DID YOU KNOW?!

A) Did you know that Ender's Game is one of my top 5 favorite books? (If the answer to this is no, you haven't taken the friendship quiz. Or if you did, you failed.)

2) That after YEARS of IMDB saying that they were in "pre-production" for the movie they finally released a cast list?!

tres) That I'm beyond thrilled about all of the casting that I've seen so far?

You wanna see?

Ender:

Right?! I mean, he's a little older than Ender is in the book, but he's a phenomenal actor and I love him already.

Valentine:

Believe it or not, that is Abigail Breslin. I was shocked. And amazed. And thrilled because she's a lovely actress.

Peter:

He'll do.

Graff:

I never imagined Graff as being good looking. Ever. Just fat. Really really fat.

Mazer Rackham:

This might be my favorite casting decision of all. He's precisely who I imagined Mazer looking like when I read the book. I squealed a little (read: A LOT) when I saw his name on the list.

Anderson:

I haven't decided yet how I feel about them changing Anderson's character into a woman. I have NO doubt that Viola Davis can pull it off (the woman can ACT), but it changes the tone of the character quite a bit.

(There are about a million more characters, but I'm only going to give you two more. You can go here to see the rest of the cast).

Petra:

Once again, she'll do.

Bean:

Bean is my favorite character in the book next to Ender. And since I've seen this kid on NCIS, I give him two thumbs up. He's fab.

So there you have it. My nerdiness is about to hit a whole new level, friends. Prepare yourselves.

M

Confessions of a Bibliophile...

Now ain't that the truth? So tell me: what's your favorite book to "sink into"? My list is oh so very long. But recently it's been The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society. And Midnight in Austenland. And The Devil in the White City. And  Death Comes to Pemberly. Did you know that I simply adore the smell of books? My very most favorite thing to do in the summer time is to go to King's English (an awesome independent bookstore that's been built in an old house) when it's raining. Why raining, you may ask?

Because King's English is so old that they don't have central air. Just a swamp cooler. So the humid smell of the swamp cooler mixes with the delightful smell of thousands upon thousands of book to create a perfume that I would purchase should anyone ever bottle that incredible mixture. Does this make me crazy? Quite possibly. Do I care? Not even a little bit. There is something entirely magical about a bookstore. Especially independent stores like King's English. Call me a hipster if you must, you definitely won't be the first. 

As much as I like shopping for books on Amazon and reading them on my Kindle (Amazon would have to do something completely horrible to shake my loyalty), part of me craves the sensory experience of shopping for a book. I love chatting with the sales girl at the register about what a sweetheart Shannon Hale is and how much we loved her latest book. I love that they have 'recommendation' shelves where employees get to list their favorite books and why they loved them. I love the faint smell of coffee that always seems to linger in the fiction section and they way the light comes in through the window just right when I sit on the bench to read the first few pages of each of the huge pile of books that I want to buy.

I love going to the Shannon Hale loving sales girl and asking her to tell me why she loved The Elegance of a Hedgehog more than The Lenningrad Madonnas. I love the sense of community that a bookstore creates. For just a little while, you're all friends. It's not odd to recommend a book to a stranger or ask the opinion of someone you'll likely never see again. I don't think there's anything more satisfying than that.

Mea culpa...

Don't hate me. I know. It's been almost three weeks since I posted on my beloved blog. I know. I stink as a blogger. I'm REALLY sorry. Don't believe me? Well fine then. But it's true. Things in my neck of the woods have been busy lately. In a good way. You want to know what I've been up to? You sure? Alright. Here's my list:

What I, Mallorie Anne Mecham, have been doing instead of writing on my beloved blog:

*WORKING
*Going to Next to Normal at PTC (Um, it rocked my world).
*Getting an iPhone (his name is Captain Awesome)
*Hanging out at the Guild Store at Hale Centre Theatre
*Chillin' with  my madre and my sisters
*Planning this chicky's bridal shower
*Hanging out with Very Special Agent Anthony DiNizzo and the crew of NCIS(how have I not been watching this show for years?!)
*Reading these books (SO good)
*Watching replays from the BYU/Utah game (A Utah man, sir! A Utah man am I! [Good heavens,  my school song is so sexist!])
*Messing around on Instagram. (You should probably follow me. Because I'm a double dose of awesome.)
*Going to the symphony
*Drinking Pumpkin Smash Jamba Juices (Fall is back, my friends)
*Thinking about how I really need to write on my blog more often
*Pinteresting more than I should (I now need to be independently wealthy to afford all of the stuff that I am drooling over)
*Thinking that I should probably change up my blog design, but I have no idea how or what I want to do. (Hint hint...I'm open for suggestions)
*Reminding myself to love my neighbors (Freaking dog barking at 1 am....freaking power saw at 730 am on a Saturday. Who do these people think they are?!)
*Cleaning


And I'm now tapped out. But as you can see, I'm leading a very exciting life. :) I swear I'll try and do better...maybe. But only if you promise to comment on this very post and tell me how much you missed my sparkling wit and charming blog personality...

Date a Girl Who Reads...

I found (and stole it) this on the wild and wily ways of a brunette bomb shell because let's be honest: Meg is brilliant and this is lovely.

Date a Girl Who Reads

by Rosemarie Urquico

Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes. She has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve. 

Find a girl who reads. You'll know that she does because she'll always have an unread book in her bag. She's the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants. You see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand bookshop? That's the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow.

She's the girl reading while waiting at that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peak in her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she's kind of engrossed already. Lost in the world of the author's making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.

Buy her another cup of coffee.

Let her know what you really think of Murakami. Ask if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that when she says she understood James Joyce's Ulysses she's just trying to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.

It's easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas, and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality, but by God, she's going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.

She has to give it a shot somehow.

Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.

Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who read understand that all things will come to an end. That you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.

Why be frightened of everything you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilight series.

If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea, and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She'll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because, for a while, they always are.

You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or at a rock concert. Or very casually the next time she's sick. Over Skype.

You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn't burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk in the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.

Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you're better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.

Or better yet, date a girl who writes. 

Will the real blog slacker please stand up?

I'm standing. You probably can't see me because I'm a midget in a sea of giants. See my little hand sticking up? Yeah. There I am. This is my formal apology for not blogging in (wince) almost two weeks. Things have been a little busy lately. I had all of these grand plans to post the great American novel on my birthday, but the day got away from me, as it has tended to do lately. To be honest, I've been trying to spend less time on the computer and more reading, which has proved to be beneficial. But then, dear readers, I discovered this. I blame Amanda (because one always needs someone to blame in situations such as these.) I'm now completely addicted. I know I know. Put your judging eyes away please. I've also spent a fair amount of time looking for jobs. Yup, that's right. Looking for jobs. It's a long story. A long, boring story that I'm not in the mood to retell. All you need to know is that I'm still working at the stadium part time and will be until further notice. Do me a favor, dears? Pray that I find a job that I don't hate. Deal? I'll do anything ya'll want me to. Except shave my head. Or eat bugs. Actually, let's amend that statement. Not anything. You tell me what you want me to do and I'll see if it corresponds with my list of pre-approved bribes.

Poor, obscure, plain and little...

