Words

Posting has become scarce lately, primarily because my love for words is hidden.
It's not diminished - I'm drinking words in, grasping onto them like they're my final meal before a forty-year fast. But I'm not to create them.
My mind is asking for a sabbatical. For me not to be in a world where I pour out the words and finish, feeling exhausted. Instead, I have been relishing listening to words. Hearing the accents, hearing poetry, hearing rhythms that exist in sentences and in paragraphs and that flow on to make me feel content. Those rhythms and nuances serve to remind me that there is more out there, and while it may make you scoff (because people don't usually find these reminders in sentences), it's what I do.
I find words.
I love these words.

When I returned home this year, I decided I would write that novel, the one I'd discarded when NaNoWriMo hit me like a bullet and I couldn't write. That, I think, is where I gave up. I couldn't write. I couldn't finish the assignment. I had no inspiration, and I thought at home the inspiration might begin again.
It hasn't, but in my head my characters are having an extended nap. Carmen is lying, in an uncoordinated and frankly strange-looking position across a bed; Cristian is seated next to her on the floor, asleep and head tilting back onto the mattress. And I have no doubt in my mind that these characters will wake up. One day I'll write those words. Maybe this November, I will write that novel. But for now, I'm learning again.

When I did my HSC, I pushed books aside. I loved them, but I worked in a bookstore, where Twilight ran rampant on the shirts of twelve year olds and in the headspaces of those who thought Wuthering Heights had been written because of Twilight.

And really, no, I'm not kidding about that, I did have someone say that to me and my only response was a facepalm.

I digress; that bookstore was excellent besides the Twilight fanaticism. But thanks to the idiocy of Meyer, all I see now are vampire books. And escapism for me was not to be with vampires on pages, swooning in a pale, lacklustre imitation of Dracula. I found it in DVDs, movies. Scrubs became my escape; if I'm honest, Scrubs kept that stupid HSC year in perspective.
Eight exams, and millions of people around the world were dying from illnesses? I had it fairly good. From Scrubs, I learnt that words were not just what I spat out onto a page, or hurled across the room to communicate with someone, but they were just as important in what they missed. That pause, that thought. The moment where I can describe a room, but not one aspect - where I can tell my reader that it's their job to piece in the gaps, because it's not my novel once it's in their hands. And it's odd, because in television you're shown the surrounds. But from what they didn't say, from watching a character do something rather than giving it anecdotally?
Somehow that made a difference.

This year, I have fallen in love with remakes and with Offspring.
Offspring, primarily because I sit there totally in awe at Nina's headspace and how it's so similar to my own.
Remakes, because it's all about perception. Joe Wright's Pride and Prejudice compared to that 1995 BBC one that everyone adores but I can't stand because Colin Firth makes me want to snarl; the newest Emma compared to that one with Gwyneth Paltrow. They all have their merits in some way, but I'm learning that I'll never appease everyone. But, and this builds on something I learned last year, if I write to appease myself, and make myself happy, that shines through.
When I had a consult with my tutor, Trent, about my first story in Short Story Intro, he said that the reason he loved it wasn't because it was about something complex, something that needed to be said to change the world. He loved it, because he said I wrote what I knew and what I wanted to write. And I can't write unless I feel the urge, unless the story takes hold of me and directs me. I wrote 2000 words before I got those words.

If I ever find that, I will post it.
I have a draft of it, but my old computer has died.
Likelihood is, I won't have it on there anymore.
When I find it, I will post it, because I doubt it'll be published.

One day, I'll get to my words again.
For now, I will absorb lyrics.

mood - contemplative. Confused. Slightly nervous, but an anticipatory nervous.
listening to - Heart That's Pounding, by Sally Seltmann. I usually don't like music like this, but I am charmed by the beauty of this one, and to steal what I said to Glen, it has crept under my skin and has set up comfortable residence there.

what i am reading - I am reading 2 Corinthians, Neruda, and Mother Tongue. For light reading, I've got Cathy Marie Hake sitting next to my bedside. I may pick up on Song of Solomon tonight. Who knows.

Happy Easter, all of you.

http://pqhobbit.wordpress.com/category/spiritual-life/
Thank you.
The image makes me sing. 

Hurrah!

Ah, today.
Today was a grand day indeed.

