Fairly certain my outfit today earned a few frowns from uptight co-workers. But it's whatever, because my shirt is perfection.  

the coffin maker pt. 1

There once lived a man on the banks of a sleepy ocean town. 

He was timeless. He was a coffin maker. 

No one knew when exactly the man arrived, nor how old he actually was. Yet if you looked into his eyes, they would tell you that he was a man of decades and centuries. Each day the man would open his shop at exactly an hour after dawn, and close at six in the evening. Whispers within town would claim that the man was lonely, a recluse that was companion to the hammers and nails of his trade. Others said he was a thief from long ago, coming to the town trying to change his ways. The stories grew and took roots around the coffin maker’s reputation, creating a vivid and sad story about a man who never knew the feeling of love, nor the idea of a home. 

The coffin maker was a quiet man, with dark brown hair that was pulled back in a small bun at the nape of his neck. He had eyes of grey, reminiscent of quiet and rainy summer days. While the coffin maker was strong, he was barely a wisp of a man; making his tall frame unnoticeable in a crowd, further encouraging his paradox of a life. His hands were firm, calloused with tales of hard labor and little pay. Looking into the face of the coffin maker, no one could claim the sight of wrinkles or lines of age. Yet his posture, his gait, they spoke of confidence and maturity; a man who held no traces of boyhood. 

The coffin maker led an outwardly quiet and contemplative life of mystery, while leading an inner existence of turmoil and self-loathing. Carrying the burdens of lost, the homes he built for them; he created shelters for the cities of the dead, listening to their stories and holding onto them when they lost the desire to remember. 

Within the same town there once lived a little girl, born with the heart of a weary and hungry nation, and the eyes of unabashed innocence. 

She was a victim of age. She was a slave to time. 

Her fiery spirit matched her head full of curls that refused to stay in place. Love fueled her soul, and passion filled her thoughts. Her name was Colette, for her parents saw that she was a child of victory. Bred from a ancestry of curiosity and wonder, she was orphaned as an infant, and came to live in a orphanage of lost dreams. 

Matron Happenstance was their guardian, a woman just as lost as the children that came into her care. In the morning they would arise to a sun that whispered thoughts of fresh beginnings, and at night they would retire to a blanket of stars that bid adieu to their lost achievements. On weekends, couples would come, looking for children to adopt. Picking up little infants with clean slates, they would take them home to beginning copying stories down. Those with soiled stories, once containing far too many words for a couple to erase, would be left behind. They would be left to stay, cursing their heritage that was tattooed over their right to exist.

Within the orphanage the girl named Colette grew to be a beautiful child of barely twelve. The spark in her eyes matched her dresses with hems dipped in dirt: each telling of days filled with adventure and mischief. On rainy days, she had no need for an umbrella, for the rain was her friend, each drop kissing her freckled face and tender smile. Her childlike beauty was a town favorite, for no child that grew up in the orphanage should be so pretty. Perhaps she was a princess of a lost kingdom, or a bastard child of a heartbroken god. Regardless of her lineage, she wandered the town, befriending its partons and asking more questions than she gave answers. For this was the nature of a curious girl named Colette. 

In a town of forgotten memories and malnourished hope, the coffin maker and the girl longed for winds of renewal. Together they would learn to question the gods and change their fates. One would become a belated thief, loving a heart that was already stolen. The other would become a writer, taking empty words and giving life to them. Together, the fed the nation with crumbs of existence, and taught ideas of legacy and power. 

"Tell me a story," she said one day, "tell me one that you have never told before."

The coffin maker looked up from his work, watching the young girl fiddle with the instruments of his trade.

"What is it that you wish to hear? Dragons? A prince in disguise?" 

She shook her head. “No, I wish to hear the story of you.”

He smiled, looking back down at the coffin in front of him. “That, my dear, would require me to tell you a much longer story.” He picked up a hammer from his work table, and placed a nail on the coffin. 

"What story is that?" she asked. 

With a firm stroke the nail became one with the wood, halfway nestled within the coffin’s siding. The coffin maker wiped his brow and looked up at the girl. 

