Here I go with challenges again - this one might actually get me reading all of those TBR books! You can sign up here - rules are below:
From the Stacks Challenge 08
The basic rules are the same:
If you are anything like me your stack of purchased to-be-read books is teetering over. So for this challenge we would be reading 5 books that we have already purchased, have been meaning to get to, have been sitting on the nightstand and haven't read before. No going out and buying new books. No getting sidetracked by the lure of the holiday bookstore displays.
The bonus would be that we would finally get to some of those titles (you know you picked them for a reason!) and we wouldn't be spending any extra money over the holidays.
Possible picks:
Cold Mountain -Charles Frazier
Remains of the Day - Kazua Ishiguro
H.P. and the Half-Blood Prince - JK Rowling
Twilight - Stephenie Meyer
His Family - Ernest Poole
Actual books:
Assaulted by Joy - Stephen Simpson
In the Shadow of Lions - Ginger Garrett
Drinkwater - Eric Hopkins
The Road - Cormac McCarthy
Walking with Wolf - Kay Chornook & Wolf Guindon
The time frame would be Nov. 1st until Jan. 30 and there will be some small, fun prizes awarded to random participants and/or those with clever review posts.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
What's In a Name - 2009
I just found this new challenge over at A Novel Challenge. It sounds like a lot of fun. Go here to sign up, but the rules are below:
Runs from Jan 1 - Dec 31, 2009
Choose one book from each of the following categories.
A book with a "profession" in its title. Examples might include: The Book Thief, The Island of Dr. Moreau, The Historian My Choice is Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince by J.K. Rowling
A book with a "time of day" in its title. Examples might include: Twilight, Four Past Midnight, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time - My choice is Twilight by Stephanie Meyer
A book with a "relative" in its title. Examples might include: Eight Cousins, My Father's Dragon, The Daughter of Time -My choice is Boneman's Daughter by Ted Dekker
A book with a "body part" in its title. Examples might include: The Bluest Eye, Bag of Bones, The Heart of Darkness - My choice is Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold
A book with a "building" in its title. Examples might include: Uncle Tom's Cabin, Little House on the Prairie, The Looming Tower - Trail of Crumbs: Hunger, Love, and the Search For Home by Kim Sunee
A book with a "medical condition" in its title. Examples might include: Insomnia, Coma, The Plague - My choice is Fatal Illusions by Adam Blumer.
You may overlap books with other challenges, but please don't use the same book for more than one category.
There will be some small prizes scattered throughout. There will also be a prize awarded at the conclusion to one participant who completes the challenge.
You don't need to decide exactly which books you will be reading ahead of time
Runs from Jan 1 - Dec 31, 2009
Choose one book from each of the following categories.
A book with a "profession" in its title. Examples might include: The Book Thief, The Island of Dr. Moreau, The Historian My Choice is Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince by J.K. Rowling
A book with a "time of day" in its title. Examples might include: Twilight, Four Past Midnight, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time - My choice is Twilight by Stephanie Meyer
A book with a "relative" in its title. Examples might include: Eight Cousins, My Father's Dragon, The Daughter of Time -My choice is Boneman's Daughter by Ted Dekker
A book with a "body part" in its title. Examples might include: The Bluest Eye, Bag of Bones, The Heart of Darkness - My choice is Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold
A book with a "building" in its title. Examples might include: Uncle Tom's Cabin, Little House on the Prairie, The Looming Tower - Trail of Crumbs: Hunger, Love, and the Search For Home by Kim Sunee
A book with a "medical condition" in its title. Examples might include: Insomnia, Coma, The Plague - My choice is Fatal Illusions by Adam Blumer.
You may overlap books with other challenges, but please don't use the same book for more than one category.
There will be some small prizes scattered throughout. There will also be a prize awarded at the conclusion to one participant who completes the challenge.
You don't need to decide exactly which books you will be reading ahead of time
Author interview Candace Havens
I just read a great interview over at Bitten By Books with Candace Havens. She has written such books as the Bronwyn the Witch series (Charmed & Dangerous, Charmed & Ready, and Charmed & Deadly), Like a Charm, and her new book - The Demon King and I. Pop on over there to meet Candace and read some great reviews! You might also win a book!
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Where are you?
Where are you?
I am in Duma Key, Florida at Heron's Roost, a house at the south end of the island. It is infested with ghosts of lawn jockeys, upside down flying herons, and the occasional frog the size of a labrador. Of course, I am reading Duma Key by Stephen King.
Tuesday Teaser event
Posting for the new weekly event, “TEASER TUESDAYS“!
Grab your current read.
Let the book fall open to a random page.
Share with us two (2) “teaser” sentences from that page, somewhere between lines 7 and 12.
You also need to share the title of the book that you’re getting your “teaser” from … that way people can have some great book recommendations if they like the teaser you’ve given!
Please avoid spoilers!
This is from Duma Key by Stephen King - pg 280
"I thought, I win, you win. Then the lightning flashed and I saw two girls of about six, surely twins and surely Elizabeth Eastlake's drowned sisters."
Monday, November 3, 2008
Author Interview and Contest with AJ Hampton
Fly on over to bittenbybooks to read an interview with AJ Hampton and learn how to win a great prize package! Just click on the header above and you are there. AJ Hampton will also be answering questions off and on today and tomorrow - so stop by!
Guernica by Dave Boling
As part of the book giveaway carnival, (http://bookroomreviews.wordpress.com/) two copies of Guernica are being given away by freshinkbooks. This sounds like a great book. I like it when the story is fiction - but it incorporates real history. Good luck on winning everyone!
Sunday, November 2, 2008
The Shack - William P. Young
It is time to play a Wild Card! Every now and then, a book that I have chosen to read is going to pop up as a FIRST Wild Card Tour. Get dealt into the game! (Just click the button!) Wild Card Tours feature an author and his/her book's FIRST chapter!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Today's Wild Card author is:
and the book:
Windblown Media; 1st edition (July 1, 2008)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Wm. Paul Young was born a Canadian and raised among a Stone Age tribe by his missionary parents in the highlands of former New Guinea. He suffered great loss as a child and young adult and now enjoys the "wastefulness of grace" with his family in the Pacific Northwest. Visit the author's website.
The author will be on the Blog Talk Radio show on on November 4th at 2PM ET. Come and listen!
