My Recommendation

Well, it's been a while, hasn't it? I apologize for that. For the past few weeks, I've been self-diagnosed with Writer's Block and, quite frankly, it's not so easy to write with such a condition. I feel as if I'm just beginning to come out of it, but it's still hard to think of an idea to ramble on about as I usually do. Because of my lack of inspiration, I figured I'd try something different. Today, I will recommend a book for you. (I've never done too well at book reports, let alone writing with writer's block, so I'm sorry if it's kind of rough. I'm just trying to get back into the swing of things.)

One summer's day a few years back, I was wandering aimlessly through the local Chapters book store. I walked over to the Fiction/Mystery section only to have a book clothed in a bright, green cover catch my eye. Of course, I never judge a book by it's cover, but since it had captured my attention, I decided to read what the back had to say. Upon finishing, I realized that this book really was seeming to sound very interesting. And so, since I had plenty of time to spare while my dad was looking for a magazine to purchase, I found a quiet little nook on one side of the store, sat down, and began to read. It was absolutely intriguing. I purchased the book that day, and I've purchased every one following in the series ever since.

The book I am talking about is The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie, written by Alan Bradley. Perhaps you've heard of it. If not, I suggest you go look into it.

The Flavia de Luce mystery series

The story takes place during the 1950s and the protagonist throughout the series is an eleven year old girl named Flavia de Luce. Flavia has a passion for chemicals and has her own chemistry lab in the mansion her family owns. Science isn't her only interest, however. Constantly seeming to run into murder mysteries by accident, she never fails to solve the case, often in assistance to the town's inspector.

The young girl's life seems to relate to that of Cinderella's. With Flavia's mother dead because of an accident that occurred when she was a mere baby, all she's left with now are a father who often ignores her, two older sisters (Ophelia and Daphne) whom find enjoyment in torturing and scaring her, and the family cook and maintenance man who seem to be the only people she can talk to and trust; well, as good as the juvenile detective can trust anyone.

Each novel in the series contains a different but equally thrilling mystery involving a murder or two, wars and revenge between Flavia and her sisters, and plenty of anticipation caused by the protagonist sneaking around on her bicycle (called Gladys) and occasionally falling into danger.

Bradley does an excellent job, in my opinion, at putting all the pieces of the puzzle together so when you think you've solved the mystery for yourself, it's hard to resist the urge to jump up and down in excitement because it feels as if you've walked alongside Flavia during her entire adventure and assisted in solving the crime. Or maybe that's just me.

Either way, the series has continued to be one of my favourites and it probably will be for a long time. Everything about it I found captivating and if you love a good 'whodunit' as much as I do, I suggest you look into this book and possibly the ones that follow.

Image credit:

-http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/sweetness-at-the-bottom-of-the-pie-alan-bradley/1100259021?ean=9780385343497

-http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/weed-that-strings-the-hangmans-bag-alan-bradley/1100298146?ean=9780385342315

-http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/red-herring-without-mustard-alan-bradley/1100079322

-http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/i-am-half-sick-of-shadows-alan-bradley/1100156108?ean=9780385344012

From Her Perspective

*Disclaimer: This wasn't written about me, but from the view of one of my closest friends.

I walk to school alone, with my head down, so nobody will see the tears streaming down my face. My only worry right now is whether or not I'll be able to wipe them away before my friends see. Are they my friends? I think so. They're all I have left. I'm sure that if they found out what I've been hiding for all this time, they wouldn't want to be my friends anymore; unless those thoughts are already in their minds.

So many secrets, none of them good. Life's gotten so hard, especially lately. Don't get me wrong, I've been feeling like this since elementary school, where I was nothing but the freak that stayed separate from everyone else. They wouldn't understand, particularly at such a young age. When your only homework is to colour a picture and stay inside the lines, there's no way they could have possibly made sense of my sadness. I can't fathom it either, not even now.

I didn't have any friends back then, but now I do. Most of them are idiots, though. How hard is it to actually take one look at me and realize that no matter how many times I say it, I'm not okay. I don't even remember the last time I was. Don't they notice the scars? I've given up on trying to hide them because nobody really pays enough attention to me to notice. I mean, honestly! What kind of regular person would carry a pair of nail-clippers around with them, even at school? Maybe if, for once, they would ask me what I did last night, I would tell them the truth. I would tell them that I sat alone, in the middle of the night, in a t-shirt, in a freezing cold field. They would maybe even find out that I've been battling the option of suicide for years now. But I know they wouldn't stick around long enough to listen. I'm used to being ignored and forgotten.