"It is the story of humanity."

playing with word spacing and thinking about the monsters inside us.

lap #40 review

40 books in nine months. I can distinctly remember where I was when I read each of these books, the emotions I was feeling, and the moments in time I was seeking to escape. Looking back at the books in January, I realize that I was a very different girl when I turned their pages. This group of 40 have seen me through some pretty significant changes, so maybe this is why I am so sentimental in this review.

I've read some pretty fantastic books this year, and some pretty awful ones. I wish I could throughly review each of these, and perhaps someday I will. But for now I will run through my favorite five; the ones that will stick with me for years to come, the faithful companions that brought laughter in dark times.

• The Unbecoming of Mara Dyer by Michelle Hodkin 
• WHAT A BOOK. I am not much for paranormal or suspense, but this book lures you in with the first paragraph and holds you captive till the very end. Hodkin has a style of writing that I found refreshing, providing a gaslight-esque protagonist that is as honest as she is mentally unstable (or is she?).
• Every Day by David Levithan
• I was already a Levithan fangirl when I picked up this book. Coming from his The Lover's Dictionary novel that made my writer's heart awaken, I knew I would enjoy this book, I just didn't know how much I would love it. Writing a gendered character is hard, but writing a dynamic androgynous character is even harder. This book really made me consider the gender roles I have in place in my own life, as well as the expectations I hold for others. It also made me very aware of how patriarchy is still such a stronghold in my mindset, as I kept finding myself referring to the protagonist as a "he".  Levithan highlights the sexlessness of love through a teen who happens to wake up in a different body every day. Yet again, Levithan does wonders for LGBT young adult lit, a genre that still goes under represented. 
• The Diviners by Libba Bray
• The roaring twenties are often portrayed with a innocence and glamour that isn't necessarily true. Bray compares the nation wide corrupt idealism that is seen in today's society with the mystery and shadows that occurred in the corners of speakeasies and in-between the pages of bookies number lists. For after all, the monsters we dream up aren't nearly as scary as the monsters that actually exist. 
• Love in the Time of Global Warming by Francesca Lia Block
• I actually just finished this book and am still processing how I feel about it. Regardless, I made quite an impact on me. Heading into the book I knew that Lia Block's style was highly controversial and different for YA lit. She continues this theme in her newest book. Retelling the story of The Odyssey and placing it in a modern, post apocalyptic world with four trans*/queer lead characters, Lia Black creates a confusing yet memorable story. While some of her prose was muddled with what I found to be an overuse of figurative language, she still paints a world mixed with magical realism and spirit.  
• Code Name: Verity by Elizabeth Wein 
• A story of friendship between two British female soldiers in WWII, CN:V is a story that will stick with you long after you turn the last page. "It's like being in love, discovering your best friend," Verity comments towards the beginning of the book. A quote I find to be a beautiful summation of my thoughts on friendship. Recounting her story of triumph and failure to her Nazi captives, Verity makes your heart be broken over and over as you learn to love the two dynamic ladies she talks about, and their war torn world. While the book contains a lot of confusing technical language, it will appeal to any aviation minded reader. Wein is able to lead the reader on a journey of disbelief, anger, frustration, guilt, empathy, and love all through 300+ pages. 

Follow my reading journey over on my goodreads account. 

hello.

I'm not sure what caused me to start writing here again. Perhaps it is the fact that I left this sad little blog in such a state of disarray, that I felt obligated to return. It saw my teenage angst, so it deserves seeing my harrowed twenties, yes?
I've been stuck at home for the past day and a half with a horrid case of strep. Setting up home base on the living room couch, I've quickly run out of things to do. I'm caught up my grading, and after sending several bored emails to my co-workers I've determined that life at school is still continuing on without me. I wrote a paper for school that isn't due for a week, and god forbid I get too far ahead.
Gatsby keeps looking at me like, "you aren't supposed to be here, woman." He gets throughly irritated when his schedule is bent out of shape.
So here I am. Bored, sick, and four days into my 25th year of living. I have a lot to say, little blog, so get ready.

stay tuned.....

this sad little corner of the internet is getting some much needed TLC.