I've been on a massive Jane Eyre kick lately. It can really be blamed on Sara, the Theatre Fairy, if you're up for playing the blame game. It's her all time favorite book and when the new adaptation finally came out in Utah (apparently a March 11th release date actually means April 1st in Utah. It must be the whole Mormon Standard Time thing interfering), Sara insisted that we squeeze in a viewing and, let's be honest, who was I to argue? I hadn't read the book since Mrs. Shelton's AP English class and I only distinctly remembered two parts: where Jane is locked in the Red Room (the room that, as a 10 year old, she's beyond positive is haunted by the ghost of her dead uncle) and the end, where she returns to find a blind and broken Mr. Rochester after which she says, "Reader, I married him". Did I just spoil it for you? Well, I don't even feel a little bit bad. The book has been around for over 150 years, so if you don't know the ending by now, that's your own dang fault. Anyway, I remember enjoying the book, but I've always been more of an Austen girl, so I hadn't re-read it since I was 17 or so. After two delightful Mr. Rochester filled hours, I was more intrigued and drawn to the story then I ever had been before. I was reminded of why I actually finished the book (as opposed to Wuthering Heights, which I'm only slightly ashamed to say was finished with the generous aid of Cliff's Notes. Don't judge. Even its delicious creepiness can't make up for the fact that there isn't a single likable character in the whole blasted book): I saw much more of myself in Jane that I had in any character in a book up to that point. That's not to say that our lives were similar in the least: I come from a fantastic family and had an incredible childhood. I was loved beyond all reason and rarely wanted for anything. On my more self deprecating days, I identify with the fact that Jane is plain. Now don't get your panties in a twist. I didn't say that I was ugly. And neither is Jane. She's simply one of those people whose beauty isn't visible to the random passer by. That's not to say that most people can be judged by their covers, but some of us have less remarkable and stunning packaging than others. And more often then not, I feel the same way. I mean, please. I'm called adorable. Cute. Sweet. Lovable. Darling. Sometimes I feel more like a puppy or a baby chick than a woman. In reality, none of this is of great consequence to Jane because what makes her such a strong and desirable heroine is the ability to persevere through even the most weighty and unpleasant of circumstances. That chick is a survivor if that I've seen..er, read one. She's intelligent and independent. She has to make her own way in the world and is willing work for what she gets. Though she may be (in Mr. Rochester's words), "poor, obscure, plain and little", she has a huge impact on the lives of those around her, which has always been my goal. It's her heart and her kindness that make her great. Her ability to see the good in others, but not to let even that sway her into doing something that she feels to be morally wrong. I love Jane because she's everything that I want to be when I finally decide to grow up.

So dish. Who's your hero?

"You may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one." --John Lennon (day 28)

First and foremost, will all of you PLEASE vote in my poll? Yes that poll. The one in the right hand corner. 

 My future is in your hands, my dearest, darlingest, lovely blog readers. If I end up becoming a waste of space I'm going to blame it on your lack of participation. Do you want a girl's future resting on your head like that? The answer is no. You don't. So. Do the votings, okay? Please and thank you.

Alright, on to today's post. (Can I please tell you that as much as I've loved reading everything that you, my darling friends, have written in connection with this game, I'm going to be excited to have my blog unhijacked when it's all over? There. I got it off my chest.)

Whenever anyone talks about hopes and dreams, I always think of this line in the 2008 miniseries of Sense and Sensibility when Marianne asks Elinor what she and Lucy Steele were talking about in the garden so long. This is the part where the evil and plotting Lucy tells Elinor of her secret engagement to Edward, remember? Okay good. Anyway, Elinor answers back that Lucy was telling her all of her hopes and dreams for the future, so it leaves kind of a bad taste in my mouth because I hate Lucy Steele. So in lieu of hopes and dreams, here are the list of things that I plan on accomplishing in the next 365 days:

-Graduate from college (it's okay, you can shout "Finally!" I am.)

-Get a real, grown up job (See this goal, Teach for America? Can you please make it happen? Kthanksbye!)

-Go blonde (again)

-Go on a road trip somewhere awesome

-See the Shakespeare Festival...Midsummer Night's Dream, anyone?

-Attend Tale of Two Cities at the Hale Centre Theatre more times than I saw Born Yesterday....which was more than I am willing to admit in any type of public forum.

-Find some awesome black boots.

-Reread the Book of Mormon

-See the last Harry Potter..sniff

-Speak more Spanish because I miss it terribly

-Learn to make pupusas again

-Eventually ween myself off of Facebook...quit your laughing. I can do it, just you watch.

-See a Broadway show

-Take Yoda on some rockin' adventures

-Go to London

How's that for 'hopes and dreams?'

Bookworm...(day 6)

Remember how I told you that there were 3 subjects in the All About Me game that I'd never be able to only pick one favorite for? This is one of them. So. I'll give you a list of 6...trust me, it's a whole lot smaller than it could be.

Child geniuses? Fighting in zero gravity? Amazing sci-finess that I usually won't admit that I love?

 YES PLEASE. Ender Wiggin is my hero.

