keeper of words: favorite quotes

I love the peculiar mind-locking sensation of hearing or reading a line or phrase in a song or a story that completely captures you. There's a visceral reaction when you comprehend and are struck by a perfectly written or spoken phrase. It catches you off guard with its wittiness or makes your heart skip a beat with its ferocity or poetic accuracy. My favorite books have those pockets of power over me. I've never been much of a highlighter, physically marking up or taking notes in my actual books, but I absolutely am an internal keeper of words. Special lines stay with me for months, sometimes years.

When I read The Book Thief by Markus Zusak, I went to work the next day and created a collage of all of my favorites quotes from that book to hang around my cubicle wall. I wanted to be completely surrounded by those thoughts, words, feelings. The beauty of that novel struck me dumb, and it was all about the words.

My husband and I were listening to The Lies of Locke Lamora by Scott Lynch on audiobook (for the second time) on our drive home this weekend, and we were practically giddy with the crude, brilliant writing. We kept skipping back to hear pieces of it again and again. The wit, the stunning wit. It tumbles around in your mind until you're dizzy with it.

I can't get Locke Lamora out of my head, so I thought today's post would be dedicated to sharing some of my favorite book quotes. There are so many to choose from, but I hope some of the ones featured here catch your mind in that extravagant way and inspire you to read and breathe them all in. Especially if there are any books in this list you haven't yet read! Go forth and remedy that at once.

Trust me, though, the words were on their way, and when they arrived, Leisel would hold them in her hands like the clouds, and she would wring them out like the rain.

The Book Thief

"You were the one who taught me," he said. "I never looked at you without seeing the sweetness of the way the world goes together, or without sorrow for its spoiling. I became a hero to serve you, and all that is like you."

The Last Unicorn

It seemed she was in a cathedral—if, that is, the earth itself were to dream a cathedral into being over thousands of years of water weeping through stone.

Daughter of Smoke and Bone

I'm going to tell you something important. Grown-ups don't look like grown-ups on the inside either. Outside, they're big and thoughtless and they always know what they're doing. Inside, they look just like they always have. Like they did when they were your age. The truth is, there aren't any grown-ups. Not one, in the whole wide world.

The Ocean at the End of the Lane

Sometimes I think my papa is an accordion. 

When he looks at me and smiles and breathes, I hear the notes.

The Book Thief

"He must have known I'd want to leave you."

"No, he must have known you would always want to come back."

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

It gave her a creeping sense of impending aloneness, like she was some orphaned animal raised by do-gooders, soon to be released into the wild. 

She didn't want to be released into the wild. She wanted to be held dear.

Daughter of Smoke and Bone

Rose doesn’t like the flat country, but I always did – flat country seems to give the sky such a chance.

I Capture the Castle

If he had a bloody gash across his throat and a physiker was trying to sew it up, Lamora would steal the needle and thread and die laughing! He steals too much!

The Lies of Locke Lamora

I am what I am. I would tell you what you want to know if I could, for you have been kind to me. But I am a cat, and no cat anywhere ever gave anyone a straight answer.

The Last Unicorn

life lately

Easter came and went and April is being very quickly chewed away, just like the bags of leftover candy that I have hidden in my purse and in my belly. We celebrated my husband's 26th birthday, a barista renamed me KayKn, and we legitimately have a year's worth of candy still in our house.

Speaking of, let's take an almond Snickers break. Because the sweetness of life can sometimes be found in....the quite literal 21 grams of sweetness they cram into these mini chocolate bars the size of my thumb. Sheesh!
Maybe I'll have two. 

I have a few important announcements:

1. I am an official contributing author over at Hello Giggles! My first article on the joys of being an aunt was posted last month in their guest post section, and as of this month I am a regular contributor. My first post was published Easter weekend, and it was about the beauty of sisterhood (coming from a gal who grew up sisterless). I am over the moon about this part-time writing gig and I cannot wait to publish more articles! You can check out my personal contributor page to keep track of all of my published articles.