Mondays usually begin with an alarm ripping through my sleep-cocoon at 6.30, and me blearily emerging with a variety of mutterings in my head - generally of an unsavoury variety.
Then I sloth my way down to IGA, where I get a deli case ready in four hours, then I sloth my way back home and try NOT to sleep.
Today was very different.
I woke up at 9am, pranced around the house like a loon, got a phone call from the illustrious Joshua (!) and scampered off to work, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.
Why the change? you ask with an indulging smile, handing me a cookie.
Well, it's because today I was becoming a checkout chick of IGA rather than Deli Master (Mistress? Sounds kinda... suss) of Doom or Something. Ah, checkoutry. It's a gentle art, and surprisingly I didn't mess up too much. By that, I mean very little. Though I still stared longingly at my deli, I quite enjoyed working on checkouts. Learning new stuff is pretty fun and it makes work quite a bit of fun.

Hang on, Coldplay on TV. Must find out why.

Dad changed the channel. Will never find out why.

Anyway, tomorrow I get back on the checkouts by myself. BY. MY. SELF. They did this second day of deli to me and I vaguely did okay, so we'll hope for the best here.

Part two, phone calls.

Joshua rang today, after returning to Australia two nights ago. It was awesome to hear his voice - I'd missed him terribly, but of course after returning home I'd sort of resigned myself to my pre-Brisbane life. The whole lack of social life, few interactions with those I care about, that sort of thing. In the Northern Rivers, I'm absorbed into my family and I find myself telling my deepest secrets to two dogs (one of whom resembles - well, I'm not really sure what. She has a patch of shaved fur on her back). But this morning, Joshua rang as I was sitting on my bed reading.
After Sirius decided to destroy Bellatrix's music files (cousinly rivalry, methinks), I lost my usual ringtone. So rather than Such Great Heights playing, I was greeted by that generic iPhone ringtone and instantly thought, "...WHA?! Why is Trina's phone ringing in my - oh right."
I have missed hearing the voices of my friends something chronic. Dear pally pals, I love you dearly.

Part three, I think?
I have a second job. In a bookstore.
Yes, you may all gape.
I got this job based on my nerdness, by which I mean my new boss and I had awesome book discussions and I told her I'm YouTube mad, know a wee bit about Dr Who (which I'm intending on making a whole lot), am a self confessed Potter nerd (see phone/computer names) and am completely obsessed with historical dramas on the ABC.
Seeing as it's an ABC store, I think my nerdness came in handy.
Anyway, I start Saturday. Any good wishes are appreciated; your bad ones may be swallowed along with some pie.

And part 4.
Trina is leaving for Sydney in a few weeks. I'm v. sad about this, as are all our friends. So faretheewell parties are being held, where we'll gallivant like loons and eat cake and see people! I'm excited for the party. If we could have this party without Trina leaving, it'd be great. Unfortunately we cannot. I'm thinking of finding Trina a giftygift for her farewell, but I'll not mention it here because I'm not really sure if Trina does read this blog, or any other blog, and I'm not taking my chances.

I have a sulky puppy (actually, a 11 year old dog, but whatever) outside barking crossly. To investigate.

Books ahoy!

Last Monday, Daniela and I went to Brisbane.
It was pretty spectacular. It was before the flooding hit, when I was forced to do an exam at the horrible hour of 8.30am. Daniela, Chris, Tata and I were up at the crack of dawn to drive to Brisbane; as a result, Daniela and I felt it only just if we were to gallivant around the city.
Which we did, with much glee.
Daniela last was in Brisbane about 3 years ago. Her parents took her to see Phantom of the Opera, and so her gallivanting was limited to a Southbank hotel and QPAC. I thought it'd be good to show her the city, even though as a city it's kinda limited to Queen St and a couple of straggly streets beyond.

With that, we started at the library.
The good thing about Daniela is she's pretty much as book crazy as me. The two of us happy-fizzle over books, and when there are gazillions of books on gazillions of levels all in the one building, it's an overload of awesome.
Daniela was particularly impressed with the Brisbane library. She's mainly grown up with the Northern Rivers' collection of libraries. All those not familiar with such libraries, I present the following:

The Battle of the Libraries

Northern Rivers vs. Brisbane

Duhn duhn duhn...

