous, but I actually like how this one was put together. Except, when I brought it home, I realized that it actually REEKED of cigarett

I did it. Thursday, Nov. 30th, I went to a friends house and we had a last sprint party, stayed up until 1AM, and drank cocoa, and I finished with about 51k words. I'm honestly in shock, and it hasn't sunk in yet. A friend was congratulating me, and I just said, "I honestly have literally no idea how I did it," and her reply was: "Good tea and the power of Jesus." Amen and that's pretty much it. I worked, AND had surgery, AND had family stuff, AND still did the thing. But planning is weird now, because I had someone invite me to go on an all day shopping trip sometime in December for Christmas shopping, and my first reaction was all: "But wait, I need to write 2K words, I can't - OH WAIT." Kind of like how after I graduated the fact that I DIDN'T have homework every evening was strange to me. It was honestly an exercise in discipline. I CAN write 2k words a day, but I just need to set aside time for it. I was al

Nano: When even your coffee is telling you to wake up {Somehow this didn't post properly a week ago when it was supposed to. So here it is, a bit late} Well, I seem unable to do better than staying less than several thousand words behind. In fact, I think that I'm doing worse in keep up since last week (looks up Nano chart. Yup. 11,00 words behind, now*cries*). I kind of wasted a perfect weekend to catch up by burning myself out by being too ambitious on my first day off and giving myself MAJOR burnout for the rest of the weekend, so that was smart. And I was doing so well! And also this was supposed to be a week 2 update and now it's a week 2 AND 3 update. So not only am I failing at nano, but also everything else. {UPDATE: I also failed to post this properly in November, so there's that, too.} Okay, despair over. Let's do a little review of my last two weeks and what happened. Nano week 2 I continued to keep up with my daily wordcounts, and e

(Picture taken at a local coffee shop. Because one does not simply write at a coffee shop without instagraming it) I'm attempting to do Nanowrimo this year. Here's my first weeks' wrap up, and oh boy, let me tell you, this week has been an adventure to say the least. I'm behind by several thousand words, and I was doing so well at the start of the week :( Ah well, I suppose that getting your wisdom teeth out will do that to ya. Yep.  I signed up for Nano knowing full well that I was getting surgery 3 days in. But I figured that I couldn't let a silly little thing like getting four teeth yanked out of my mouth stop my creative process, so here we are. Day 1:  It was Wednesday, which is good news for my writerly prospects; because that is the morning that I drop my brother off at school, and then have 2 hours to bum around the city while I wait for him to get out of class so that I can pick him up. I usually go to a nearby coffee shop and read, but t

I buy most of my books used. And one cool thing about used books is that they already come with personal histories. Books with histories are the ones where previous owners have left fun inscriptions or bookplates, and are most likely purchased at a used bookstore. You can tell that they've already been read and loved. They've been dog-eared, annotated, and have the names of previous owners written on the title page. Sometimes I buy books mostly because I think that the bookplates or inscriptions are really interesting. Sometimes I buy books then add annotations, bookplates, and stories of my own. Some of the previous owners have cool names, or someone wrote an interesting note on one of the pages, then obviously gifted the book to someone. I usually take hipster Instagram pictures of cool used books, or of the bookplates. I decided to start sharing these books' histories.

This is my very large and very beautiful volume of Irish Fairy and Folk Tales. It's seven hundred pages, with embossed, intricate Celtic designs, gold edged pages, and the size of an old church bible. I purchased it shortly after Christmas last year, and have been chipping away at reading it for the last five months (according to my Goodreads activity). I got it because I love me some Irish folklore; I find it fascinating. You can't go wrong with folk tales that tell the legends of a giant named 'Finn MacCool'. There's a fantastical 'magic-is-always-around-the-corner' feel that permeates these tales, and they have a very 'telling stories passed down from generations past around the family hearth' vibe. I find short story compilations slightly discombobulating. I have no problem with a 700 page book when it's all one linear plot, but to have roughly 70 10(ish) page stories makes it hard to stay focused, because you're always

~Due to some serious wildfires, the sky in my area was covered in smoke for an extended amount of time. It turned the sky various shades of pink, and caused all the sunlight to be an eerie shade of red. One day, I was sitting in a coffee shop with a friend, lit by this strange weird orangey-ness that was the sky, writing cliche poems about being excited for Fall, and she made a joke about how the sun looked like it was dying, prompting this.~ The sun was dying. It cast it's dimming, orange light on the city, but no one noticed or cared. If anyone did happen to note anything, they merely drew scarves over their faces, muttering about wildfires and smoke, blown in from the gorge, and moved on with their lives. But the smoke wasn’t what was causing the various shades of pink and orange in the sky. It was the sun dying. It sputtered, trying to stay alive, trying to continue to provide life and warmth to the solar system. But the fuel was exha

~terrariums, thievery, tea. what's not to love?~ Back in July, my mother and I took a terrarium planting class at Roosevelt's Terrariums . In the introduction to the class, the owner told an interesting story about how terrariums (thanks to their enclosed, miniature ecosystem in a bottle capabilities) made transport of plants on old sailing ships possible; allowing a man to sneak deep into China, learn all about tea farming, smuggle a large number of tea plants out of the country, and start a tea farm in Darjeeling, effectively breaking China's tea monopoly. I thought that it was a fascinating story, but sort of tucked it away in my head, and went on with my life. Fast forward two months later at a gift shop, and what do I spy but For All the Tea in China , an entire book written about that tea-stealing trip? What are the odds of hearing about a historical tidbit, only to see a book about it for sale mere months later? So because it looked fasc

It's raining properly for the first time in months. When I got up, there was a chill in the air, but the sun didn't come to burn it and chase it away. Instead, the clouds rolled in and started to let droplets loose. Said rain droplets are making a comforting sound as the wind lashes them against my window, a sound that I have missed dearly these summer months. I have just finished a mug of tea, and am trying to talk myself into getting up for another. I have some samples of loose leaf tea that I am currently really enjoying, and a very cozy mug. I have some fairy lights going in some fall themed candle holders, and I've got the "Your Favorite Coffeehouse" playlist playing on spotify. I have my very large, very pretentious tome of Irish Fairy and Folk tales here by my side, and Goodreads tells me that I'm roughly 70% through. I've done some writing, some editing, and some general musings. I'm huddled up in my cozy hoodie dress and legging

"There's nothing here!" the words on the empty blog proclaimed perhaps too happily, while a tumbleweed blew across the landscape. A few website gremlins stopped by, and rubbed their hands gleefully to find such a wonderful place to play their tricks. In the background, a few Hobbits ambled by, and there might have also been a dragon. But all paused to view the new sign, the one that had replaced the "There's nothing here!" proclamation. The hastily erected sign stood, rocking slightly in the wind. Its' slightly ominous hand lettered words declaring a statement for all to see. A statement that would stand for longer than originally intended, while the wheels of creativity vied with the black gate of writers block.