Polly Milton is quite possibly one of the most charming characters ever written.

This is one of my very favorite guilty pleasure books. It has just the right amount of romance, magic and intrigue. I HIGHLY recommend it.

I almost left this book off out of sheer stupidity. Honestly and truly, it's one of my favorite books. There are  certain parts that I reread on a weekly basis. FANTASTIC!!

Pretty sure that Mrs. Shelton had no idea what she was unleashing when she handed me this book in 10th grade honors English. I was in love by the end of the first chapter. It was the beginning of a life long interest in the Jewish faith.

Cinderella is one of my most favorite fairy tales and no one rewrites a fairy tale better than Gail Carson Levine.

Photographic proof that I used to be darling...(day 4)

So, apparently I'm not technologically gifted. Don't judge. I tried scanning these at work and it wouldn't scan the pictures individually which drove me nuts and now I'm frustrated with the whole technology world in general. I was eventually forced to take pictures of the pictures with the handy dandy camera on my cell phone so the quality leaves something to be desired. 

This is at a May birthday party (there are 3 of us grandkids born in May so we always celebrated together) when I was 6 or 7. I vaguely remember being upset that the cupcake got all over my face despite my concerted effort to keep it off.

Yes. I wearing my daddy's glasses. Reading a Winnie the Pooh book. In my underwear. How kind of you to ask for clarification. 

My dear Wormwood...

If you haven't ever read The Screwtape Letters then consider this an invitation to do so. It's one of the most incredible and life-changing books that I've ever had the lovely opportunity to read. For those of you who aren't familiar with the story, let me explain: the entire book is written in letters from one devil (Screwtape) to his nephew (Wormwood) who is a brand new devil. Each and every letter is filled with loads of advice on how Wormwood should properly tempt his patient away from the Enemy. I love this book for more reasons than can be properly calculated with current mathematical processes. In my humble opinion, C.S. Lewis was something far greater than a genius and I swear he wrote this particular book just for me, even though we've never met in real life (I have quite the vivid imagination though). I recently decided to reread it, mostly because I have a tendency to reread familiar books when I feel like my world is most especially out of control. These quotes are some of my particular favorites:

"Of course, in the precise moment of terror, bereavement, or physical pain, you may catch your man when his reason is temporarily suspended. But even then, if he applies to Enemy headquarters, I have found that the post is nearly always defended." pg. 24

"Now is may surprise you to learn that in His efforts to get permanent possession of a soul, He relies on the troughs even more than the peaks; some of His special favourites have gone through longer and deeper troughs than anyone else. The reason is this. To us a human is primarily food; our aim is the absorption of its will into ours, the increase of our own area of selfhood at its expense. But the obedience which the Enemy demands of men is quite a different thing...He really does want to fill the universe with a lot of loathsome little replicas of Himself-creatures whose life, on its miniature scale, will be qualitatively like His own, not because He has absorbed them but because their wills freely conform to His." pg. 38

"He leaves the creature to stand up on its own legs-to carry out from the will alone duties which have lost all relish. It is during such trough periods, much more than during the peak periods, that it is growing into the sort of creature He wants it to be. Hence the prayers offered in the state of dryness are those which please Him best. We can drag our patients along by continual temptation, because we design them only for the table, and then more their will is interfered with the better. He cannot 'tempt' to virtue as we do to vice. He wants them to learn to walk and must therefore take away His hand; and if only the will, to walk is really there He is pleased even with their stumbles." pg. 40

"Our cause is never more in danger than when a human, no longer desiring, but still intending, to do our Enemy's will, looks round upon a universe from which every trace of Him seems to have vanished, and asks why he has been forsaken, and still obeys." pg. 40

"He really loves the hairless bipeds He has created and always gives back to them with His right hand what He has taken away with His left." pg. 72

That's not even close to all of them, but I'm pretty sure that it would take me all night to type them out. I'm not even going to try lying to you, this might be one of my all time favorite books (as if you couldn't tell by all the gushing that I've already done) and I wasn't kidding when I said that I swear C.S. Lewis wrote this book with me in mind. I don't know if I've ever understood myself as well as I have when reading this book. Promise me you'll read it if you haven't already?