Firstly, Alstonville. Alstonville's library is located in the Leisure Centre:

Stolen, courteously, from the RTRL website.

 The Leisure Centre is primarily composed of sports facilities, however. I used to play futsal here (yes, I know. The concept of me playing sport is hilarious).

This, however, is one of the dance rooms. I attended a CWA
thingo here. Which was essentially old rural women
giving children awards for making nice posters about Belgium.

The library itself is tiny. You can't find a picture of it.

Next, Ballina, my preferred library.

Stolen from a tourism site.
I send my love.

 Ballina's a bit nicer. There's a far wider range and plenty of nommy DVDs (including the Office. Huzzah!). Still...

Finally, Lismore.

The outside of the Lismore library is truly creepy, so I'm sparing you that. It's like an old church. But haunted. And creepy. Pretty much, it epitomises Lismore. Also has the prerequisite black Gothic fence, untrimmed bushes and graffiti from the Lismore teens who, as I've mentioned previously, use flood waters to surf in.
(I mentioned this to my mother today, who I've been chatting about the floods with since she came home today. She laughed at the memories of those teens, and nodded wistfully.) Inside, the library is a muted yellow, but is combined with green in the horrific patriotic palette that Lismore seems to cling to like its that raft from Titanic.

Also, I've just remembered, Lismore is also known for having frothy water features, from those rascally Lismore teens who wake up early to sprinkle detergent in all of the roundabouts. Why roundabouts even need a jazzy waterfall, I don't know.

Anyway, back to books. Lismore's range is pretty good. 2 floors - one of fiction, one of non.

But it all pales in comparison to Brisbane. The outside:

Not the skyscraper, of course, though that would be truly fantastic. I wouldn't leave there at all. I'd become homeless and live in Redacliffe Place if that were the library. But the coloured blocks are the library. Already, the library seems more interesting.

 Inside, the beauty is just awesome. It's all glass and escalators and wooden floors. Can't really see it here, but each of the shelves has neon lights at the end - pink in the non-fiction, yellow in adult fiction, and so on. So you don't get lost! Huzzah! Lots of computers, and you check out your books yourself. Also, you put your books into the chute and the chute takes them on a conveyer belt. It's... just amazing.

And then if you're lucky enough, you can scab one of these comfy seats. (If you plan on doing so, make sure you're in the YA section. Far more seats, and you also can watch people lose at X-Box if you're lucky.)

Hence why Daniela and I are far more besotted with Brisbane Square Library.

After we went and hunted lunch, I stopped at the newsagency. There, my dear beloved readers whom I adore, I found this magazine.

Discerning Bride.

And upon flicking eagerly to the contributor's panel, I found my name.

Natasha Pavez.

I am in print.

Daniela and I squealed for a while, paid for it, then squealed all the way to Dymocks.

Daniela was also in love with Dymocks. Two storeys of pure awesome, tis Dymocks, and Daniela pretty much wanted to spend most of her day there. But I carefully nudged her to Borders. 

Borders is now her favourite place in Brisbane. You can tell we're related. 

But after seeing all these books, Daniela and I decided a challenge had to be made. 

We're reading the top 50 of Angus and Robertson's Top 100 Books of 2010, and seeing how we go.

Because I'm a pain in the butt, the list is as follows:

1. The Twilight Saga, Stephenie Meyer. This shouldn't even be called a saga, let alone make this list. Daniela and I decided that we're only going to put ourselves through the horror that is Twilight. We can't force ourselves through the other three.
2. The Harry Potter Series, JK Rowling. See?! THIS SHOULD BE NUMBER ONE. I'm not going to rant about why Harry Potter pwns Twilight (mainly because it's downright obvious) but I seethe at the Australian population. I really do. Daniela and I are going through all of these because, as Harry Potter nerds, we have to read all the books again before Deathly Hallows Part 2 comes out. And then have a movie night.
3. The Millenium Trilogy, Stieg Larsson. The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo, The Girl With the Motorbike, The Girl Who Hacks Into Swedish Computers And Solves Cases About Stuff. Clearly, I've read these books. 
4. To Kill A Mockingbird, Harper Lee. Daniela is distressed, because she had to read this about 3 months ago at school. I last read it in year 8, so I'm a bit more okay with it. "But I hate Scout," Daniela said to me. "Can't we just get rid of Scout? Why doesn't Jem narrate?" All valid points.
5. The Lovely Bones, Alice Sebold. Another book Daniela and I vehemently oppose - Daniela because it's plain boring, me because I can't stand her writing style. And yes, Daniela's right, it's boring.
6. Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen. Oh heck yes. 'Nuff said.
7. My Sister's Keeper, Jodi Picoult. Very happy to read this. I absolutely adore this book.
8. The Sookie Stackhouse Collection, Charlaine Harris. Essentially its vampires swanning around being smexy and sexy and all things in between, while pwning Twilight vampires because they actually drink blood. But I'm not complimenting this series. I think it's ridiculous, so I'm reading book one. Daniela's a bit more accepting, and says she will read two. 
9. The Time Traveller's Wife, Audrey Niffenegger. Aside from the whole BUT IF HE'S TIME TRAVELLING HOW HE IN TWO PLACES AT ONCE?! dilemma, it's a nice book. 
10. The Book Thief, Markus Zusak. Spear me now, but I have never been a fan of this book. I know everyone adores it and calls Zusak a genius, but my personal opinion is that it seems very rushed, and Death is not as developed as he should be. Also, Nazi Germany is beginning to become that awful place that all writers must refer to at some point (or WW2 in general), much like Australia or the English countryside was during colonial writing.
11. Lunch in Paris, Elizabeth Bard.
12. The Kite Runner, Khaled Hosseini. Good book. Melikes.
13. Memoirs of A Geisha, Arthur Golden. Will be good to revisit this book, it's another I haven't read in about 5 years.
14. 61 Hours, Lee Child. Not a huge fan of crime, but Lee Child used to sell like crazy at the bookstore. 
15. Dragon Haven, Robin Hobb.
16. Vampire Academy Series, Richelle Mead. Oh my gosh heck yes. I love this series. The only vampire series I really like, actually.
17. The Silent Sea, Clive Cussler. 
18. Mao's Last Dancer, Li Cunxin. I'm ashamed I haven't read this yet. 
19. The Lord of the Rings, JRR Tolkien. The most I know? "You have my sword." "And my bow." "And my axe." "And my vuvuzela." And, of course, THEY'RE TAKING THE HOBBITS TO ISENGARD-GARD-GARD-GARD-GARD...
20. Tuscan Rose, Belinda Alexandra.
21. The Power of One, Bryce Courtenay.
22. The Notebook, Nicholas Sparks. This is the only novel where I actually prefer the movie. Sorry, Mr Sparks Sir. 
23. The Pacific, Hugh Ambrose.
24. Ransom, David Malouf.
25. Jane Eyre, Charlotte Bronte. I love love love love this book. It is win in all ways. I shall be reading the copy that Lemmy gave me! 
26. Dear John, Nicholas Sparks. I do love this book too. Fantastically done.
27. Magician, Raymond E. Feist.
28. The Catcher in the Rye, JD Salinger. Haven't read this in quite some time either, so I'm looking forward to it.
29. House Rules, Jodi Picoult. My favourite of her novels. Huzzah!
30. Wuthering Heights, Emily Bronte. To sum up the novel using another blogger's description: Heathcliff is a douche. All I'm going to be doing while reading this is going CURSE YOU ROMANTIC THEORY.
31. A Thousand Splendid Suns, Khaled Hosseini. I adore this book as well, and I much prefer it to the Kite Runner. 
32. Marley and Me, John Grogan. Really, I'm wondering if the hype was worth it. It is about a puppy though...
33. Pride and Prejudice and Zombies: Dawn of the Dreadfuls, Steve Hockensmith. The original P&P&Z was fantastic. Eager to see this one.
34. Breath, Tim Winton. I cannot stand Tim Winton, cannot see how he is perceived as a glorious writer who deserves fame and wreaths laid at his door. In the two novels I have read of his, he has not used punctuation and is extremely sexist (not to mention boring as all heck). This is going to be painful.
35. The Bronze Horseman, Paullina Simons. The only one I enjoyed of hers - well, this trilogy, anyway.
36. Cloudstreet, Tim Winton. See #34.
37. The People's Train, Thomas Keneally.
38. Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, Lewis Carroll. I wonder how it'll be reading it now - when I actually know it's a drug trip? I last read this as a kid - would've been 8 or so.
39. Truth, Peter Temple.
40. Little Women, Louisa May Alcott. Haven't read this before, either.
41. Eat, Pray, Love, Elizabeth Gilbert. Many negative reviews about this book's message, but I don't have an opinion. Will read it and see.
42. The Host, Stephenie Meyer. Gouge my eyes out.
43. The Da Vinci Code, Dan Brown. Didn't mind this book. Pretty interesting read. Not too much substance or anything, but it's a good story nevertheless.
44. The Book of Emmett, Deborah Forster.
45. Ice Station, Matthew Reilly.
46. The Road, Cormac McCarthy. Another book to see if it lives up to the hype.
47. The Memory Keeper's Daugher, Kim Edwards.
48. Persuasion, Jane Austen. Another one I love.
49. Jessica, Bryce Courtenay.
50. Atonement, Ian McEwan. Surprised this isn't higher up the list. Then again, this is a peoples' poll. Need to buy a new copy of this...

