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Books For Life: For Those Who Love To Read

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Well isn't this a lonely place [10 Jun 2005|08:31am]

sh_n_nig_ns


Just b/c if there were other girls in this community other than myself I think that they'd be interested in this community.
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Dark Thoughts by John Bemrose [07 Mar 2005|02:20pm]

sh_n_nig_ns
[ mood | thoughtful ]

I recently went looking for the night and couldn't find it. Bundled in my parka, I stood in my small front yard, gazing up to where the stars should have been, and saw only a garish umbrella of sickly yellow light spread by a nearby street lamp. In the backyard, things were scarcely better. I thought I glimpsed Orion, but once again the darkness had been dispelled, this time by floodlights that turned a local playing field into a pretty good replica of a prison exercise yard. Was there no such thing as night anymore? Or had it been consigned, like smallpox and bearbaiting, to history's rubbish box, an old-fashioned evil we can happily do without?

Of course people will tell me that this is what I get for living in the big city, where nature (the argument runs) has been reduced to the status of a dusty geranium on a window ledge. But I've noticed that even small towns and villages are suffering the same blight. In Paris, Ont., where I grew up, full night no longer comes. The horizon never ceases to glow with the incandescence of the nearest city. And in the countryside itself, radio and television towers flash with the persistence of insomnia across the restless fields.

Perhaps Canadians, being a northern people, cannot really be blamed for wanting to roll back the dark: we certainly get enough of it in our long winters. And, too, the night, long associated with evil, arouses primitive fears in us. But night is also a source of mystery, capable still of opening us to almost childlike states of wonder. When we push the night away, we also banish the imagination; when we try to outlaw night's demons, we also lose contact with the shy spirits of love and romance that have traditionally made night their haunt. How can young people come to know love's strangeness and delicacy under the fluorescent brightness of a shopping mall?

Even night's terrors have their place. Once, on a camping trip in Northern Ontario, I got lost in a storm. It was pitch black, and for a few minutes I couldn't find the path back to the tent. I was afraid, but also strangely moved, attentive to the roar of the great trees bending invisibly around me.

A couple of hours later, snug in the tent, I woke again and sensed a change. Sticking my head outside, I saw that the wind had blown the clouds away. The stars were huge, and ferociously bright. Among the dark, moving branches of the pines, they flickered and plunged like lanterns strung in garlands across the sky. I climbed out and, using my sleeping bag as a shawl, stood looking up into the heavens. The sight banished every other thought and worry in my head. It was blessing enough simply to be alive and seeing this.

Except during rare large-scale power failures, night never shows such a face in the city. But I can't quite shake the habit of looking for it, as if the night were an exiled goddess waiting for us to call her back from beyond the streetlights' presumptuous glare.

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[01 Mar 2005|11:05pm]

shnowman
[ mood | productive ]

here is some of my poetry: http://allpoetry.com/shnowman

I have a lot more, but I never got around to putting them up. Maybe another day

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Reading... [01 Mar 2005|06:28pm]

sh_n_nig_ns
[ mood | sick ]

Books that I've started but have yet to finish:

Industrial Magic by Kelley Armstrong (currently reading this one)
Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire by J.K Rowling
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time by Mark Haddon
Sophie's World by Jostein Gaarder
Hangman by Michael Slade
The Summer That Never Was by Peter Robinson
Portrait of a Killer by Patricia Cornwell
Room 33 by E.C. Sheedy

It's not that I don't want to read them, it's just that I start reading one, and then I find another one and get excited about it and start reading it, lol.

Books that I just recently finished:

Dime Store Magic by Kelley Armstrong
Lost Souls by Poppy Z. Brite

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The Black Panther [28 Feb 2005|12:08pm]

sh_n_nig_ns
[ mood | geeky ]

I’m not a big fan of traveling to third world countries, just because I’ve always been a big-city type of girl. So much so actually, that it was hell for me to even go visit my grandmother during the summers at her farm in Nova Scotia. She always made me do something that involved getting dirty, like gardening for her or grooming her horses. I had more that enough of my share of broken fingernails that I worked so hard to manicure and perfect. But there was one great thing about her farm... read moreCollapse )

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Untitled [27 Feb 2005|10:14pm]

sh_n_nig_ns
[ mood | flirty ]

The warm sunrays danced through the branches of the tall maple tree. A black squirrel with a bushy tail crept down it, stopped for a moment, then bounded through some crispy fallen leaves and up a neighbouring trunk. In the distance a babbling brook flowed. Cheers, laughter and yelling from the neighbourhood basketball game filled the air, accompanying the musical brook. It was a fresh Sunday autumn afternoon, peaceful and relaxing.
Until, that is, he entered the park. Read more...Collapse )

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[27 Feb 2005|09:57pm]

shnowman
[ mood | accomplished ]

This is a short story i wrote for school:




The Plastic Castle


"I hate you, I hate you, I HATE YOU!" screams Reginald Van Der Marr at the top of his little lungs to his mother and father, for he has just stepped into his new house and his new life.