Product Details:
List Price: $ 14.99
Paperback: 256 pages
Publisher: Windblown Media; 1st edition (July 1, 2008)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0964729237
ISBN-13: 978-0964729230
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
A Confluence of Paths
Two roads diverged in the middle of my life,
I heard a wise man say
I took the road less traveled by
And that's made the difference every night and every day
—Larry Norman (with apologies to Robert Frost)
March unleashed a torrent of rainfall after an abnormally dry winter. A cold front out of Canada then descended and was held in place by a swirling wind that roared down the Gorge from eastern Oregon. Although spring was surely just around the corner, the god of winter was not about to relinquish its hard-won dominion without a tussle. There was a blanket of new snow in the Cascades, and rain was now freezing on impact with the frigid ground outside the house; enough reason for Mack to snuggle up with a book and a hot cider and wrap up in the warmth of a crackling fire.
But instead, he spent the better part of the morning telecommuting into his downtown desktop. Sitting comfortably in his home office wearing pajama pants and a T-shirt, he made his sales calls, mostly to the East Coast. He paused frequently, listening to the sound of crystalline rain tinging off his window and watching the slow but steady accumulation of frozen ice thickening on everything outside. He was becoming inexorably trapped as an ice—prisoner in his own home—much to his delight.
There is something joyful about storms that interrupt routine. Snow or freezing rain suddenly releases you from expectations, performance demands, and the tyranny of appointments and schedules. And unlike illness, it is largely a corporate rather than individual experience. One can almost hear a unified sigh rise from the nearby city and surrounding countryside where Nature has intervened to give respite to the weary humans slogging it out within her purview. All those affected this way are united by a mutual excuse, and the heart is suddenly and unexpectedly a little giddy. There will be no apologies needed for not showing up to some commitment or other. Everyone understands and shares in this singular justification, and the sudden alleviation of the pressure to produce makes the heart merry.
Of course, it is also true that storms interrupt business and, while a few companies make a bit extra, some companies lose money—meaning there are those who find no joy when everything shuts down temporarily. But they can't blame anyone for their loss of production, or for not being able to make it to the office. Even if it's hardly more than a day or two, somehow each person feels like the master of his or her own world, simply because those little droplets of water freeze as they hit the ground.
Even commonplace activities become extraordinary. Routine choices become adventures and are often experienced with a sense of heightened clarity. Late in the afternoon, Mack bundled up and headed outdoors to struggle the hundred or so yards down the long driveway to the mailbox. The ice had magically turned this simple everyday task into a foray against the elements: the raising of his fist in opposition to the brute power of nature and, in an act of defiance, laughing in its face. The fact that no one would notice or care mattered little to him—just the thought made him smile inside.
The icy rain pellets stung his cheeks and hands as he carefully worked his way up and down the slight undulations of the driveway; he looked, he supposed, like a drunken sailor gingerly heading toward the next watering hole. When you face the force of an ice storm, you don't exactly walk boldly forward in a show of unbridled confidence. Bluster will get you battered. Mack had to get up off his knees twice before he was finally hugging the mailbox like some long-lost friend.
He paused to take in the beauty of a world engulfed in crystal. Everything reflected light and contributed to the heightened brilliance of the late afternoon. The trees in the neighbor's field had all donned translucent mantles and each now stood unique but unified in their presentation. It was a glorious world and for a brief moment its blazing splendor almost lifted, even if only for a few seconds, The Great Sadness from Mack's shoulders.
It took almost a minute to knock off the ice that had already sealed shut the door of the mailbox. The reward for his efforts was a single envelope with only his first name typewritten on the outside; no stamp, no postmark, and no return address. Curious, he tore the end off the envelope, which was no easy task with fingers beginning to stiffen from the cold. Turning his back to the breath-snatching wind, he finally coaxed the single small rectangle of unfolded paper out of its nest. The typewritten message simply said:
Mackenzie,
It's been a while. I've missed you.
I'll be at the shack next weekend if you
want to get together.
-Papa
Mack stiffened as a wave of nausea rolled over him and then just as quickly mutated into anger. He purposely thought about the shack as little as possible and even when he did his thoughts were neither kind nor good. If this was someone's idea of a bad joke they had truly outdone themselves. And to sign it "Papa" just made it all the more horrifying.
"Idiot," he grunted, thinking about Tony the mailman; an overly friendly Italian with a big heart but little tact. Why would he even deliver such a ridiculous envelope? It wasn't even stamped. Mack angrily stuffed the envelope and note into his coat pocket and turned to start the slide back in the general direction of the house. Buffeting gusts of wind, which had initially slowed him, now shortened the time it took to traverse the mini glacier that was thickening beneath his feet.
He was doing just fine, thank you, until he reached that place in the driveway that sloped a little downward and to the left. Without any effort or intention he began to build up speed, sliding on shoes with soles that had about as much traction as a duck landing on a frozen pond. Arms flailing wildly in hopes of somehow maintaining the potential for balance, Mack found himself careening directly toward the only tree of any substantial size bordering the driveway—the one whose lower limbs he had hacked off only a few short months before. Now it stood eager to embrace him, half naked and seemingly anxious for a little retribution. In a fraction of a thought he chose the chicken's way out and tried to plop himself down by allowing his feet to slip out from under him—which is what they had naturally wanted to do anyway. Better to have a sore butt than pick slivers out of his face.
But the adrenaline rush caused him to over compensate, and in slow motion Mack watched his feet rise up in front of him as if jerked up by some jungle trap. He hit hard, back of the head first, and skidded to a heap at the base of the shimmering tree, which seemed to stand over him with a smug look mixed with disgust and not a little disappointment.
The world went momentarily black, or so it seemed. He lay there dazed and staring up into the sky, squinting as the icy precipitation rapidly cooled his flushed face. For a fleeting pause, everything felt oddly warm and peaceful, his ire momentarily knocked out by the impact. "Now, who's the idiot?" he muttered to himself, hoping that no one had been watching.
Cold was creeping quickly through his coat and sweater and Mack knew the ice rain that was both melting and freezing beneath him would soon become a major discomfort. Groaning and feeling like a much older man, he rolled onto his hands and knees. It was then that he saw the bright red skid mark tracing his journey from point of impact to final destination. As if birthed by the sudden awareness of his injury, a dull pounding began crawling up the back of his head. Instinctively, he reached for the source of the drum beat and brought his hand away bloody.
With rough ice and sharp gravel gouging his hands and knees, Mack half crawled and half slid until he eventually made it to a level part of the driveway. With not a little effort he was finally able to stand and gingerly inch his way toward the house, humbled by the powers of ice and gravity.
Once inside, Mack methodically shed the layers of outerwear as best he could, his half-frozen fingers responding with about as much dexterity as oversized clubs at the ends of his arms. He decided to leave the drizzly bloodstained mess right where he doffed it in the entryway and retreated painfully to the bathroom to examine his wounds. There was no question that the icy driveway had won. The gash on the back of his head was oozing around a few small pebbles still embedded in his scalp. As he had feared, a significant lump had already formed, emerging like a humpbacked whale breaching the wild waves of his thinning hair.