I'm looking forward to going through this list, and having a structure. Also, I'm accountable to Daniela for the books I read. I'm also going to document two more novels (I have a book I'm putting it all in) - those being Forevermore, by Cathy Marie Hake, and Serendipity, also by CMH. V. excited to actually properly read them - I've not had much of a chance to do it as of yet, what with work and trying to get this house and groceries all sorted.

Hope you all have a lovely weekend, rife with many sleep ins and awesomesauce for all.

We begin with theft. We end with confusion.

In the true spirit of uncreativeness and theft, I present to you this:

If you're a fan of the vlogbrothers' videos on ye awesome site of win and video watching, YouTube, you'll get this reference. If I try and explain it to those who aren't Nerdfighter savvy, it won't really make sense.
Long story short, you should definitely check out their videos, because I said so and because all of Nerdfighteria said so and you don't want to get on the bad side of Nerdfighters because we will just shoot awesome rays at you and it will hurt.
Or something.
Whatever, I'm tired.

Anyway, so today I have learned many things. First of which, never tell a Chilean grandmother that you don't need her help cleaning a house. Telling her husband who erroneously believes he wears the pants in the relationship to stop her from helping is also futile.
I walked home from work today, longing for the minute I could lie on the couch with my new books (smexily waiting in my mailbox when I arrived), music blaring in my ears and draining my phone's battery steadily. Key in lock, shoulder to door to combat the swollen wood from all the rain, and a blur of pink trackpants and matching rubber gloves barrels towards me.
"Natashita! Mi ninita liiiiinnnnnda, como estas? Como esta tu trabajo?"
I stood there, one earphone still informing me that it's never gonna give me up (yes. I downloaded Rick Astley. What's your point?), gaping at Nana. "What are you doing here?"
Nana simply picked up her bottle of bleach and aimed it towards the bench. "Cleaning, nina."
"Nana, I told you it's okay. I don't need help, I can clean myself."
She sort of scoffed at me there, and smiled pityingly.
Not moments earlier, as I had trudged home along the wet grassy highway, I had phoned Dad with a plea to not let her do this. Dad told me to tell Tata. We both got a good laugh out of that one.
So instead, it was up to me to follow Nana around the house urging her that I could actually clean.
Nana replied with telling me that she had cleaned the majority of rooms in my home and while she had only cleaned the bathrooms with a 'manito de gato' (which is a term my grandfather introduced me to, meaning to clean as lightly as possible in order to mimic a cat, but to present the appearance of being clean so as to appease higher persons in the relationship, such as parents or scarily powerful wives), I could finish it off.
In confusion, I went and stared at my dogs for a while, who stared back with equal confusion because Nana - who they're sort of familiar with - had technically broken in, and no amount of barking would make her leave.
When I returned inside, Nana was scrubbing the rust off a cutlery holder that has been rusted for as long as I can remember. "Nina, you should clean this," she said. "If your mama won't, you need to."
My nana and my mother do not get along. My nana believes my mother to be incompetent at parenting and Australian. The latter is true but no grounds for Nana's feelings towards my mother. My mother believes my nana is meddling and elitist. She has rather good points here, but Nana's also quite lovely in other ways.
I stood there, mentally figuring out how to tell Nana that I was tired and needed to be left alone, when Nana propped a now gleaming cutlery holder up on the bench and asked me to phone Tata.
"I'm finished," she said.
"I'm going to mop," I said, excited.
"Ah! We can get Tata to help you."
I blinked at her. "Nana, I mop every morning at work. I know how to mop."
She patted my shoulder. "I know, mi vida, but you can always learn."
I phoned Tata.
"You found your Nana." No questions.
"She wants you to come pick her up, because she's finished cleaning."
"Well, I'll come soon." Tata sounded apologetic. Maybe because that morning - and the morning before - I'd texted him to tell him Nana needn't come over and followed that with strict instructions to tell her.
We bid each other adieu.