"I'm not too little! You're just hogging Laurie!"

I remember the first time I ever read Little Women. I was in 4th grade. I was completely enchanted by Teddy and could never understand why in heaven's name Jo turned him down. (I know that I'm not the only one who has a problem with that. I've always said that when I meet Louisa May Alcott in heaven, we're going to have a long chat about that part.) I never really cared for the whole Amy/Teddy union. I might have been ever so slightly jealous... Remember how I get overly attached to fictional characters? Anyway, when I was in 5th grade I finally watched the Winona Ryder/Christian Bale/Susan Sarandon movie version. Christian Bale as Laurie? Yes please! It was as if my imagination had thrown up all over the screen; each and every character was sheer perfection, my exact idea of what my beloved March family should have been. I'm not going to lie, I still bawl my eyes out when  Beth dies. I've always wished that I was more like Meg, she's so good and sweet but unfortunately, I'm just like Jo. I'm impulsive. I talk too much. I adore huge words and writing dramatic stories. I used to have long, gorgeous golden colored hair but I got all independent and had my mom chop it off. It wasn't for a good cause or anything, mostly just because I felt like it. I could never be like Beth, so angelic and kind. Amy was always too vain for me, though she's the one who ended up marrying my beloved Laurie. Plus, I always open up my mouth and say things I shouldn't, which is definitely a trait unique to Jo. And much like my lovely Jo, I don't like it when things change with my family. I'm forever wishing that things would stay just as they are.

Anyway, dear readers, I just thought that I'd share my musings on one of my most favorite books with all of you. 

Loves!

M

"What a blessing it is to love books as I love them, to be able to converse with the dead, and to live amidst the unreal!" 

--Thomas Babington Macaulay

Currently Reading...

Can I please just tell you how much I love this book? This cute girl recommended it to me. (Since when do the kids that I used to babysit get to recommend books to me? They will forever be small, small children playing dress up in my mind.) Anne Fadiman (besides spelling her first name the right way) has a fresh writing style; (and this is cheesy, don't even judge) but when I read this book I feel like I'm sitting on a squeaky porch swing on a cool, cloudy day. It's pure delight and confection. I HIGHLY suggest you get your own copy because I'm not sharing. Loves!!

Remember that one time...

that I went to Macbeth? Oh yes. I do. And remember how I loved it? I sure do. And remember how at one part, Macbeth (who was played to absolute and sheer perfection by Grant Goodman) stood a mere three inches from me? Yeah. I most definitely do. I actually held my breath for most of the show. It was by far and away one of the most amazing things that I have ever seen.

In other news, school starts today. Now usually I'm bouncing off the walls, jumping around like a Mexican bean at the thought of school beginning again, but this semester I'm not so much so excited. Part of it might have to do with that terrible, mind numbing, brain killing, stress inducing subject that is math 1010. Okay all of it. I'm taking a geography class, which should be fun and fairly simple, but every time I see MATH 1010 in my list of online courses a small part of me dies. I loathe math.

Double double toil and trouble. Fire burn and cauldron bubble...

So pretend we're in a time machine. (Do not mock me. I'd tell you to close your eyes but then how would you read the brilliance of my post? Exactly. You couldn't.) We're going back to the year 2002, to my AP English class. I had AP English second period. Mrs. Shelton taught the class twice on A days: second period and third period. Let me just tell you that second period was the bane of her existence. (If she hadn't had me as a sophomore and if I hadn't been on the yearbook staff I wouldn't have gotten away with nearly as much as I did.) 4 or 5 of us were on the debate team so we argued with her for practice, but even those students who weren't trained arguers were mouthy and sarcastic. We were all too smart for our own good and let her know that on a regular basis. We always got good grades, but we weren't the quiet, docile class she wanted us to be. And let me tell you,

it was great fun. 

Honestly and truly. I don't think that I've ever laughed so hard in my life. It was a blast. Even though we loved being rowdy and mildly disrespectful, there were moments when she had us all entranced. It usually had less to do with her and more to do with the day's subject matter. I distinctly remember the day we started reading Macbeth.