2. We are house hunting. Big news! We are hoping to find a dumpy house with tons of potential to fix up over the next few years and eventually resell. Our ultimate plan is to build our own home, so this project will hopefully provide us with enough cash to start building our dream home. We're in no rush, so it's an exciting (instead of stressful) endeavor at this point. We saw a house yesterday that was pretty disgusting - we're thrilled!

3. I made the most beautiful red wine pasta dish last night (recipe courtesy of A Beautiful Mess) and I'm now obsessed over one-pot pastas. Did you all know about these?

recipe via abm

4. The Harry Potter Book Club is finishing up Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone! Come back on April 15th for the review and discussion here on the blog, and don't forget to join our group if you would like to jump in. Better late than never!

5. I just finished reading The Republic of Thieves, the third installment in Scott Lynch's epic Gentleman Bastards series and I feel quite forlorn about it. I have an uncanny attachment to these books. Go read them, unless you're particularly sensitive to language, thievery, violence, and crudeness. Stunning endorsement, eh? But really, The Lies of Locke Lamora (book 1) is absolutely incredible. A must read, in my humble opinion. They'll blow your mind but they'll also make you blush. My favorite thing in the world is to recommend great reads to friends, so follow me on Goodreads and let's talk about stories. 

What are you reading?

instagram post

love is not a triangle

I think my first cognitive experience with a fictional love triangle was in 1998.
All of my fellow 90's-kids will join me in a collective groan when I mention that this love triangle was set in a snowy cabin on a little show called Boy Meets World. The triangle participants? Beloved Topanga Lawrence and brillow-headed Cory Matthews and the forever-after despised Lauren what's-her-face.

I honestly can't even see Linda Cardellini in anything without giving her the stink eye. She destroyed a piece of me I didn't even know existed at age 10. I am forever damaged by her home-wrecking. Unfortunately this plot disaster was not the end of young adult love triangles in TV and literature alike. And I hate it. With a fiery passion that I can scarcely contain.

Here's why:

1. Love Is Not A Triangle.

I won't judge those of you who totally buy into the cheap-ploy that is the love triangle. (Yes, I will).
But love is not a triangle. You cannot be in love with two people at once. And if you say that you can, all that means is that you need to redefine "love". Because there is absolutely no love involved when someone is torn down the middle between two people, leading them both on and completely at a loss about which one to choose. The answer should be neither because both of those peeps deserve better. A love triangle thrives on selfishness and jealousy. It's pathetic and upsetting at best, and downright evil at worst. That's not how love works.


2. People Have More To Offer

A really common story arc is for a girl to be torn between the "good guy" and the "bad guy". Or a guy who is the best friend, who has been there for her for all of time (a.k.a. the "safe" option), and the bad boy who is exciting and usually horrible. She can't decide, she's so confused. Gordo or Smooth Italian Guy, Lizzie? Topher Grace or Tad Hamilton, Rosalee?

The truth is, people don't function in those extremes. People (and yes, that includes teenagers) are complex beings. I have no appreciation for a 17-year-old who has no clue who to choose between a leather-wearing, parents-hating rebel and an argyle-wearing valedictorian. I'm not saying that hormonal teenagers don't date around and have different crushes every week, but don't paint a portrait of a passionate love story with a character who has two opposite choices that they "love" equally. That's not a thing, and it makes me hate everyone.

3. Girl Power

Love triangles are the worst because they completely strip my heroines of their strength and respectability. They play upon a really terrible stereotype of flaky, cruel, mindless, indecisive females. The reason why love triangles so often hang on a woman who is love-struck and dumb is because nobody would believe a man to be that fickle and obnoxious. And if he is, he wouldn't be the hero! A man in that situation is a jerk. You can't have your heroine be a jerk! Do not support this behavior in our fictional representatives.

I want to read about young women who are strong. The way Katniss should have been. Instead of playing on her strengths and bringing out the hear me roar potential in her, the series dribbled her down to a shell of a person who had no social skills, was intent on killing herself, and whose only interesting plot design was whether or not she would choose Gale or Peeta. What a waste.