Later that evening, I went to Nana's for dinner. Nana had followed me around the house as I searched for my towel, telling me that my cousin missed me tremendously. I adore Daniela, I really do.
Her sisters... well.
Let's just say I much prefer Daniela.
So to talk to Daniela, I went there for dinner.
Lesson number 2 came:
Don't tell uncles anything, especially information about prior crushes that really should be forgotten.
Yesterday - or was it Monday? - I found out I got into UNE's Bachelor of Communications course, which I'll study via Distance Ed. So when I bounced over to Uncle today to tell him the grand news, he eyed me suspiciously.
"UNE... in Melbourne?"
"UNE in Armidale. Via distance."
"Oh. I know someone who's studying at UNE."
"Susan studied there," I said, mentioning his cousin.
He waved that away. "You know who I mean."
I didn't, not until he widened his eyes at me significantly and nodded with a grin.
"You're out of your mind," I said, stalking off.
At dinner, Uncle repeatedly said in the same contemplative tone, "So... UNE, eh?" coupled with significant eyes. I chose to ignore him until he shouted my name.
"Why'd you choose it?"
"It's more related to what I want to do, and either way I had to study off campus even if I chose Monash. I went with the course I wanted."
He sniggered at this. "Yeah, sure. So when are you going to London?"
I shrugged. "I don't know. I want to do a bit of time at the Sunshine Coast, then go to India and do a missions trip if I can - "
"India?"
I nodded.
"Oh. I get it." Significant eyes beamed in my direction. "You want to go to Africa, too?"
I looked at my aunt, who sat next to me, blankly. She rolled her eyes. "He's trying to suggest -"
Daniela and I both shouted, "OH MY GOSH."
And with that we fled.

Lesson number three, don't feed dogs chorizo.
Actually, don't feed dogs lentejas con chorizo.
Inca and Tuscany were fed my leftovers tonight, much to their delight. Unfortunately, this caused Tuscany to run crazily around the yard, barking occasionally and then attacking Inca. Inca soon realised this was a fun game, and mimicked her.
I went outside to see what drugs the two had taken, and was immediately tackled by two muddy Golden Retrievers (currently, a fetching shade of volcanic-rock-dirt red). I ran back inside in fear, and was lying on the lounge when suddenly I heard the screen door slam.
Instant thought?
There's a murderer come to get me.... FLEE.
But no! The creepily smiling faces of aforementioned muddy Retrievers came into view, and Tuscany decided this was prime time to try lying on top of me.
These dogs are not allowed inside. They are way, way too clever. I pushed Tuscany off me and this only prompted the two of them to start skidding around on the tiled floor all around the house, making all levels of noise.
When I finally got Inca close enough to the door, Tuscany accidentally tripped out of it and Inca followed in disgust.

Final thing I've learned, Book Depository is awesome. I now have two new books, courtesy of the Kidface Christopher - both by Cathy Marie Hake, from the Only In Gooding! series.
If you're a fan of Christian historical romances, try these out. Okay, only me on this blog who likes them?
Well... so's your face.
So these two complete the collection - started by That Certain Spark (#4 in the series), continued by purchasing Fancy Pants (#1), then came the wonders of Book Depository with Whirlwind (#3) and finally these two, Serendipity (#5) and Forevermore (#2).
I tells ya, these be epic.

Now I'm off to bed with an extremely random post. Wooworktomorrowbooktofinisharghbamboom.

