Monday, January 5, 2009

Til We Have Faces

Inspired by Abby, I must suggest a book to everyone.
This of course is intense and mature reading so I must comment that you read it at your own risk.
The book is called Till We Have Faces.

This is a picture of the cover:

Till We Have Faces
is a myth about two princesses, Orual and Psyche, who live in the palace at Glome. Psyche is extremely beautiful and Orual is extremely ugly. However, Orual loves Psyche with a deep passion, vowing to always protect and care for her. Therefore, Orual does not take the news well when the god (this is a pre-Christian society) Cupid falls in love with Psyche. This myth is retold with C.S. Lewis's distinct voice in his literature and you can really feel Orual's pain.

I really suggest this book because it is written so well! Also, I offer another suggestion for C.S. Lewis's The Great Divorce. When the narrator of The Great Divorce decides to take a nap he is sweep into a life like nightmare that shows him the true meaning of Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory.

I hope you guys read them (Mia!!!) and if you do, I hope you like them!
I probably suggest more in the future and it would be great if I could get some suggested books!

Emma <3

Sunday, January 4, 2009


So yep.....
I had another itch.
And I tried not to scratch...I really did.
But I gave in as always.
Here's it is. And this time I'll give you the plot of the book first.

Title: Black

This story's author is 16 year old Katie McCarthy at the end of her story. Her painting is not finished. Only she can decided the ending.
Her dreams of becoming an artist shape the way she looks at the world. She tells us about her Colors.
Each chapter is very short. Because she sees life in Moments. And each Moment has a Color. And each Color has a meaning. Once a Moment ends, a new chapter begins. Her vision is vague, incomplete, and confusing to share, but it's filled with knowledge and hope. Her story starts, as she puts it "where every good painting should begin," in the middle. A shadow of a tragedy, or Black, always lurks in her mind. It is a mystery though. Will you be the one to discover it?

Here's the Prolouge:

I paint with only nine colors. Never any more and never any less.
Red, Brown, Blue, Orange, Yellow, Green, Purple, Black, and White.
Eight colors. I’ve never used any other color that I can think of.
Maybe as a child, but not now as an educated young adult where I can see that no other colors are necessary.

Blue is sorrow, lamentation, and pain. Any strife or worry. Every grief or loss.
Blue moans:
“Oh, poor me. Feel my hurts; see my scars. I will cry you a river, a story that will make you grab a box of tissues. Oh, poor me. Let me tell you!”

Red is angry, furious, livid. It’s out of control. Read to attack.
Red growls:
“No! I won’t! I can’t deal with this! This stupid mess! I want to scream and shout and kick and hurt!”

Orange is bold, confident, out going, but cautious. It has energy.
Orange whispers:
“Come! Come here! Quickly, now! Look both ways. You won’t believe what I have to say. Be careful now…but WOW!”

Brown is a simple and subtle warning. It’s also contentment.
Red says:
“Here I am. Nothing is happening to today, and I am perfectly content with that. But something might happen. There’s a tension in the air. Something is about to happen.”

Yellow is ecstatic, jubilant, and uncontrollable. It displays complete freedom.
Yellow cries:
“Look! Wow! Did you see- amazing! Isn’t today lovely? Look-feel! Today is great! Happiness, joy, love! Everywhere! Everyone! Look….wow!

Green is patient, calm, tireless, and knowledgeable. It tells a story.
Green calls:
“Come here a moment. Sit down. Settle in. I want to tell you a story, a tale. There are adventures and troubles, victories and love. Come…sit on my lap. I’ll rock you. Let me tell you a story…”

Purple is fun, but logical and caring. It helps you when you’re in need.
Purple tells:
“I was there. In the Blue sorrow. I was there in Red’s contentment. Come, and I will listen. I’ll hold you. Would you like to cry on my shoulder? There now, it’s alright.”

Black is the end, the ultimate elimination. It is death.
Black coughs:
“I was. I am no more.”

White shines, glows. It is luminous and incomprehensible.
White declares:
“In me, there is nothing. But there is everything. I am constant. I exist. I am Me.”

My paintings tell stories. Love, loss, adventure, danger, battles, death, life.
All my paintings are abstract. Everyone of them.
I once heard someone claim that I could do nothing but paint abstract, that I might not be an artist at all. Just a doodler. But he was wrong.
I am an artist. I could paint scenes with people and places and things. But that is not how I see life. I see every moment’s color.
And now, in the end of my tale, I look back upon the colors as if it were a painting. I pick up a brush and my paints one last time.
So I can paint my story for you.
Each color.
All nine.

No painting begins in the beginning, however. It begins in the turning point, the moment where the tables turned.
I chose my tool. One thin tipped brush.
A dip in Color.
The story begins with a fine streak of Blue.

Thursday, January 1, 2009


Hawaii was beautiful!
From the constant, damp shadows of the rain forest to the dry, vacant plains of volcanic rock, the pride of a exotic culture hung in the air.
We went horseback riding, went to a football game, saw an active valcano, swam on beaches, greeted some wildlife, ate some good food, and had the time of our lives!
I could continue to waste your time with stories, but I'll jsut show you the pictures instead!
Cause you know how the old saying goes-
"A picture is worth a thousand words."

(P.S. There's a lot of photos here, but originally there was 491.)