Wednesday, February 27, 2008

New contest!

So I'm sitting here and catching up on my blogs while I wait for my meeting with Brandon Mull, and I come across this fantastic contest. Head over to The Story Siren to enter to win a copy of of the "Study" series by Maria V. Snyder. I haven't read these yet, but they sound excellent!

Monday, February 25, 2008

Author Giddiness

So you know how I was super excited to meet Orson Scott Card last semester? Well, this is even better.

On Wednesday, I get to meet Brandon Mull, author of the Fablehaven series. Want to know the best part? I get to meet with him one on one.


Can you say shock? And excitement. Lots of it.

Wish me luck, fellow bloggers. More reports when I come back.

Friday, February 22, 2008

Poetry Friday: e e cummings

We're studying e e cummings in my American Lit class right now. So I thought this was appropriate.

anyone lived in a pretty how town by e e cummings
anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn’t he danced his did.

Women and men(both little and small)
cared for anyone not at all
they sowed their isn’t they reaped their same
sun moon stars rain

children guessed(but only a few
and down they forgot as up they grew
autumn winter spring summer)
that noone loved him more by more

when by now and tree by leaf
she laughed his joy she cried his grief
bird by snow and stir by still
anyone’s any was all to her

someones married their everyones
laughed their cryings and did their dance
(sleep wake hope and then)they
said their nevers they slept their dream

stars rain sun moon
(and only the snow can begin to explain
how children are apt to forget to remember
with up so floating many bells down)

one day anyone died i guess
(and noone stooped to kiss his face)
busy folk buried them side by side
little by little and was by was

all by all and deep by deep
and more by more they dream their sleep
noone and anyone earth by april
wish by spirit and if by yes.

Women and men(both dong and ding)
summer autumn winter spring
reaped their sowing and went their came
sun moon stars rain

Wednesday, February 13, 2008

Love is in the Air...

This is what my college campus looks like from Feb. 14th through the end of Spring semester:

Happy Valentine's Day to those of you who celebrate. I take more of a Charlie Brown standpoint for this holiday, but I think I'm in the minority... :-)

Monday, February 11, 2008

Bad News

Well, I dislocated my knee again last night. Yeah, again. This is the fourth time. I’m in a fair amount of pain, and I may be away from my computer for awhile. Just so everyone knows where I’ve gone. :-)

Friday, February 08, 2008

Poetry Friday: Snow White

I had so much fun with last week's poem that I found another one:

Snow White by Andrea Hollander Budy
It was actually one of the dwarfs
who kissed her—Bashful,
who still won't admit it.
That is why she remained in the forest
with all of them and made up
the story of the prince. Otherwise,
wouldn't you be out there now
scavenging through wildflowers,
mistaking the footprints of your own
children for those little men?
And if you found some wild apples
growing in the thickest part, if no one
were looking, wouldn't you
take a bite? And pray
some kind of magic sleep
would snatch you
from the plainness
of your life?

Saturday, February 02, 2008

A Tribute to a Great Man

Glenn Beck says it all in this video:

May I strive to follow Gordon B. Hinckley's great example.

We thank thee, O God, for a prophet
To guide us in these latter days.
We thank thee for sending the gospel
To lighten our minds with its rays.
We thank thee for every blessing
Bestowed by thy bounteous hand.
We feel it a pleasure to serve thee
And love to obey thy command.

Text: William Fowler, 1830–1865
Music: Caroline Sheridan Norton, 1808–ca. 1877

Friday, February 01, 2008

Poetry Friday: Cinderella

Since I love retold fairy tales, and since Valentine's Day is approaching, I thought this poem was appropriate. Please note that this poem is based on the Grimms' German version of Cinderella, which you can find here. I hope you enjoy.

Cinderella by Anne Sexton
You always read about it:
the plumber with the twelve children
who wins the Irish Sweepstakes.
From toilets to riches.
That story.

Or the nursemaid,
some luscious sweet from Denmark
who captures the oldest son's heart.
from diapers to Dior.
That story.

Or a milkman who serves the wealthy,
eggs, cream, butter, yogurt, milk,
the white truck like an ambulance
who goes into real estate
and makes a pile.
From homogenized to martinis at lunch.

Or the charwoman
who is on the bus when it cracks up
and collects enough from the insurance.
From mops to Bonwit Teller.
That story.

the wife of a rich man was on her deathbed
and she said to her daughter Cinderella:
Be devout. Be good. Then I will smile
down from heaven in the seam of a cloud.
The man took another wife who had
two daughters, pretty enough
but with hearts like blackjacks.
Cinderella was their maid.
She slept on the sooty hearth each night
and walked around looking like Al Jolson.
Her father brought presents home from town,
jewels and gowns for the other women
but the twig of a tree for Cinderella.
She planted that twig on her mother's grave
and it grew to a tree where a white dove sat.
Whenever she wished for anything the dove
would drop it like an egg upon the ground.
The bird is important, my dears, so heed him.

Next came the ball, as you all know.
It was a marriage market.
The prince was looking for a wife.
All but Cinderella were preparing
and gussying up for the event.
Cinderella begged to go too.
Her stepmother threw a dish of lentils
into the cinders and said: Pick them
up in an hour and you shall go.
The white dove brought all his friends;
all the warm wings of the fatherland came,
and picked up the lentils in a jiffy.
No, Cinderella, said the stepmother,
you have no clothes and cannot dance.
That's the way with stepmothers.

Cinderella went to the tree at the grave
and cried forth like a gospel singer:
Mama! Mama! My turtledove,
send me to the prince's ball!
The bird dropped down a golden dress
and delicate little slippers.
Rather a large package for a simple bird.
So she went. Which is no surprise.
Her stepmother and sisters didn't
recognize her without her cinder face
and the prince took her hand on the spot
and danced with no other the whole day.

As nightfall came she thought she'd better
get home. The prince walked her home
and she disappeared into the pigeon house
and although the prince took an axe and broke
it open she was gone. Back to her cinders.
These events repeated themselves for three days.
However on the third day the prince
covered the palace steps with cobbler's wax
and Cinderella's gold shoe stuck upon it.
Now he would find whom the shoe fit
and find his strange dancing girl for keeps.
He went to their house and the two sisters
were delighted because they had lovely feet.
The eldest went into a room to try the slipper on
but her big toe got in the way so she simply
sliced it off and put on the slipper.
The prince rode away with her until the white dove
told him to look at the blood pouring forth.
That is the way with amputations.
They just don't heal up like a wish.
The other sister cut off her heel
but the blood told as blood will.
The prince was getting tired.
He began to feel like a shoe salesman.
But he gave it one last try.
This time Cinderella fit into the shoe
like a love letter into its envelope.

At the wedding ceremony
the two sisters came to curry favor
and the white dove pecked their eyes out.
Two hollow spots were left
like soup spoons.

Cinderella and the prince
lived, they say, happily ever after,
like two dolls in a museum case
never bothered by diapers or dust,
never arguing over the timing of an egg,
never telling the same story twice,
never getting a middle-aged spread,
their darling smiles pasted on for eternity.
Regular Bobbsey Twins.
That story.