Especially in reference to YA fiction and literature, I want characters that are smart, engaging, relatable, and revolutionary for our young people. I want to read about young women (and men) who are good. Who struggle, sure, but who are loyal, especially in love. That's what I want out of a love story. Love. Is that so crazy?


4. Today's "Love Triangle" Isn't Even Right

The current teen drug of a love triangle somehow evolved from the original triangle, which was A loves B who loves C. That I can appreciate. There is heartache and unrequited love, which is always compelling and actually realistic. Take The Holiday, for instance. Iris is in love with Jasper, who is in love with somebody else. But he loves to tease her and torment her and stay "friends" because he is a jerk. People who can't decide and have two love interests are jerks. They're unfaithful and miserable fictional morons. Nobody roots for Jasper, amiright?

There are countless examples of brilliant, heart-wrenching stories of unrequited love. I will take the brilliant, tragic Sydney Carton from A Tale of Two Cities any day. I can root for those people, I can emphasize and grieve and cry with those people. I've met those people. I've been those people!

5. It's Lazy Storytelling

You know what stories I love the mostest? The ones that don't utilize lazy, immature plot devices to hook me. Ones that have authentic gumption and content and don't need to throw in frilly sex drama to fill time. I want characters and worlds with real plots and real stories to tell. I guess what I'm saying is that Harry Potter is king. To quote my friend Bonnie,

"You know why Twilight and Hunger Games had love triangles?

Because Harry Potter didn't need one."

Word. Good stories don't need love triangles, which create this weird, perverse, and unhealthy conflict in young people (and middle-aged women). The character core of Harry Potter was even made of two guys and one girl, and there was no triangle-ing. That is fantastic. They were too busy actually living. Growing up, fighting evil, and showcasing bravery, friendship, loyalty, strength, intelligence, fortitude and all of those other great adjectives. Those are heroes, ma friends. 

To sum up: love triangles are the living worst, and they ruin stories. 

I would love to hear your thoughts on love triangles and their prevalence in YA fiction nowadays, and if you adore them I promise I won't hate you... but you won't be able to convince me that they're cool. 

in which i share a bit of story

November was National Novel Writing Month, and I read a great pep talk from Brandon Sanderson, who is one of my all-time favorite authors. In 2002 he was starting to write his 13th book before he finally got his first call from an editor that wanted to publish a novel that he had submitted two years earlier. As he says, "this thing you're doing isn't about publication, bestseller lists, or reviews. It's about you, your story, and the victory inherent in completion."

Around my birthday in October, I began to think much more seriously about writing a book. I've always wanted to write one, but had neither the gumption nor the confidence to actually commit to a story. I have so many ideas tumbling around in my head, but they're all rather nebulous bits and characters that don't quite fit together. To actually commit to only one of those, until it's actually fleshed out and completed, is a very intimidating feat. I made a list of goals that I hope to complete in my 26th year, and a few of them had to do with writing.

My love of reading has led me to write many posts on the subject, and I have also written a few thoughts on my insecurities as an aspiring author. I love stories and could talk for hours about ones that I particularly adore, but this is going to be the post where I take a really deep breath and post a bit of writing from my book.

I'd like to preface this by saying that I love bards. It's a strange thing. I grew up reading Lloyd Alexander books and for some reason I was always overly attached to the bard. I just love the concept of a man with a harp traveling the world and singing stories. Books like The Last Unicorn and Lord of the Rings and Wheel of Time have elaborate storyteller characters and history told in song, and I love that. When I started thinking about what kind of book I would write, I immediately thought of a bard. Because he must exist in whatever world I create.

Welcome to a bit of my story.

---

Redge jumped over the small gap of dark sea between the side of the godforsaken ship and the splintery dock, stumbling to his knees in relief. He briefly considered kissing the salty wood, but thought better of it as he heard a bubble of laughter erupt from the sailors observing him. He didn’t mind, really. As a bard he was used to being the entertainment. He wasn’t crazy about ridicule, though. But he just figured they’d get what they deserve. Mean men usually did, either in this life or the next. No use trying to force it. He clumsily lifted himself back to his feet, adjusting the case on his back and giving the sailors a slight smile and an exaggerated salute.