Things the books have taught me

As I was working today (and ruing what can only now be called a mild form of dyslexia - or at least a mild form of failing on Thursday afternoons) I had in my head To Kill A Mockingbird.
I can't remember any lines from it normally. I last read it about 5 years ago, and it was a grudgingly-read book. Don't attack; I had to read it for school, so of course I was going to not be pleased. But as I danced through tables, trying very hard not to spill cappuccinos and lattes and mugs of flat whites, I had Scout Finch's voice in my head.
Actually, wait, it was more Calpurnia's voice.

They became quiet, and I knew they had all been served. Calpurnia returned and put my mother's heavy silver pitcher on a tray. "This coffee pitcher's a curiosity," she murmured, "they don't make 'em these days." 

"Can I carry it in?" 

"If you be careful and don't drop it. Set it down at the end of the table by Miss Alexandra. Down there by the cups'n things. She's gonna pour." 

I tried pressing my behind against the door as Calpurnia had done, but the door didn't budge. Grinning, she held it open for me. "Careful now, it's heavy. Don't look at it and you won't spill it."

I don't have the resolve to not look at what I'm carrying. I fret over it, like it's a newborn or something, and if I spill it I begin stepping slower, trying to glide over the floor.

There are times in my head where all I think about are the books I've read, and from these I remember things. I remember the first novel my mother read me. When she finished it, she shut it and said, "What did you learn?"
Dutifully I recited the novel's plot, but she shook her head. "No, not that, what did you learn?"
And it was essentially that gifts don't always come with bows on top, a card taped on, and wrapped in glitzy paper whilst costing a mint. Gifts come as people, as situations, as the summer's day in the middle of a rainy winter where you're craving sunlight and your body's missing that Vitamin D.

I read Ruth last night, as in the Biblical Ruth, after reading a string of very bad romance novels (Mills and Boon-esque publishers clearly don't look for writing talent). The study book I'm reading at the moment recommended it, saying it was a fantabulous romance.
Um, heck yes, and lesson learned there... there's a big difference between character and sex appeal, and there's a big difference between love and lust (or I wanna get in yo pants syndrome). And in each pair one is far more win than the other and leads to awesome.

As I am in pain now, I shan't continue. Rather I will get tea and banana bread and pretend to be a student. I do a very bad job of being one.

"Harriet Smith was the natural daughter of somebody..."

So within the last few days, I’ve been back in my Jane Austen-induced happiness fume. It’s a lovely state to be in. Mainly, I’ve been brought back because of the latest TV adaptation of Emma, with Romola Garai as the “handsome, clever, and rich” Emma Woodhouse.

I’ve not read Emma - we can blame exams for that failed attempt - so here, I was mainly doing it for a happy little kick. I loved Pride and Prejudice, in both book and film form; Sense and Sensibility was nice, and from there I wandered over to the Bronte sisters. But really, it was a brilliant premise. Storyline - fantastic. Acting - awesomes. Tash’s happiness meter after finishing it - dancing up in the sky somewhere.

My advice? Watch it.

Now I have a task - going back through Jane Austen again, seeing as I’m practically on holidays now. I’m determined to get through them all at long last and feel contentment.

Part 2 of this is, Vampire Academy: Spirit Bound was released today. Before my interview this morning, I raced to Dymocks in the city, and accosted the man at the counter for it. “Last one,” he told me. I nearly dropped to my knees in relief. (Don’t know why, considering in the city there are about 10 bookstores within easy walking distance.) No spoilers, considering it took me probably 3 hours to finish, once taking out interview time, phone-call time and “Eugh bus-sick” time, but I’m kind of peeved at the ending. Yes, Richelle Mead’s left it for another one, which should be out early-mid December this year, but still, that cliffhanger just annoyed me. It was one of those ones where you turn the page and are like, “Wait on a second….. there’s a preview of all the other books. What’s happened?” Anywho, still read it, because a lot of Blood Promise’s cliffhangers are answered. (Also, does anyone else feel slightly peeved at none of the Vampire Academy books matching if you started this series when they were first getting published? I have all originals, from when they were all initially released, and the first two match in size, the third is slightly larger and the last two are trade-sized. And then the covers… shudder.)

So, there you have it, my reviews and whatnot. Could probably go into a lot more depth (sorry, sorry Tim, I’m failing you) but I’ll save that for the Great Austen Challenge.