Mack found it a difficult chore to patch himself up by trying to see the back of his head using a small hand-held mirror that reflected a reverse image off the bathroom mirror. A short frustration later he gave up, unable to get his hands to go in the right directions and unsure which of the two mirrors was lying to him. By gingerly probing around the soggy gash he succeeded in picking out the biggest pieces of debris, until it hurt too much to continue. Grabbing some first-aid ointment and plugging the wound as best he could, he then tied a washcloth to the back of his head with some gauze he found in a bathroom drawer. Glancing at himself in the mirror, he thought he looked a little like some rough sailor out of Moby Dick. It made him laugh, then wince.
He would have to wait until Nan made it home before he would get any real medical attention; one of the many benefits of being married to a registered nurse. Anyway, he knew that the worse it looked the more sympathy he would get. There is often some compensation in every trial, if one looked hard enough. He swallowed a couple over-the-counter painkillers to dull the throbbing and limped toward the front entry.
Not for an instant had Mack forgotten about the note. Rummaging through the pile of wet and bloody clothing he finally found it in his coat pocket, glanced at it and then headed back into his office. He located the post office number and dialed it. As expected, Annie, the matronly postmaster and keeper of everyone's secrets, answered the phone. "Hi, is Tony in by chance?"
"Hey, Mack, is that you? Recognized your voice." Of course she did. "Sorry, but Tony ain't back yet. In fact I just talked to him on the radio and he's only made it halfway up Wildcat, not even to your place yet. Do ya need me to have him call ya, or would ya just like to leave a message?"
"Oh, hi. Is that you, Annie?" He couldn't resist, even though her Midwestern accent left no doubt. "Sorry, I was busy for a second there. Didn't hear a word you said."
She laughed. "Now Mack, I know you heard every word. Don't you be goin' and tryin' to kid a kidder. I wasn't born yesterday, ya know. Whaddya want me to tell him if he makes it back alive?"
"Actually, you already answered my question."
There was a pause at the other end. "Actually, I don't remember you askin' a question. What's wrong with you, Mack? Still smoking too much dope or do you just do that on Sunday mornings to make it through the church service?" At this she started to laugh, as if caught off guard by the brilliance of her own sense of humor.
"Now Annie, you know I don't smoke dope—never did, and don't ever want to." Of course Annie knew no such thing, but Mack was taking no chances on how she might remember the conversation in a day or two. Wouldn't be the first time that her sense of humor morphed into a good story that soon became "fact." He could see his name being added to the church prayer chain. "It's okay, I'll just catch Tony some other time, no big deal."
"Okay then, just stay indoors where it's safe. Don't ya know, an old guy like you coulda lost his sense of balance over the years. Wouldn't wanna see ya slip and hurt your pride. Way things are shapin' up, Tony might not make it up to your place at all. We can do snow, sleet, and darkness of night pretty well, but this frozen rain stuff. It's a challenge to be sure."
"Thanks, Annie. I'll try and remember your advice. Talk to you later. Bye now." His head was pounding more than ever; little trip hammers beating to the rhythm of his heart. "That's odd," he thought, "who would dare put something like that in our mailbox?" The painkillers had not yet fully kicked in, but were present enough to dull the edge of worry that he was starting to feel, and he was suddenly very tired. Laying his head down on the desk, he thought he had just dropped off to sleep when the phone startled him awake.
"Uh . . . hello?"
"Hi, love. You sound like you've been asleep." It was Nan, sounding unusually cheery, even though he felt he could hear the underlying sadness that lurked just beneath the surface of every conversation. She loved this kind of weather as much as he usually did. He switched on the desk lamp and glanced at the clock, surprised that he had been out for a couple hours.
"Uh, sorry. I guess I dozed off for a bit."
"Well, you sound a little groggy. Is everything all right?"
"Yup." Even though it was almost dark outside, Mack could see that the storm had not let up. It had even deposited low, and he knew some would eventually break from the weight, especially if the wind kicked up. "I had a little tussle with the driveway when I got the mail, but other than that, everything is fine. Where are you?"
"I'm still at Arlene's, and I think me and the kids'll spend the night here. It's always good for Kate to be around the family . . . seems to restore a little balance." Arlene was Nan's sister who lived across the river in Washington. "Anyway, it's really too slick to go out. Hopefully it'll break up by morning. I wish I had made it home before it got so bad, but oh well." She paused. "How's it up at the house?"
"Well, it's absolutely stunningly beautiful, and a whole lot safer to look at than walk in, trust me. I, for sure, don't want you to try and get up here in this mess. Nothing's moving. I don't even think Tony was able to bring us the mail."
"I thought you already got the mail?" she queried.
"Nope, I didn't actually get the mail. I thought Tony had already come and I went out to get it. There," he hesitated, looking down at the note that lay on the desk where he had placed it, "wasn't any mail yet. I called Annie and she said Tony probably wouldn't be able to make it up the hill, and I'm not going out there again to see if he did.
"Anyway," he quickly changed the subject to avoid more questions, "how is Kate doing over there?"
There was a pause and then a long sigh. When Nan spoke her voice was hushed to a whisper and he could tell she was covering her mouth on the other end. "Mack, I wish I knew. She is just like talking to a rock, and no matter what I do I can't get through. When we're around family she seems to come out of her shell some, but then she disappears again. I just don't know what to do. I've been praying and praying that Papa would help us find a way to reach her, but . . ." she paused again, "it feels like he isn't listening."
There it was. Papa was Nan's favorite name for God and it expressed her delight in the intimate friendship she had with him.
"Honey, I'm sure God knows what he's doing. It will all work out." The words brought him no comfort but he hoped they might ease the worry he could hear in her voice.
"I know," she sighed. "I just wish he'd hurry up."
"Me too," was all Mack could think to say. "Well, you and the kids stay put and stay safe, and tell Arlene and Jimmy hi, and thank them for me. Hopefully I will see you tomorrow."
"Okay, love. I should go and help the others. Everyone's busy looking for candles in case the power goes out. You should probably do the same. There's some above the sink in the basement, and there's leftover stuffed bread dough in the fridge that you can heat up. Are you sure you're okay?"
"Yeah, my pride is hurt more than anything."
"Well take it easy, and hopefully we'll see you in the morning."
"All right honey. Be safe and call me if you need anything. Bye."
It was kind of a dumb thing to say, he thought as he hung up the phone. Kind of a manly dumb thing, as if he could help if they needed anything.
Mack sat and stared at the note. It was confusing and painful trying to sort out the swirling cacophony of disturbing emotions and dark images clouding his mind—a million thoughts traveling a million miles an hour. Finally, he gave up, folded the note, slid it into a small tin box he kept on the desk, and switched off the light.