Some of my friends are like me, though. They're definitely not as bad, but they're someone I can relate to for the first time in my life. Even though they constantly say otherwise, I know I annoy them with my feelings of desolation. Sometimes, if they have nothing better to do, they'll try to make me laugh. Rarely, they'll succeed. I'm just too sad and alone. When they ask what's wrong, I'll occasionally tell them I'm tired. Then, they will walk away, assuming I didn't get enough sleep. That's where they're wrong. I'm tired. Tired of feeling sad; tired of wanting to cry all the time; tired of the thoughts that reside in my head; tired of life; tired of living. I'm tired of it all.

I walk home alone, with my head down, so nobody will see the tears streaming down my face. My only worry right now is whether or not I'll be able to let myself survive until the next day.

From The Ground Up

From the ground up,

We rise to success;

Encouragement and devotion

Make us become our best.

From the ground up,

We grow to be great;

Well-grounded on Earth,

Our hearts cannot hate.

From the ground up,

We sprout out love;

Strong roots hold us firm

Always equal, never above.

From the ground up,

We reach for the sky;

We have the motivation,

All that's left is to try.

Insert Grunt of Despair Here

He was right there in front of me. All I had to do was talk to him, which was kind of hard considering the fact he was the first one in a long time to make me feel all giddy and nervous (in a good way). Most of the time, though, I could manage a few short sentences. We talked every day. I actually texted him, even though I hate participating in such a pointless activity. I just wanted to talk to him. He told me he thought I was amazing. He told me, and I quote, "Hi! -" and "hehe :D." I heard from my friend that he liked me. I also knew he was planning to possibly ask me out. I was starting to like him. It could have been incredible. It could have been perfect.

And then I had to go and mess it all up. I guess that's really just my regular routine.

Maybe it was because I didn't text him those nights. Maybe I said something wrong. One day, instead of walking me down the school hallway and hugging me good-bye, he just stopped talking to me. For a few weeks, he wouldn't even make eye contact with me in class. He wouldn't sit beside me, he wouldn't talk to me, he wouldn't smile at me, he wouldn't even glance my direction. And it hurt.

Now, just to top it all off, I suddenly can't stop thinking about him. My feelings seem to be growing towards this individual, and nothing will ever happen because I missed my chance; possibly even ruined it. I'm pretty sure he's moved on and found another girl whose company he enjoys, although I know he's still single at the moment. I want him to be happy, of course, but all I can think of now is what could have been if I wasn't so darn socially awkward, and that the girl he may be starting to like is not me.

Right now, I probably sound like some obsessed, boy-crazy, drama queen whom strives for attention, but my blog is the only place I can vent about such things and not be judged, resulting in multiple, nearly consecutive, posts about guys. Such topics cause me a lot of stress and frustration.

Anyway, I talked to him for the first time in three weeks last friday, as he came to sit in the seat behind me in class, which was also for the first time in three weeks. As far as I can tell, he doesn't hate me. That's a pretty good re-start, right?

You should know that he is in our school's Drama production; a production in which I am partly responsible for moving the sets, hence the reason I have to be at all the same shows as he is. Today, there was a dress rehearsal. He and I had a five-second conversation during which I probably blushed like an idiot, most likely resulting in a slightly creeped out, embarrassed, awkward, attractive, young male responding to whatever stupid remark I previously made towards him. What made it worse was that his costume for the scene was a suit and tie. That always gets me. (Something about a well-dressed guy is like the icing on the cake for me.) Then I get even more awkward (which I didn't even think was possible), causing him to sense my awkwardness and, on top of him already being awkward, proceed to a whole new level of awkwardness almost as bad as mine. Then what do you get? A couple of awkward, red-faced, uncomfortable, nervous, teenagers. Awkward, right?

Switching directions to look on the bright side for a moment, I guess I should be thanking him for letting me realize that I have managed to get over my past. For the first time in a long time, I felt something towards another guy and I think I'm ok with it. Having a heavy weight of sadness lifted off your shoulders can be a wondrous thing, and he allowed me to experience that sensation once again.

Maybe we still have a chance. Maybe he hasn't completely given up on me. Maybe I will end up happy. I know those hopes are just mere possibilities, but for now, they're all I can afford.