Augusta and Agatha Van Der Marr are immigrants who have just moved to Toronto on business from their homeland of Germany. Augusta had been transferred from the Mercedes-Benz office in Stuttgart, Germany to the Mercedes-Benz Canada head office in Toronto. Agatha is a homemaker who cares for nothing more than the well being for her family, even though at first she didn't want to move away from her family.
They have only been in their new house for a few hours and Reginald has already come to the conclusion that he does not care for this new house one bit. Reginald Van Der Marr is seven years old who values nothing more than friendship, but unfortunately has just moved away from all his friends back in his home country.

"Please don't say that to us. We love and just want to do what is best for all of us, what's best for you," Agatha said in a very motherly calm voice as she strokes Reginald's golden blonde head. Reginald can't bring himself to make eye contact with either of his parents right now so instead he is just staring down at the house's new hardwood flooring.
The house is a beautifully furnished house. Its high ceilings and wood finish give the house a very elegant look, a house fitting for someone of Augusta's position. Many of the houses in the area look similar to this one and are homes to other business men, many of whom drive Mercedes automobiles ironically. The street has a little park six houses down in the corner of the street. It has the necessities of a park: a bench, big sand box where a few isolated sand castles still stand from their previous contractors, a swing set with three swings, a big plastic castle that looks as if it were sinking in gravel, and a dozen or so freshly planted trees.

Back at house his father has just cam back home from going to get supper from the closest pizza parlor. Reginald eats his food in complete silence while his father is speaking about how wonderful of an opportunity this is for him, and Agatha just sits there smiling in support of her husband.
After supper, Reginald goes into his room and lies on his bed, which is just on the floor and doesn't even have any bed sheets on it yet, but that doesn't matter to him because all he can think about are his friends back home. He wishes he could at least have one friend to talk with, to play with, and to just be around. He finds a quilted comforter in one of the boxes in the upstairs hallway, takes it out, and goes to bed.

The next day he comes down for breakfast around 10, even though he has been up since 8:15. When he comes into the kitchen he looked different than he did last night. He had a smile upon his face. His father had not noticed. He was busy making eggs and bacon on the new stove and trying to sing along to 'China Doll' on the radio. His mother, however, did notice and smiled right back at him and said, "Well it looks like you are doing better."
"Yes," replied Reginald, rather pleasantly too. "I'm good. I met a friend this morning."
Agatha continued to smile, but felt slightly uncomfortable. She knew that he hadn't been outside and hadn't even had a chance to meet anyone yet. She didn't quite know how to feel about this so she didn't saying anything because Reginald was happy and that was the most important thing to her.
That afternoon, Reginald was exploring in the back yard, turning over stones, looking at bugs, running around with a stick in his hand, and at times, pretending to be diver. He looked to be like a regular Jacque Cousteau. His parents were on the patio with chairs from the kitchen, for they had not yet purchased a patio set. His father was reading a week old copy of Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, a popular German business newspaper. Agatha was watching Reginald running around. She was noticing how he was seemingly talking to himself, saying things like "You are it!" and "Try to catch me!" His father, after hearing this, pulled down his newspaper to see over it and was looking at Reginald as he was running around and talking to himself. He felt awkward that his son seemed to be doing this, but tried to ignore it and kept on reading.
Later in the evening, when his mother was preparing the table, Reginald came up to her and asked, "Can my friend have dinner with us tonight, mutter?"
"Does your friend have a name?" she replied, with a subtle smile.
"His name is Bert," Reginald anxiously replied.
"Does Bart have a last name?"
Reginald pondered and waited, but eventually said, "McGertt. Yes, his name is Bert McGertt."
His mother looking at him with curious, but still loving eyes, said, "Yes, you friend may have dinner with us. Dinner will be at 7:30. Don't be late and wash up first."
At 7:30, Reginald came down stairs and sat down at the table, where four plates have been laid out.
"Did you wash your hands?" his mother inquired.
"Yes, mutter," lied Reginald.
Reginald started eating his dinner, then his mother said, "Shouldn't you wait for your friend to come before you start to eat?"
"But he is here. He's sitting right there," said Reginald as he pointed to the opposite side of the table where no one was sitting and a full plate of food sat, waiting to get cold. "He must not be hungry."
His father looked at his son while Reginald kept on eating, who was famished from running around all day. His father then looked across the table to his wife, who could tell by her husband's eyes he was worried. They finished their meal in silence.
This became a routine for the Van Der Marr family for the next four days. On the fifth day they were sitting at the table again, and again Reginald starting eating his food. Between bites Reginald said to both his parents, "Sorry that Bert isn't eating. He doesn't get hungry."
"What do you mean?" his father hastily replied.
"Bert doesn't eat. Or Drink. Or go to the bathroom," Reginald said back.
"Ok that's enough," said his father as he put his fork and knife down and took the napkin off his lap and gently threw it beside his plate. "There is no one there, Reginald. There hasn't been anyone sitting there all week beside a wasted plate of food."
"No, that's not true," said Reginald, defending his friend. "Bert is sitting there. He just doesn't eat."
"When will you learn that there is no one there? You will have to realize that your friend is not real. There is no one there. Bert isn't real!" His father bluntly said to his son.
With that, Reginald got up, turned to his dad and said. "I hate you!" and ran upstairs and slammed the door, which could be heard throughout the whole house.
Augusta was looking down at his plate, and then looked up at his wife, who, with piercing eyes, made him feel extremely guilty. He tried to ignore this and kept on eating.
While his parents were still downstairs, Reginald was in his room, packing his knapsack with some of his toys, a book, and a half empty bottle of water he kept beside his bed for when he woke up thirsty in the night. After zipping up, he slowly and cautiously opened his door, looked up and down the hallway and carefully walked down the stairs. He tiptoed down the stairs. When he almost reached the bottom he could hear his parents arguing in another room. He looked at his Casio watch that his father had bought him at the airport. The time was 8:37. He gently opened the door, stepped outside, and gently closed the door behind him. Reginald ran to the park.