Mack managed to find something to heat up in the microwave, then he grabbed a couple of blankets and pillows and headed for the living room. A quick glance at the clock told him that Bill Moyer's show had just started; a favorite program that he tried never to miss. Moyer was one of a handful of people whom Mack would love to meet; a brilliant and outspoken man, able to express intense compassion for both people and truth with unusual clarity. One of the stories tonight had something to do with oilman Boone Pickens, who was now starting to drill for water, of all things.
Almost without thinking, and without taking his eyes off the television, Mack reached over to the end table, picked up a photo frame holding a picture of a little girl, and clutched it to his chest. With the other hand he pulled the blankets up under his chin and hunkered deeper into the sofa.
Soon the sounds of gentle snoring filled the air as the media tube turned its attention to a piece on a high school senior in Zimbabwe, who had been beaten for speaking out against his government. But Mack had already left the room to wrestle with his dreams; maybe tonight there would be no nightmares, only visions, perhaps, of ice and trees and gravity.
Copyright © 2007 by William P. Young
Two roads diverged in the middle of my life,
I heard a wise man say
I took the road less traveled by
And that's made the difference every night and every day
—Larry Norman (with apologies to Robert Frost)
March unleashed a torrent of rainfall after an abnormally dry winter. A cold front out of Canada then descended and was held in place by a swirling wind that roared down the Gorge from eastern Oregon. Although spring was surely just around the corner, the god of winter was not about to relinquish its hard-won dominion without a tussle. There was a blanket of new snow in the Cascades, and rain was now freezing on impact with the frigid ground outside the house; enough reason for Mack to snuggle up with a book and a hot cider and wrap up in the warmth of a crackling fire.
But instead, he spent the better part of the morning telecommuting into his downtown desktop. Sitting comfortably in his home office wearing pajama pants and a T-shirt, he made his sales calls, mostly to the East Coast. He paused frequently, listening to the sound of crystalline rain tinging off his window and watching the slow but steady accumulation of frozen ice thickening on everything outside. He was becoming inexorably trapped as an ice—prisoner in his own home—much to his delight.
There is something joyful about storms that interrupt routine. Snow or freezing rain suddenly releases you from expectations, performance demands, and the tyranny of appointments and schedules. And unlike illness, it is largely a corporate rather than individual experience. One can almost hear a unified sigh rise from the nearby city and surrounding countryside where Nature has intervened to give respite to the weary humans slogging it out within her purview. All those affected this way are united by a mutual excuse, and the heart is suddenly and unexpectedly a little giddy. There will be no apologies needed for not showing up to some commitment or other. Everyone understands and shares in this singular justification, and the sudden alleviation of the pressure to produce makes the heart merry.
Of course, it is also true that storms interrupt business and, while a few companies make a bit extra, some companies lose money—meaning there are those who find no joy when everything shuts down temporarily. But they can't blame anyone for their loss of production, or for not being able to make it to the office. Even if it's hardly more than a day or two, somehow each person feels like the master of his or her own world, simply because those little droplets of water freeze as they hit the ground.
Even commonplace activities become extraordinary. Routine choices become adventures and are often experienced with a sense of heightened clarity. Late in the afternoon, Mack bundled up and headed outdoors to struggle the hundred or so yards down the long driveway to the mailbox. The ice had magically turned this simple everyday task into a foray against the elements: the raising of his fist in opposition to the brute power of nature and, in an act of defiance, laughing in its face. The fact that no one would notice or care mattered little to him—just the thought made him smile inside.
The icy rain pellets stung his cheeks and hands as he carefully worked his way up and down the slight undulations of the driveway; he looked, he supposed, like a drunken sailor gingerly heading toward the next watering hole. When you face the force of an ice storm, you don't exactly walk boldly forward in a show of unbridled confidence. Bluster will get you battered. Mack had to get up off his knees twice before he was finally hugging the mailbox like some long-lost friend.
He paused to take in the beauty of a world engulfed in crystal. Everything reflected light and contributed to the heightened brilliance of the late afternoon. The trees in the neighbor's field had all donned translucent mantles and each now stood unique but unified in their presentation. It was a glorious world and for a brief moment its blazing splendor almost lifted, even if only for a few seconds, The Great Sadness from Mack's shoulders.
It took almost a minute to knock off the ice that had already sealed shut the door of the mailbox. The reward for his efforts was a single envelope with only his first name typewritten on the outside; no stamp, no postmark, and no return address. Curious, he tore the end off the envelope, which was no easy task with fingers beginning to stiffen from the cold. Turning his back to the breath-snatching wind, he finally coaxed the single small rectangle of unfolded paper out of its nest. The typewritten message simply said:
Mackenzie,
It's been a while. I've missed you.
I'll be at the shack next weekend if you
want to get together.
-Papa
Mack stiffened as a wave of nausea rolled over him and then just as quickly mutated into anger. He purposely thought about the shack as little as possible and even when he did his thoughts were neither kind nor good. If this was someone's idea of a bad joke they had truly outdone themselves. And to sign it "Papa" just made it all the more horrifying.
"Idiot," he grunted, thinking about Tony the mailman; an overly friendly Italian with a big heart but little tact. Why would he even deliver such a ridiculous envelope? It wasn't even stamped. Mack angrily stuffed the envelope and note into his coat pocket and turned to start the slide back in the general direction of the house. Buffeting gusts of wind, which had initially slowed him, now shortened the time it took to traverse the mini glacier that was thickening beneath his feet.
He was doing just fine, thank you, until he reached that place in the driveway that sloped a little downward and to the left. Without any effort or intention he began to build up speed, sliding on shoes with soles that had about as much traction as a duck landing on a frozen pond. Arms flailing wildly in hopes of somehow maintaining the potential for balance, Mack found himself careening directly toward the only tree of any substantial size bordering the driveway—the one whose lower limbs he had hacked off only a few short months before. Now it stood eager to embrace him, half naked and seemingly anxious for a little retribution. In a fraction of a thought he chose the chicken's way out and tried to plop himself down by allowing his feet to slip out from under him—which is what they had naturally wanted to do anyway. Better to have a sore butt than pick slivers out of his face.
But the adrenaline rush caused him to over compensate, and in slow motion Mack watched his feet rise up in front of him as if jerked up by some jungle trap. He hit hard, back of the head first, and skidded to a heap at the base of the shimmering tree, which seemed to stand over him with a smug look mixed with disgust and not a little disappointment.
The world went momentarily black, or so it seemed. He lay there dazed and staring up into the sky, squinting as the icy precipitation rapidly cooled his flushed face. For a fleeting pause, everything felt oddly warm and peaceful, his ire momentarily knocked out by the impact. "Now, who's the idiot?" he muttered to himself, hoping that no one had been watching.