I'd read Romeo and Juliet in 9th grade. Twelfth Night in 10th grade. Other random plays here and there, but I'd never experienced the deliciously creepy tale of Macbeth before. It happened to be raining the day we started it, which was the perfect setting. Mrs. Shelton had us each memorize parts of the play and then act them out. I'm not exactly positive, but I'm pretty sure that Annette, Emily and I learned the part of the Three Witches. I loved the ethereal feel of the story, the perfect combination of reality and the supernatural. I read Lady Macbeth's monologue over and over, delighting in the jumpy feeling her words gave me, as though I should be looking over my shoulder, waiting for a white specter to appear. Okay, time machine time over. We're back to the present and that means that we're back to the time where I, Mallorie Anne Mecham, get to go and see Macbeth tonight. At the Shakespeare Festival. In Cedar City. And I have amazing seats thanks to my excellent luck and the Theatre Fairy, Sara. And if you couldn't tell...

I'm excited. 

If being in love with a fictional character is wrong...

...then I don't want to be right. And heaven's no, I'm not talking about that insufferable Edward Cullen. Give me more credit then that. You see, dear readers, I first and foremost blame L.M. Montgomery. Without the creation of Gilbert Blythe this post wouldn't be possible. He was my first literary love. Followed closely by Mr. Darcy. The greatest obstacle in relationships such as these, (aside from the fact that everyone laughed at me when I said that Gilbert Blythe was taking me to the prom...okay maybe I never did that, but I had you for a second, didn't I?) was that as I got older, my literary loves stayed the same age. Firmly glued in their fantastic imaginary world. This honestly didn't present a problem for quite some time because both Gilbert and Fitzwilliam were significantly older than me. It wasn't until I met Harry that my age became a hang up. I was 15 when I sat down with the first deliciously good installment of Harry's magical life. J.K. Rowling had me at: 

"Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were normal, thank you very much."

It was love at first read. It was small at first, our little love affair. Harry'd magically open a door here. Levitate a wand there. Small tokens of affection really. But as time went on, it became more intense. Winning the Tri-Wizard Tournament, breaking into the Ministry of Magic. I was thoroughly devastated when he started dating Cho Chang. I came to accept that he loves Ginny, but it still stings. Eventually we both decided to move on. But that's when I met Percy. See, Percy and I had a special connection. I happen to adore water. Being landlocked here in Utah just about kills me. I need ocean. (Which is why I plan to go to grad school somewhere near a large body of water.) And Percy just happens to be the son of Poseidon. Coincidence? I think not. 

Before you all call the nice men in white coats to take me away, let me explain. It's really my inner 15 year old that infatuated by there characters. All of us (if we're smart) keep our inner 15 year old alive. It makes us fun, exciting and able to imagine. The loss of imagination is one of the most tragic things that can happen to a person, at least in my humble (oh who are we kidding, I'm not humble) opinion. So, before you call me crazy, ask your inner 15 year old's opinion. My guess is that yours will come to the same conclusion as mine. 

It's all about the imagination.

Spun Sugar, Cheesecake and Other Literary Musings...

(You don't think my title makes sense, do you? Just wait. As with most of my thought processes, time and patience yield understanding).
I read a lot. KMJ often says that she doesn't know anyone who reads at much as I do. I've finished a book a day this week. None of them were particularly challenging, but each was throughly enjoyable. What I like to call 'dessert books'.
This phrase has long been a part of my literary vocabulary, but was put into great use when I was a lowly library clerk at the Pleasant Grove City Library during my junior and senior years of high school. Being the book nerd that I am, I not only spent ages putting books away and cleaning up after messy patrons, I would often hide in the stacks (with my good friend Elsie) reading snips and snatches out of different books. Some of these were heavier books: Wuthering Heights, Great Expectations, Angela's Ashes,anything and everything written by Tolstoy.
Others were of a lighter nature. Guilty pleasure books, if you will. Some I'm ever so slightly ashamed to admit that I read and reread.
These, my dear readers, are dessert books.
Everyone has a few of them. Lest you be confused, not just any borderline trashy novel can be classified as a dessert book. Some are poorly spun sugary stories and not really worth the time it takes to consume them, (see my feelings on vampires below) while others are expertly crafted and delightful. Dessert books are not poorly written; they are a pure literary confection. Just as cotton candy is the trash of the confectionery world (some also put American chocolate in this category, but I'm not that snobby), there are select books which I consider to be the proverbial trash of my self made literary category of dessert books.
These are the stories which transport you from the park bench, bed, couch or desk chair of normalcy to a world that you've never seen outside their pages. Among the best authors in this classification are Jane Austen, J.K. Rowling, L.M. Montgomery, C.S. Lewis...you get the picture. They paint the perfect literary pictures and allow you to immerse yourself in their world.