The drumbeats of many boots hitting the dock followed him as he made his way toward the beach. He wasn’t much for sea-travel, but the life of a committed poet called for travel of every kind. And he was committed. He had even ridden a tratta a time or two, and those wormy creatures were most certainly worse than riding a ship. They slithered around like monumental snakes, ugly nocturnal things. They weren’t much use during the day of course, so the only times he had encountered them he had been quite desperate. Supposedly this island had a rather large population of the beasts, and he direly hoped he wouldn’t need to use one. He shivered at the thought.

Redge was a small man with a decidedly pointed nose and dark hair that was tucked under a velvet cap. It was impossible to tell his age, although most might guess he was somewhere in his twenties. He suffered from a rather childish face, which kept him from enjoying the majority of his youth. No one ever believed him when he announced his age, so he had stopped trying long ago. He decided to use it to his advantage, courting younger women at his leisure. They didn’t often accept his proposals, but if they ever did, no one would think him indecent.  

He was wearing far too many colors for such a small person. He enjoyed them, but he wasn’t blind to the many eyes that were lingering on him for a bit too long. They were either trying to uncross their eyes from the offensive pattern or coming to the slow conclusion that he was a bard. Color and bards went together like, well, music and bards. They were colorful people because they understood the beauty in all things, especially music. They were artists. Their clothes were simply a reflection of the color of their souls. He nodded to himself as he walked, pinning a mental note to write that down: reflection of the color of their souls.

Redge took in a deep breath as he neared the end of the long dock. The toe of his right boot caught against the raised lip of an uneven wood slat, and he lurched forward. His case swung forward and smacked into the back of his head but he caught himself, groaning, before he fell to the ground. He didn’t bother looking around to see if anyone had observed his clumsiness. It was better not to know.

The only luggage he carried was a red leather bound case in the shape of a small harp. The way it settled at the top of his shoulders made him look a bit like an ant trying to carry a boulder. The ship he arrived on was emptying its men and contents onto the dock far behind him, and he was happy to leave them to their work. It was a small fishing boat that had been quite unkind to him. The ship itself, not necessarily the men. Although in truth he wasn't fond of the men, either. The vessel was named Heaven's Glide, which must be the captain's idea of an ironic joke. It had "glided" like a bucking horse. His stomach still churned uncomfortably. Not much for sea travel, indeed.

---

The first of many drafts of Redge, a little bard character that may never be read or adored but who exists in my head, and for now that's enough.

to be a writer {frocktober, day 6}

I have always dreamed of being an author.
It's one of those vocations that really speaks to me. It would be so glorious to write something, something from my own mind, and actually release it into the wild world to be read and commented on and, possibly, loved.

It would also be absolutely terrifying.

I've started and stopped writing dozens of novels, jotting down ideas and even describing a few to my husband and friends for their opinions. It's a very vulnerable process and one I'm still struggling with. I have never, ever finished a writing project. Which is rather absurd, since I started writing and telling stories when I was just a kid. I have my first one somewhere, entitled Land of Celladore, a few chapters clumsily written and then abandoned. The self-doubt is really hard to quell. Which is why it's so nice to have people you trust to bounce ideas off of.
The problem is it's ever so much easier to create ideas than to actually complete them. Mid-story it's so tempting, when you hit that wall, to say - oh! What about this? This is a great idea! I'll write about that instead!
Only to discover mid-story, again, that it's just as difficult as the last. It's a terrible pattern of loving and leaving.

I think one of the farces I often create for myself is that I have to find the right thing to write, so it can get published and read and adored by millions. Right? Isn't that the order of business?
I somehow got it into my head that whatever I write has to be publishable. When the truth is, I could write 4 or 5 entire books before I write anything worthwhile. But it's about the writing, the desperate habit of writing -- the practice, the adventure, the experience.
I recently read something that clicked on a lightbulb in my brain. I think the bulb was already there, but it was never lit. If I write 500 words a day for a year, I would have a novel written. Period. Would it be good? Would it get published? That's all besides the point. The point is that it would get done! I would actually finish a book. And that, my friends, is the first of many great accomplishments for a writer-to-be. It would be the first of many steps toward writing that worthwhile something. It creates that system of follow-through that is so necessary to develop confidence, self-awareness and appreciation for ideas. Some of my favorite authors have books that were never published, first drafts that were absolute rubbish. The more you write the better you get, and that is the grand journey of it all.