Cold was creeping quickly through his coat and sweater and Mack knew the ice rain that was both melting and freezing beneath him would soon become a major discomfort. Groaning and feeling like a much older man, he rolled onto his hands and knees. It was then that he saw the bright red skid mark tracing his journey from point of impact to final destination. As if birthed by the sudden awareness of his injury, a dull pounding began crawling up the back of his head. Instinctively, he reached for the source of the drum beat and brought his hand away bloody.
With rough ice and sharp gravel gouging his hands and knees, Mack half crawled and half slid until he eventually made it to a level part of the driveway. With not a little effort he was finally able to stand and gingerly inch his way toward the house, humbled by the powers of ice and gravity.
Once inside, Mack methodically shed the layers of outerwear as best he could, his half-frozen fingers responding with about as much dexterity as oversized clubs at the ends of his arms. He decided to leave the drizzly bloodstained mess right where he doffed it in the entryway and retreated painfully to the bathroom to examine his wounds. There was no question that the icy driveway had won. The gash on the back of his head was oozing around a few small pebbles still embedded in his scalp. As he had feared, a significant lump had already formed, emerging like a humpbacked whale breaching the wild waves of his thinning hair.
Mack found it a difficult chore to patch himself up by trying to see the back of his head using a small hand-held mirror that reflected a reverse image off the bathroom mirror. A short frustration later he gave up, unable to get his hands to go in the right directions and unsure which of the two mirrors was lying to him. By gingerly probing around the soggy gash he succeeded in picking out the biggest pieces of debris, until it hurt too much to continue. Grabbing some first-aid ointment and plugging the wound as best he could, he then tied a washcloth to the back of his head with some gauze he found in a bathroom drawer. Glancing at himself in the mirror, he thought he looked a little like some rough sailor out of Moby Dick. It made him laugh, then wince.
He would have to wait until Nan made it home before he would get any real medical attention; one of the many benefits of being married to a registered nurse. Anyway, he knew that the worse it looked the more sympathy he would get. There is often some compensation in every trial, if one looked hard enough. He swallowed a couple over-the-counter painkillers to dull the throbbing and limped toward the front entry.
Not for an instant had Mack forgotten about the note. Rummaging through the pile of wet and bloody clothing he finally found it in his coat pocket, glanced at it and then headed back into his office. He located the post office number and dialed it. As expected, Annie, the matronly postmaster and keeper of everyone's secrets, answered the phone. "Hi, is Tony in by chance?"
"Hey, Mack, is that you? Recognized your voice." Of course she did. "Sorry, but Tony ain't back yet. In fact I just talked to him on the radio and he's only made it halfway up Wildcat, not even to your place yet. Do ya need me to have him call ya, or would ya just like to leave a message?"
"Oh, hi. Is that you, Annie?" He couldn't resist, even though her Midwestern accent left no doubt. "Sorry, I was busy for a second there. Didn't hear a word you said."
She laughed. "Now Mack, I know you heard every word. Don't you be goin' and tryin' to kid a kidder. I wasn't born yesterday, ya know. Whaddya want me to tell him if he makes it back alive?"
"Actually, you already answered my question."
There was a pause at the other end. "Actually, I don't remember you askin' a question. What's wrong with you, Mack? Still smoking too much dope or do you just do that on Sunday mornings to make it through the church service?" At this she started to laugh, as if caught off guard by the brilliance of her own sense of humor.
"Now Annie, you know I don't smoke dope—never did, and don't ever want to." Of course Annie knew no such thing, but Mack was taking no chances on how she might remember the conversation in a day or two. Wouldn't be the first time that her sense of humor morphed into a good story that soon became "fact." He could see his name being added to the church prayer chain. "It's okay, I'll just catch Tony some other time, no big deal."
"Okay then, just stay indoors where it's safe. Don't ya know, an old guy like you coulda lost his sense of balance over the years. Wouldn't wanna see ya slip and hurt your pride. Way things are shapin' up, Tony might not make it up to your place at all. We can do snow, sleet, and darkness of night pretty well, but this frozen rain stuff. It's a challenge to be sure."
"Thanks, Annie. I'll try and remember your advice. Talk to you later. Bye now." His head was pounding more than ever; little trip hammers beating to the rhythm of his heart. "That's odd," he thought, "who would dare put something like that in our mailbox?" The painkillers had not yet fully kicked in, but were present enough to dull the edge of worry that he was starting to feel, and he was suddenly very tired. Laying his head down on the desk, he thought he had just dropped off to sleep when the phone startled him awake.
"Uh . . . hello?"
"Hi, love. You sound like you've been asleep." It was Nan, sounding unusually cheery, even though he felt he could hear the underlying sadness that lurked just beneath the surface of every conversation. She loved this kind of weather as much as he usually did. He switched on the desk lamp and glanced at the clock, surprised that he had been out for a couple hours.
"Uh, sorry. I guess I dozed off for a bit."
"Well, you sound a little groggy. Is everything all right?"
"Yup." Even though it was almost dark outside, Mack could see that the storm had not let up. It had even deposited low, and he knew some would eventually break from the weight, especially if the wind kicked up. "I had a little tussle with the driveway when I got the mail, but other than that, everything is fine. Where are you?"
"I'm still at Arlene's, and I think me and the kids'll spend the night here. It's always good for Kate to be around the family . . . seems to restore a little balance." Arlene was Nan's sister who lived across the river in Washington. "Anyway, it's really too slick to go out. Hopefully it'll break up by morning. I wish I had made it home before it got so bad, but oh well." She paused. "How's it up at the house?"
"Well, it's absolutely stunningly beautiful, and a whole lot safer to look at than walk in, trust me. I, for sure, don't want you to try and get up here in this mess. Nothing's moving. I don't even think Tony was able to bring us the mail."
"I thought you already got the mail?" she queried.
"Nope, I didn't actually get the mail. I thought Tony had already come and I went out to get it. There," he hesitated, looking down at the note that lay on the desk where he had placed it, "wasn't any mail yet. I called Annie and she said Tony probably wouldn't be able to make it up the hill, and I'm not going out there again to see if he did.
"Anyway," he quickly changed the subject to avoid more questions, "how is Kate doing over there?"
There was a pause and then a long sigh. When Nan spoke her voice was hushed to a whisper and he could tell she was covering her mouth on the other end. "Mack, I wish I knew. She is just like talking to a rock, and no matter what I do I can't get through. When we're around family she seems to come out of her shell some, but then she disappears again. I just don't know what to do. I've been praying and praying that Papa would help us find a way to reach her, but . . ." she paused again, "it feels like he isn't listening."
There it was. Papa was Nan's favorite name for God and it expressed her delight in the intimate friendship she had with him.