Written Paradise

I love to read. It's as simple as that. I would rather burry my nose in a novel for the day than go out into cold reality and be amongst society. If given the choice of going to a party with all the cool kids or staying at home, on my personal reading couch, with a great book in my hands and hot green tea on the table beside me, I would probably choose the latter.

Something about being able to escape the real world and live within pages, right next to my favourite characters, comforts me. It's soothing for me to be able to start reading and, in a sense, enter another space or reality and ignore whatever is actually going on around me. My mother, I'm afraid, doesn't seem to find the same pleasure in it as I do because she, for one, hates being ignored (even though I honestly can't help it… most of the time…) and having to repeat the same statement more than once; but I assume most mothers are like that. When I read, it feels like I, even if it's only for a moment, seize to exist. Instead, I take my stand inside the book, following the characters on their countless adventures. In my mind, I could reach out and feel this written world as if it were the one I were born into. Honestly, I think I prefer it that way.

Almost every time I finish a book or series, I either feel a grand sense of elation and pride, or I fall into a quiet, thinking state where I go through each event in the book, wishing my life could be somewhat as amazing as what I've just finished reading. It almost gets depressing at times. I start to feel lonely because I don't have a story-book romance, grand adventures, countless exciting mysteries, or what ever traits or powers one of the characters may have had in his/her little fantasy world. Once the cover closes, I get whisked back to reality. Boring old reality. Boring old me. Nothing special, barely tolerable.

Maybe the only way to escape these feelings are to fight back at them with a written world of my own. This time, though, I will take the place of the main character, although probably under a different name. The pen will be my paintbrush, the paper an easel. I will finally have power over my own life, even if it doesn't really exist. I can be free to dream and transfer my musings onto the paper. Words. That's all I need. Words and maybe a little bit of time.

Maybe real life would be better if it weren't real life at all.

Why Must We Fall? (Owl City Blog Re-blog)

Being an avid reader of Adam Young's blog, I can't help but be touched and/or inspired by everything he posts. One specific post, however, has managed to capture my upmost attention for the second time. The post titled, "Why Must We Fall?" captivates me, making me travel into a very deep thought on life. No matter how hard I try, I can't seem to place my finger on just what causes me to do so.

Without further ado, may I present to you, dear reader, "Why Must We Fall?", a re-blog from the Owl City Official Blog:

One of my favorite stories in the world is a short chapter taken from Austrian author Felix Salten’s incredible 1923 novel Bambi, a Life in the Woods. The story of the little deer itself is quite a bit darker and melancholy than the Disney movie, but if you find inspiration in anthropomorphic literature, I highly recommend it. The tale is pure, moral, sterling and virtuous — all things I find rare and unfamiliar among 95% of modern novels on today’s shelves.

Every year about the time the autumn leaves start falling, I dig Bambi out of my bookshelf because of a chapter concerning two introspective oak leaves entitled, Winter. It’s poignant and beautiful and I wilt and smile at the same time because Salten’s words benevolently remind me that life is fragile and even the smallest moments should be cherished dearly. I like how subjective and sobered I feel after reading the chapter. I can’t wait to read it to my son or daughter someday when he/she inquires about the subject of death (and even more excited to further explain that death isn’t the end for followers of Christ) but that’s another story.

A brilliant radio dramatization of the chapter recorded in the late 50’s by Ted Strasser:

The leaves were falling from the great oak at the meadow’s edge. They were falling from all the trees. One branch of the oak reached high above the others and stretched far out over the meadow. Two leaves clung to its very tip.

“It isn’t the way it used to be,” said one leaf to the other.

“No,” the other leaf answered, “So many of us have fallen off tonight we’re almost the only ones left on our branch.”

“You never know who’s going to be next,” said the first leaf. “Even when it was warm and the sun shone, a storm or a cloudburst would come sometimes and many leaves were torn off, though they were still young. You never know who’s going to be next.”

“The sun seldom shines now,” sighed the second leaf, “and when it does, it gives us no warmth. We must have warmth again.”

“Can it be true,” said the first leaf, “can it really be true that others come to take our places when we’re gone, and after them still others, and more and more?”

“It is really true,” whispered the second leaf. “We can’t even begin to imagine it, it’s beyond our powers.”

“It makes me very sad,” added the first leaf.

They were silent a while.