All that to say - I'm writing a book. I think I'm saying it out loud in order to cement that accountability. It's out of my protective hands now, out into the world. You all know it and if this book ever makes it onto paper and into a cover, we can point to this post, dated and signed with the first hopeful admission.
It's not a good book, but it could be. It's from my own head and it's a work in progress. My goals for this year are to attempt to write that 500 words a day to build up my life's word count, and to hopefully finish a first book draft. It would be a fairly revolutionary accomplishment for me!
I hope to work hard, a little every day, to finish.
Even if it's just fertilizer, it'll be a nourishing beginning.

i'm not a reader: the common lie

Use Grammarly's plagiarism checker, because evil shouldn't have a foothold in the reading world!

"I'm not a reader."

It's a statement I've heard again and again in various conversations, sprinkled in with the how are yous and the what have you been up tos and the have you read this yets. 
I think I bring up books and stories so often in chats because I'm passionate about them, but coming across this particular answer has always confused me. Oh, I'm just not a reader. 

I never quite understood what that meant, because the assumption in each of these cases was that the person could read. If you can read, then how can you not be a reader?

The man who does not read has no advantage over the man who cannot read.

Mark Twain

I think Mark Twain knew what was up. He loved cats, worked hard, had a fantastic sense of humor. He also loved to read and write, which secured his place in American history. He was (and, thanks to the internet, still is) a spouter of wisdom.
That quote points a finger to one of the roots of the problem. The right to read, the blessing of sight and ability and opportunity demands a human to read.

Several years ago (coincidentally it was in the throes of the written Twilight saga) I decided to try something.
When someone said to me I don't read or I'm not a reader, I would take it upon myself to make them prove it.

My college roommate was my first test subject. The only thing she had ever read was Twilight, and she was convinced she generally disliked reading and that the Twilight saga was the only thing she cared to read.

This was a great place to start this project, because the idea that the Twilight saga is the single greatest thing you've ever read is way too sad to comprehend. It's a gut-punch to the literary society as a whole, really.

I thought carefully about her personality, chose some of my favorite books that I knew she would enjoy, bought them for her, and begged her to read them.
If and when she finished them, if she still hated reading, she could have my permission to proudly announce to everyone that she is not a reader. 

The thing is, I wasn't trying to bully her into anything. I wasn't trying to be right. My driving motivation was that reading is one of the most incredible gifts in the universe - I knew she would be better for it, because reading is so good for you, if I even have to say that. I should hope that it's common knowledge.
To have the ability and the skill and the knowledge to read, but choosing not to, baffles me.

Here's the key: find your genre. 

I think sometimes people grow up hating reading for various reasons. Perhaps they were slow to learn how to read, or they weren't allowed to read, or they were forced to read things they didn't like.
But once they're outside of that environment, I think everyone can be a reader. Find your genre, fall in love with books and stories. Not just for entertainment, but for your own betterment.
My roommate discovered her hidden love for reading through this experiment, and it was the best part of that whole endeavor. It was so exciting and it still is, being able to swap books and share stories.

Reading can relax you, it can sharpen your mind. It can expand your vocabulary. It forces you to sit and focus. Reading can develop your analytical skills, and can even ease depression. A compelling story can boost your empathy and challenge your character. Reading broadens the horizons of your understanding -- almost everything anyone is doing or saying comes from a book, or an idea that began in one. Books are history, society, memory, adventure, experience. Reading takes you places.
Reading is good for you. 

Let good prevail, my dear friends. Those who claim you are not a reader.
Fight evil; read books.

Update: I love this article, it gets me. 

note: this blog post was sponsored by Grammarly, but all thoughts and opinions are my own.