"Honey, I'm sure God knows what he's doing. It will all work out." The words brought him no comfort but he hoped they might ease the worry he could hear in her voice.
"I know," she sighed. "I just wish he'd hurry up."
"Me too," was all Mack could think to say. "Well, you and the kids stay put and stay safe, and tell Arlene and Jimmy hi, and thank them for me. Hopefully I will see you tomorrow."
"Okay, love. I should go and help the others. Everyone's busy looking for candles in case the power goes out. You should probably do the same. There's some above the sink in the basement, and there's leftover stuffed bread dough in the fridge that you can heat up. Are you sure you're okay?"
"Yeah, my pride is hurt more than anything."
"Well take it easy, and hopefully we'll see you in the morning."
"All right honey. Be safe and call me if you need anything. Bye."
It was kind of a dumb thing to say, he thought as he hung up the phone. Kind of a manly dumb thing, as if he could help if they needed anything.
Mack sat and stared at the note. It was confusing and painful trying to sort out the swirling cacophony of disturbing emotions and dark images clouding his mind—a million thoughts traveling a million miles an hour. Finally, he gave up, folded the note, slid it into a small tin box he kept on the desk, and switched off the light.
Mack managed to find something to heat up in the microwave, then he grabbed a couple of blankets and pillows and headed for the living room. A quick glance at the clock told him that Bill Moyer's show had just started; a favorite program that he tried never to miss. Moyer was one of a handful of people whom Mack would love to meet; a brilliant and outspoken man, able to express intense compassion for both people and truth with unusual clarity. One of the stories tonight had something to do with oilman Boone Pickens, who was now starting to drill for water, of all things.
Almost without thinking, and without taking his eyes off the television, Mack reached over to the end table, picked up a photo frame holding a picture of a little girl, and clutched it to his chest. With the other hand he pulled the blankets up under his chin and hunkered deeper into the sofa.
Soon the sounds of gentle snoring filled the air as the media tube turned its attention to a piece on a high school senior in Zimbabwe, who had been beaten for speaking out against his government. But Mack had already left the room to wrestle with his dreams; maybe tonight there would be no nightmares, only visions, perhaps, of ice and trees and gravity.
Copyright © 2007 by William P. Young
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Hachette Book Group USA Halloween 10 Book Spectacular Giveaway
I found this giveaway just in time! Sorry it is not going to be valid much longer. Enter quickly!
The Love Dare (book giveaway)
Check out this giveaway - book featured in movie Fireproof! Drawing will be Nov 4th so hurry!
Friday, October 31, 2008
Sammy Keyes and the Skeleton Man - Wendelin Van Draanen
I didn't think that I was going to finish my RIP III challenge, and then my daughter comes to me last night and asks me to read this book so that I can help her with her report. So, lo and behold - my fourth book for the challenge!
Sammy Keyes is a very independent 12 year old girl with two best friends - Marissa and Dot. It is Halloween and they decide to knock on the door of the Bush Man. He is so called the Bush Man because his sidewalks and house have been overgrown with bushes. Instead of getting a good scare, they come to his rescue, as he is tied up and his house is own fire. So a new mystery starts for Sammy to solve. But besides getting involved in the Bush Man's mystery, she also sets out to prove a girl at school is spreading rumors about her.
By the end of the book she is successful in both endeavors, through a series of events that would be exciting for any 7th grader.
From the cover: What does Frankenstein have that a skeleton wants?
Sounds like a bad Halloween joke. But Sammy Keyes isn't laughing. She's the one who collided with the skeleton while he was making his getaway. And she's the one who discovered Frankenstein tied to a chair with his head twisted around. Smeone's taken "trick or treat" way too far.
When Sammy tries to puzzle out what really happened Halloween night, she's amazed at how many people have something to hide - and how far they'll go to keep their disguises intact.
Of course, Sammy's got a few secrets herself. And more than a few tricks up her sleeve. She'll need them all to unravel this tale of greed and grudges and getting even...
Great YA book. 5/5 stars
Sammy Keyes is a very independent 12 year old girl with two best friends - Marissa and Dot. It is Halloween and they decide to knock on the door of the Bush Man. He is so called the Bush Man because his sidewalks and house have been overgrown with bushes. Instead of getting a good scare, they come to his rescue, as he is tied up and his house is own fire. So a new mystery starts for Sammy to solve. But besides getting involved in the Bush Man's mystery, she also sets out to prove a girl at school is spreading rumors about her.
By the end of the book she is successful in both endeavors, through a series of events that would be exciting for any 7th grader.
From the cover: What does Frankenstein have that a skeleton wants?
Sounds like a bad Halloween joke. But Sammy Keyes isn't laughing. She's the one who collided with the skeleton while he was making his getaway. And she's the one who discovered Frankenstein tied to a chair with his head twisted around. Smeone's taken "trick or treat" way too far.
When Sammy tries to puzzle out what really happened Halloween night, she's amazed at how many people have something to hide - and how far they'll go to keep their disguises intact.
Of course, Sammy's got a few secrets herself. And more than a few tricks up her sleeve. She'll need them all to unravel this tale of greed and grudges and getting even...
Great YA book. 5/5 stars
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Heart Shaped Box by Joe Hill
I thoroughly enjoyed this book. It interested me at first because I am a big Stephen King fan, and wanted to know if his son would write similarly. I have come to the conclusion that he does, and yet he doesn't. It is definitely a spooky story about a ghost, but the time span seems to be just a matter of days. From the ones that I remember by Stephen King (except for Cujo) the time span was much longer. (Currently reading Duma Key and it has covered about 9 months so far).
This book was easy to read with a good flow to it. I couldn't wait to get back to it. I could easily see the ghost as he described him "The dead man was sitting two-thirds of the way down the corridor, in the Shaker chair on the left, his head lowered in thought. A drape of morning sunshine fell across where his legs should have been. They disappeared where they passed into the light. It gave him the look of a war veteran, his trousers ending in stumps, midway down his thights. Below this splash of sunshine were his polished black loafers, with his black-stockinged feet stuck in them. Between his thighs and his shoes, the only legs that were visible were the legs of the chair, the wood a lustrous blond in the light." And then later "But where his eyes belonged was only a black scribble. It was as if a child had taken a Magic Marker-a truly magic marker, one that could draw right on the air-and had desperately tried to ink over them. The black lines squirmed and tangled among one another, worms tied into a knot."
I will be surprised if this book isn't made into a horror movie soon. Okay - more about the book.