The ultimate question is this: What are your dessert books?

"A book should leave you slightly exhausted at the end. You live several lives while reading it."

Alright friends of the blog world. I need your help. While talking to a good friend last night, the subject of excellent books that we read when we were younger came up. We decided that we would each make a list for the other of our favorite childhood books and then exchange them. SO. The great unanswered question is this: What books do I put on my list? (Sara, this isn't cheating. It's helpful hints. And you can't comment because you have to make your own list.)

Here's what I've got so far:

-Harriet the Spy

-The Westing Game

-From the Mixed-up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Franweiler

-The Phantom Tollbooth

-Doll House Murders

-The BFG

-An Old Fashioned Girl

-Bridge to Terabithia

-Number the Stars

-Stargirl

-Holes

-Catherine, Called Birdy

-A Wrinkle in Time

-The Egypt Game

-My Brother Sam is Dead

-Walk Two Moons

-Maniac Magee 

-The Chocolate Touch

-Beauty

-Tuck Everlasting

-Charlotte's Web

-Castle in the Attic

-The Shoes Books by Noel Steatfield

This post actually requires a comment, so if you read, please leave your suggestions at the beep....

Judging Eyes from Judgy McJudgerson....

So today I was waiting at the Trax station for the train to come after work. (Yes, I do have a car. And yes, I did just say that I took that train. I don't believe in paying the exorbitant fees for a campus parking pass. But that is another story for another day). Anyway, I saw this girl while I was sitting at the station, minding my own business, jamming out to Third Eye Blind on my iPod. How very 90s of me, I know.  The girl comes up and sits down on the concrete on the other side of the Plexiglas next to me. She's definitely wearing "the boots with the fur" (high heeled, no less), hair a little too long and slightly off from the style that it seemed like she was trying very very hard to imitate. I also noticed that she was very intently reading the latest novel-turned-tear-jerker-movie Dear John. I laughed because that it didn't surprise me. She looked exactly like the kind of girl who would be reading such a book. As soon as I thought it, I felt a little bad. What makes me think that I'm so special? Just because at the time I had a copy of Tacitus in my backpack?And then I began to wonder when someone sees me reading at the Trax station and look down to notice that it's some fancy shmancy book for one of my classes, are they surprised? Something to ponder...

"Anyone who says they have only one life to live must not know how to read a book..." (Author Unknown...I only wish I was that clever!)

I love books. Really I do. I love that I can leave the world that I'm in and end up New York, London, Turkey, Greece, Washington...Anywhere on earth by just opening the pages. Also, at the risk of sounding totally crazy, (and yes, I realize that this is being posted online so basically anyone can read it, but honestly I don't care too much what people think of me) I love the smell of a new book. Sometimes, when I go to the bookstore I'll fan the pages of a new book in my face, just so I can smell them. Strange, I know, but that's just how far my obsession goes. I've also recently decided that I really like writing. I love the ability to create characters, to paint a world in anyway that I want. It's amazing how calming that is. I think part of the reason that people write is that it's a way of being able to control something, especially when all things seem so out of control. I adore that only I really know what's going to happen to my characters, because I know that in certain situations in my life I can't control what's going to happen, but when I write...that's when everything opens up. I can see solutions to my problems by putting my characters in the same situations I deal with...it's my therapy. Too bad I don't have anything super dark to write about or I'd be able to sell it to a publisher and make some money...