Reginald was sitting up in the plastic castle with his knees bent up and his face buried in his lap. He was sobbing and shaking all over for he was cold and didn't bring extra clothing or a blanket. He felt like he was there for hours, but he didn't say a word.
"What's the matter," someone asked
"No one believes your real, Bert. They think I'm making you up," said Reginald as he tried to squeeze words out of his body between sobs. "They Think I am just a dumb kid."
"Don't say that, Reggie," replied Bert
"It's true; they think I am making you up. Just because they can't see you doesn't mean your aren't real. You are real to me. All my real friends are back at home and my only friend here is one that my parents can't see." Reginald was pouring his poor, little heart out. "I don't know why they don't believe me."
"It's normal. People have to see something or they don't believe in it. What matters is that you see me and we are friends. You believe in me and that is why you see me. That's all that matters, Reggie."
"I guess," said Reginald as his tears slowly subsided. "I just wish they could believe in you because you are my friend."
"As long as you believe in me I will always be real to you, and that is the most important thing. Your imagination is the best thing about you. Look where we are. We can have lots of adventures together. Just you and me, Reggie, but right now I think you should go home and see your parents. They are probably very worried about you right now because they love you."
At that moment Reginald heard his parents come into the park. He could see their flashlights waving around, trying to catch a glimpse of their son as they were calling his name. Reginald then stood up and said, "Up here."
Both flashlights shown up at the plastic castle and shown the lights on Reginald's face. Reginald squinted and then came down the down using the slide where his father was waiting at the bottom of it to catch him.
"I'm really sorry about what I said earlier. I didn't mean it. Can you forgive me?"
"Yes," Reginald replied in a soft voice as he was squeezing his father tight. "I'm sorry about running away."
"I forgive you," Augusta said as he put his son down.
As they were walking out of the park, Reginald looked up at his father and said "I had a good talk with Bert. He helped me. I know you can't see him, but he is my friend." Reginald paused, then said, "Oh yeah, can you also call me Reggie from now on." The smile was back on Reggie's face.
"Of course I can," his father replied with a surprisingly gentle reaction. Agatha was walking slowly behind them with damp eyes and a smile that looked as if it would never go away.
Augusta turned to his son, "Can you do me a favour now?"
"What?"
"Next time you see Bert," he paused, "tell him I say thank you.
Reginald looked up and said. "Don't worry, I will tell him. I'll be seeing him a lot." With that, Reginald was lifted onto his father's shoulders for the rest of the way home.

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UPDATE! [24 Feb 2005|09:07pm]

shnowman
[ mood | okay ]

Books read so far this year:

- Pilgrim by Timothy Findley
- I, Lucifer by Glen Duncan
- The Neverending Story by Michael Ende
- The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald
- Th Art Of War by Sun Tzu


Currently Reading:

- Shakey: Neil Young's Biography by Jimmy McDonough
- Dragonworld by Bryon Preiss and Michael Reaves


Books read in 2004:

- Great Jones Street by Don DeLillo
- Cosmopolis by Don DeLillo
- White Noise by Don DeLillo
- Smoke And Mirrors by Neil Gaiman (short stories)
- Coraline by Neil Gaiman
- The Red Tent by Anita Diamant
- Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy
- Catcher In The Rye by J.D. Salinger (third time reading)
- Nine Short Stories by J.D. Salinger
- No Logo by Naomi Klein
- Confession In Moscow by Michael Johansen
- Mystic River by Dennis Lehane
- Diary by Chuck Palahniuk

I think there may be more, but I am not too sure if they were in 2003 or 2004.


Books that I am reading soon:

- The British Invasion: How The Beatles And Other UK Bands Conquered America by Bill Harry
- The Wars by Timothy Findley
- The Body Artist by Don DeLillo
- Don Quixote by Miguel De Cervantes
- House Of Sand And Fog by Andre Dubus III

I will probably read others plus books for school

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[28 Nov 2004|02:16pm]

shnowman
This is a community for those who love to read.

You can post anything you would like in here about books or book related activities.

So have fun!
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