It is about an aging rock star, Jude, that collects an odd assortment of the macabre - used hangman's noose, a snuff film, etc. So when he receives an email about a ghost for sale, he doesn't hesitate, but immediately puts in the bid to buy it. The sale says that he will be receiving an old suit, but that the ghost is attached to it. A few days later he receives the suit in a black heart shaped box. (The book never really did go into detail as to how the old man arranged to "come back from the dead" and why if Jude bought the suit he would be able to come with it.)
From the cover: But what UPS delivers to his door in a black heartshaped box is no imaginary or metaphorical ghost, no benign conversation piece. It's the real thing. And suddenly the suit's previous owner is everywhere: behind the bedroom door...seated in Jude's restored vintage Mustang...standing outside his window...staring out from his widescreen TV. Waiting-with a gleaming razor blade on a chain dangling from one bony hand...
Must read for anyone who likes this genre. 5/5 stars
Other reviews:
Things Mean Alot
This book was easy to read with a good flow to it. I couldn't wait to get back to it. I could easily see the ghost as he described him "The dead man was sitting two-thirds of the way down the corridor, in the Shaker chair on the left, his head lowered in thought. A drape of morning sunshine fell across where his legs should have been. They disappeared where they passed into the light. It gave him the look of a war veteran, his trousers ending in stumps, midway down his thights. Below this splash of sunshine were his polished black loafers, with his black-stockinged feet stuck in them. Between his thighs and his shoes, the only legs that were visible were the legs of the chair, the wood a lustrous blond in the light." And then later "But where his eyes belonged was only a black scribble. It was as if a child had taken a Magic Marker-a truly magic marker, one that could draw right on the air-and had desperately tried to ink over them. The black lines squirmed and tangled among one another, worms tied into a knot."
I will be surprised if this book isn't made into a horror movie soon. Okay - more about the book.
It is about an aging rock star, Jude, that collects an odd assortment of the macabre - used hangman's noose, a snuff film, etc. So when he receives an email about a ghost for sale, he doesn't hesitate, but immediately puts in the bid to buy it. The sale says that he will be receiving an old suit, but that the ghost is attached to it. A few days later he receives the suit in a black heart shaped box. (The book never really did go into detail as to how the old man arranged to "come back from the dead" and why if Jude bought the suit he would be able to come with it.)
From the cover: But what UPS delivers to his door in a black heartshaped box is no imaginary or metaphorical ghost, no benign conversation piece. It's the real thing. And suddenly the suit's previous owner is everywhere: behind the bedroom door...seated in Jude's restored vintage Mustang...standing outside his window...staring out from his widescreen TV. Waiting-with a gleaming razor blade on a chain dangling from one bony hand...
Must read for anyone who likes this genre. 5/5 stars
Other reviews:
Things Mean Alot
Friday, October 24, 2008
Gathering Blue by Lois Lowry
I loved this book. I hope that my daughter chooses to read it soon. Characters were easy to follow and it was a quick read. Set in the future, it is the story of an orphaned girl that soon discovers she has a talent in sewing that is much needed by the village she lives in. I am a needlepointer/cross-stitcher myself, so the way the book spoke of her ability in this area was able to paint a very realistic picture for me. The big message that I got from it was that no matter how young you are, you do have the ability to change your future.
From the cover: Left orphaned and physically flawed in a civilization that shuns and discards the weak, Kira faces a frighteningly uncertain future. Her neighbors are hostile and no one but a small boy offers to help.
When she is summoned to judgement by The Council of Guardians, Kira prepares to fight for her life. But the Council, to hersurprise, has plans for her. Blessed with an almost magical talent that keeps her alive, the young girl faces new responsibilities and a set of mysteries deep within the only world she has ever known. On her quest for truth, Kira discovers things that will change her life and world forever. 5/5 stars!
Other reviews:
Things Mean Alot
From the cover: Left orphaned and physically flawed in a civilization that shuns and discards the weak, Kira faces a frighteningly uncertain future. Her neighbors are hostile and no one but a small boy offers to help.
When she is summoned to judgement by The Council of Guardians, Kira prepares to fight for her life. But the Council, to hersurprise, has plans for her. Blessed with an almost magical talent that keeps her alive, the young girl faces new responsibilities and a set of mysteries deep within the only world she has ever known. On her quest for truth, Kira discovers things that will change her life and world forever. 5/5 stars!
Other reviews:
Things Mean Alot
Thursday, October 23, 2008
A Red Death
I read this book as part of the Books-a-month group at Yahoo. Didn't like the sound of it going in, and there was a lot of negative posting about it in the beginning. I decide to plunge in and read it anyway. It did have a way of sucking me in so that I stuck with it, as I wanted to know how it ended. The book was somewhat confusing though, in the vast quantity of characters that it continued to introduce all the way through the book. I will give it credit, for not letting out who the killer was until almost to the end. Maybe others were able to figure it out, but I was still playing catch up on all the names!
From the cover: A Red Death plunges Easy deep into the political, legal, and moral tar pits of LA in the early fifties, when Red-baiting and blacklisting were official policy and racial tensions boiled. Easy is now out of "the hurting business" and into the housing (and the favor) business, on the strength of funds dating from his earlier adventures. He's a little older, a little wiser - and in a lot more trouble. He suddenly finds a corrupt, racist IRS agent breathing down his neck (and reaching for his wallet) about some unpaid taxes. His only out: cut a deal with the FBI to infiltrate the First African Baptist Church and spy on a former Polish resistance fighter suspected of stealing defense plans.
Meanwhile, Easy's romantic life becomes equally complicated and dangerouse when he takes in his old flame Etta Mae Harris. Hard on her heels is Raymond "Mouse" Alexander, her ex-husband, Easy's best friend, a dark, gleefully homicidal angel. Then the murders begin...and the LAPD decides that Easy is a convenient suspect. His search for the actual murderer must be conducted in an ethical mine field, where the stark choice is between betrayal and survival.
I give it 3 stars.
From the cover: A Red Death plunges Easy deep into the political, legal, and moral tar pits of LA in the early fifties, when Red-baiting and blacklisting were official policy and racial tensions boiled. Easy is now out of "the hurting business" and into the housing (and the favor) business, on the strength of funds dating from his earlier adventures. He's a little older, a little wiser - and in a lot more trouble. He suddenly finds a corrupt, racist IRS agent breathing down his neck (and reaching for his wallet) about some unpaid taxes. His only out: cut a deal with the FBI to infiltrate the First African Baptist Church and spy on a former Polish resistance fighter suspected of stealing defense plans.
Meanwhile, Easy's romantic life becomes equally complicated and dangerouse when he takes in his old flame Etta Mae Harris. Hard on her heels is Raymond "Mouse" Alexander, her ex-husband, Easy's best friend, a dark, gleefully homicidal angel. Then the murders begin...and the LAPD decides that Easy is a convenient suspect. His search for the actual murderer must be conducted in an ethical mine field, where the stark choice is between betrayal and survival.