Then the first leaf said quietly to herself, “Why must we fall?”

The second leaf asked, “What happens to us when we’ve fallen?”

“We sink down.”

“What is under us?”

The first leaf answered, “I don’t know. Some say one thing, some another, but nobody knows.”

The second leaf asked, “Do we feel anything, do we know anything about ourselves when we’re down there?”

The first leaf answered, “Who knows? Not one of all those down there has ever come back to tell us about it.”

They were silent again. Then the first leaf said tenderly to the other, “Don’t worry so much about it, you’re trembling!”

“That’s nothing,” the second leaf answered, “I tremble at the least thing now. I don’t feel so sure of my hold as I used to.”

“Let’s not talk anymore about such things,” said the first leaf.

The other replied, “No, we’ll let be. But — what else shall we talk about?” She was silent, but went on after a little while. “Which of us will… which of us will go first?”

“There’s still plenty of time to worry about that,” the other leaf assured her. “Lets remember how beautiful it was, how wonderful, when the sun came out and shone so warmly that we thought we’d burst with life. Do you remember? And the morning dew and the mild and splendid nights?”

“Now the nights are dreadful,” the second leaf complained, “and there is no end to them.”

“We shouldn’t complain,” said the first leaf gently. “We’ve outlived many, many others.”

“Have I changed much?” asked the second leaf shyly but determinedly.

“Not in the least,” the first leaf assured her. “You only think so because I’ve got to be so yellow and ugly. But it’s different in your case.”

“You’re fooling me,” the second leaf said.

“No, really!” the first leaf exclaimed eagerly, “believe me, you’re as lovely as the day you were born. Here and there may be a little yellow spot, but it’s hardly noticeable and only makes you handsomer, believe me.”

“Thanks,” whispered the second leaf, quite touched. I don’t believe you, not altogether, but I thank you because you’re so kind. You’ve always been so kind to me. I’m just beginning to understand how kind you are.

“Hush,” said the other leaf, and kept silent herself, for she was too troubled to talk anymore.

Then they were both silent. Hours passed.

A moist wind blew, cold and hostile through the treetops.

“Ah, now,” said the second leaf, “I…”

And then her voice broke off. She was torn from her place and spun down.

Winter had come.

Unrealistic Expectations

There is something you should know about me: I don't like having expectations. Every time I decide to let loose and imagine the many possibilities of something, I always get let down. This is why every time someone curious enough asks me what I would look for in a potential lover, I would laugh and tell them that I'll take whatever I can get even though this statement is false.

Late nights of my entire life have been spent trying to picture my perfect partner. I still to this day cannot bring my mind to conjure up such precise details that would construct the face and body of my "dream guy." I can, however, state some (many) qualities that I would possibly (definitely) search for in someone I would consider picking first for a movie or some other luxury.

I'm not one to set such high standards or expectations of other people, but I believe that when it comes to a case where a human being could be someone you could live the rest of your life beside, it is acceptable to do so.

Behold: The list.

I want a guy that:

-Will write me a poem or just writes poems in general

-Wears cardigans

-Can make me laugh for real

-Enjoys vintage cartoons

-Doesn't take things too far too fast

-Won't make me feel pressured

-Will play board games with me

-Listens to music other than what's on the radio

-Plays an instrument

-Doesn't do drugs or smoke

-I can trust

-Won't hate me or think differently of me because of my secrets

-I can relate to

-Won't give up on me

-Respects me

-Respects my friends

-Isn't clingy, but isn't all over other girls

-Likes Pirates Of The Caribbean

-Won't tell me he loves me until at least a year and a half of dating

-Will call me beautiful every once in a while; not over-using it

-Will make me believe it

-Is a little less messed up than I am

-I can drink tea with

-Will like me for who I am

-Will give me some space, but will also ask me to hang out often

-Likes going for long walks

-Will watch the clouds with me

-Philosophizes

-Likes animals and kids

-Is quiet at first, but funny when you get to know him

-Will shove ice-cream in my face

-Will understand that I don't like to text and will find another way to contact me

-Won't kiss me until our fourth (or more) week of actually dating

-Will hold my hand

-Won't touch my butt. It creeps me out

-Enjoys getting dressed up

-Wears bow-ties

-Will match the colour of my clothes for special occasions

-Hates alcohol with the same passion I do

-Understands I despise calling people on the phone first

-Could break my heart, but wouldn't dream of it