I give it 3 stars.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Coraline
From the book jacket: In Coraline's Family's new flat are twenty-one windows and fourteen doors. Thirteen of the doors open and close. The fourteenth is locked, and on the other side is only a brick wall, until the day Coraline unlocks the door to find a passage to another flat in another house just like her own.
Only it's different....
At first, things seem marvelous in the other flat. The food is better. The toy box is filled with wind-up angels that flutter around the bedroom, books whose pictures writhe and crawl and shimmer, little dinosaur skulls that chatter their teeth. But there's another mother, and another father, and they want Coraline to stay with them and be their little girl. They want to change her and never let her go.
Other children are trapped there as well, lost souls behind the mirrors. Coraline is their only hope of rescue. She will have to fight with all her wits and all the tools she can find if she is to save the lost children, her ordinary life, and her self.
This was a good scary store for a YA. I think in every young child at some point, they wish that they had another family, or house, or life. Even in this story, though the grass looked greener on the other side, it was worse. It also helped to remember how the shadows seemed to come alive in the dark and that sometimes the worst things were those that you couldn't see, but that lived in the dark. It was an entertaining book and a quick read. 4/5
Only it's different....
At first, things seem marvelous in the other flat. The food is better. The toy box is filled with wind-up angels that flutter around the bedroom, books whose pictures writhe and crawl and shimmer, little dinosaur skulls that chatter their teeth. But there's another mother, and another father, and they want Coraline to stay with them and be their little girl. They want to change her and never let her go.
Other children are trapped there as well, lost souls behind the mirrors. Coraline is their only hope of rescue. She will have to fight with all her wits and all the tools she can find if she is to save the lost children, her ordinary life, and her self.
This was a good scary store for a YA. I think in every young child at some point, they wish that they had another family, or house, or life. Even in this story, though the grass looked greener on the other side, it was worse. It also helped to remember how the shadows seemed to come alive in the dark and that sometimes the worst things were those that you couldn't see, but that lived in the dark. It was an entertaining book and a quick read. 4/5
Sunday, October 5, 2008
The Maidenstone Lighthouse
This book was a very quick read and was a nice way to start out the month of October. From the book cover: Nestled in a coastal inlet a few miles north of Newport, Rhode Island, Freedman's Cove is known for its superb seafood, its postcard-pretty waterfront, and its exquisite Victorian homes - a legacy of the town's past as a summer resort for wealthy families. Manhattan antiques appraiser Susan Marks inherited one of these ornate mansions from her great aunt. After suffering a devastating loss, she retreats to Freedman's Cove to nurse her grief.
This book was an interesting mix of mystery, love story and ghost story. I enjoyed it because it was not too complicated and was in the need of a story line that was not too heavy. It does have a general storyline that as I was reading seemed so familiar that I thought I had maybe read this book at some point in the past - but I think it is just that it is a common story. Altogether though, it was fun to read a ghost story to start out the month! 3 1/2 of 5.
This book was an interesting mix of mystery, love story and ghost story. I enjoyed it because it was not too complicated and was in the need of a story line that was not too heavy. It does have a general storyline that as I was reading seemed so familiar that I thought I had maybe read this book at some point in the past - but I think it is just that it is a common story. Altogether though, it was fun to read a ghost story to start out the month! 3 1/2 of 5.
Monday, September 29, 2008
September Short Story Challenge
Hey - read 4 short stories for the challenge this month - One was from Strange Highways by Dean Koontz - It was called "The Black Pumpkin". Normal scary story - kid meets creepy guy at pumpkin patch carving pumpkins (you get what you give) - brother buys creepy pumpkin - family gets killed by creepy pumpkin come to life. Very predictable story but fun for this time of year.
Also read 3 by Margo Lanagan out of Red Spikes. Couldn't really get into more than this from her. "Baby Jane" was probably the most fun to read of the three. Small army men like toys come to life - a queen, a servant and a bear. Queen is in labor - boy helps deliver baby. Queen gives him baby to take care of while they go back to fight creatures from boys nightmares.. Then there was "Monkey's Paternoster" - couldn't decide whether this was really supposed to be about monkey's or not - Leader of the pack was dying and there was a struggle for who was going to be the new leader (or bachelor) - just a weird read. The last one was "A Good Heart" which was just a sad story. Boy meets girl - Girl weds another - somewhere inbetween has a baby and either it dies, or she lets it die in woods - Boy discovers secret and keeps it because he loves her so.
Well, that is probably all of the short stories that I will be able to read for the month!
Also read 3 by Margo Lanagan out of Red Spikes. Couldn't really get into more than this from her. "Baby Jane" was probably the most fun to read of the three. Small army men like toys come to life - a queen, a servant and a bear. Queen is in labor - boy helps deliver baby. Queen gives him baby to take care of while they go back to fight creatures from boys nightmares.. Then there was "Monkey's Paternoster" - couldn't decide whether this was really supposed to be about monkey's or not - Leader of the pack was dying and there was a struggle for who was going to be the new leader (or bachelor) - just a weird read. The last one was "A Good Heart" which was just a sad story. Boy meets girl - Girl weds another - somewhere inbetween has a baby and either it dies, or she lets it die in woods - Boy discovers secret and keeps it because he loves her so.
Well, that is probably all of the short stories that I will be able to read for the month!
Thursday, September 25, 2008
The Magician's Assistant
Read this book for the book a month yahoo group - didn't really care for it. It was the style it was written in (no chapters) more than the content that I didn't care for. I can't read for long periods of time, so without chapters, hard to find a beginning and an end. The content was ok - started to pick up about 2/3rds of the way through, but by that time I had already decided that I didn't really like it..2/5
Water For Elephants
Loved this book! It was a very quick read, or maybe it was just that I couldn't put it down! Told in flashbacks by a 90 (or was it 93) year old man living in an assisted living home. Involves many circus "characters" and an elephant named Rosie. From the first page, the first remembrance - I was hooked. Highly recommend!5/5
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix
This is the 5th book in the Harry Potter series, and for me it has been the best (but longest to get through) so far. Harry starts his fifth year at Hogwarts after being attacked by dementors near his home, and finding out about a new Order of which his Godfather, Sirius, is a member. I started out reading this book, and changed to listening to it when I needed something for a long car trip. I even sucked my husband into the story. Somewhere about 2/3 of the way into the book, I caught the last half of the movie on cable - Wow - talk about not following the book at all! I believe that the book is MUCH better than the movie. The book was able to tie together the first 5 years at Hogwarts and sort of give us a direction in which to expect the last 2 books to take. The movie left me feeling very vague as to anything that had been happening. I definitely recommend this book and cannot wait to start the next one! 5/5
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