I spent a total of four hours this weekend sitting in Starbucks talking with people. It taught me a lot of things.
I miss Commons. There I can use those awesome flex points instead of cash to pay for my drink.
Tea beats coffee every time.
There is something about comfy chairs, tea, and a good friend that makes you talk for hours.
Modern education is not the type of education I want my kids to have.
Books are more wonderful, inspiring, intriguing, edifying, encouraging, and thought-provoking than I usually give them credit for. Especially old books.
For some reason, the Starbucks off of Rosedale and Allen has five Erma Bombeck books on their bookshelf. That is kind of awesome.
Everything that happened in high school was such a big deal at the time. Now I don't even remember some of it. But it has all made me who I am...that's intriguing.
There is not much that is more encouraging than knowing you have inspired someone.
People and books are God's greatest gifts to me (aside from salvation, of course). Tea might be number three.
Coffee shops are where some of the world's best ideas are born. I now understand why the Inklings met in a pub.
The love of learning is what causes me to enjoy college.
I wouldn't trade anything for my time at BCHS: in debate, in Bible classes, in English classes, being shaped, blooming, and growing. The friends I made there will be my friends for life.
I am very thankful that some of the people who knew me as a freshman in high school or when I was in junior high are still willing to be friends with me now.
I love Torrey. More than any other class I have ever taken. More than any educational model I have ever been educated with. More than any debate. More than any project. I can't believe I get to learn this way.
Showing posts with label books. Show all posts
Showing posts with label books. Show all posts
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Friday, January 21, 2011
Literary Snob
For her birthday yesterday, I gave my mom the book Fall Down, Laughing by David L. Lander. David Lander played the part of Squiggy in the old '70s TV show Laverne and Shirley that my mom really likes. When we found out that one of the actors was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis (which my mother was diagnosed with almost ten years ago), I knew I had to get the actor's autobiography about his journey through life with MS for my mom for her birthday. It came in the mail two days before her birthday, and I sat down to skim through it to see how good it was. I was sorely disappointed.
Although it provides many interesting facts and anecdotes about the actor, the book is poorly written. It wasn't until my mom had read a few chapters and we talked about them that I realized how my literary tastes have been shaped by just one semester in Torrey. I discovered that the way Fall Down, Laughing was written disgusted me. The few crass words in the first few chapters could have been replaced with so many other words that would have more accurately portrayed how the author felt or what was going on. I caught sentencing typos and even a misspelling of the name of the director of the hit show David Lander co-starred in. The only positive element I could see in his writing was that it sounded very similar to the way Squiggy (the character Lander is famous for playing) talked: unsophisticated and crude, which may be the way the writing was meant to sound.
At first I thought I just didn't like Lander's writing style, but as my mom and I talked about it, we agreed that my education and the books I had been reading lately had taught me what good writing truly is. I had learned words that could effectively capture a mood or feeling. I had been struck by so many beautiful analogies and metaphors, and sometimes I found myself underlining a sentence or stanza in a book simply because the imagery or diction made me see the story in a new light.
I am tempted to think that I have become a literary snob. Maybe I have. However, I think I have actually learned how to appreciate good writing (and old writing). I have learned what it means to be educated: in my case, to read hard books and think deeply about them and the ideas they present. The books I read shape who I am and how I learn. Anna Karenina has brought to mind new definition and thoughts about love, truth, honor, respect, fidelity, hope, joy, and God's provision. Dante's Divine Comedy taught me to appreciate language, heritage, the epic tradition, and the incomprehensibility of God. Faerie Queene taught me about truth, deception, virtue, how much the writers of the past relied on Christianity, and even the evolution of the English language. So much is learned from the books of the past, and I wish more people could have this type of education so that thought and writing in this country might be a little better.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
The Writer in Me
The writer in me is different from the writer in most other people. So many times I look at my English major friends and think, "I don't write like them, therefore, I'm not a writer." I'm learning that there is a writer in me...but that writer looks nothing like the writer in any of my friends. And that's the way God created me.
The writer in me writes pages off of two words that pop into her brain while she's taking a shower.
The writer in me prefers prose to poetry.
The writer in me can't stand text-talk.
The writer in me likes lists, bullet points, and outlines more than essays.
The writer in me loves repetition, and she recognizes that some people can't stand how much she uses it.
The writer in me likes things to be succinct but as her friends who edited her first Torrey paper know, she can rarely get her thoughts to be succinct.
The writer in me loves symbolism.
The writer in me likes to make her audience laugh or cry.
The writer in me takes the advice of Miss Haley and Mrs. Walker very seriously.
The writer in me likes to connect very random thoughts.
The writer in me is frank, but not Frank.
The writer in me likes puns.
The writer in me doesn't look up words she doesn't know when she runs across them, but she when she finds a word she loves, she uses it incessantly.
The writer in me appreciates good poetry but can rarely get herself to read it.
The writer in me loves quotes.
The writer in me knows pretty much every rule about grammar out there and is always finding typos in books or correcting someone's grammar but is sometimes too lazy to use correct grammar herself.
The writer in me sometimes switches to talking in third person, even though she prefers to write in first person.
The writer in me (too) frequently uses ellipses. And sentence fragments for effect.
The writer in me always (unless for an academic paper) writes in the past tense because all the books she read growing up were books about pioneer girls, freed slaves, or Victorian ladies written in the past tense.
The writer in me likes using big words just because it makes her feel smart.
The writer in me knows that she can't not write.
The writer in me sometimes just loves books for the feel, look, and even smell of them.
The writer in me knows she was a reader before she was a writer and that she will always be a reader first and foremost. She also recognizes that even though she and her dad frequently disagree and fight, he was the one who made her a reader.
The writer in me prays, "God, you made me a writer. Make me a good one."
The writer in me writes pages off of two words that pop into her brain while she's taking a shower.
The writer in me prefers prose to poetry.
The writer in me can't stand text-talk.
The writer in me likes lists, bullet points, and outlines more than essays.
The writer in me loves repetition, and she recognizes that some people can't stand how much she uses it.
The writer in me likes things to be succinct but as her friends who edited her first Torrey paper know, she can rarely get her thoughts to be succinct.
The writer in me loves symbolism.
The writer in me likes to make her audience laugh or cry.
The writer in me takes the advice of Miss Haley and Mrs. Walker very seriously.
The writer in me likes to connect very random thoughts.
The writer in me is frank, but not Frank.
The writer in me likes puns.
The writer in me doesn't look up words she doesn't know when she runs across them, but she when she finds a word she loves, she uses it incessantly.
The writer in me appreciates good poetry but can rarely get herself to read it.
The writer in me loves quotes.
The writer in me knows pretty much every rule about grammar out there and is always finding typos in books or correcting someone's grammar but is sometimes too lazy to use correct grammar herself.
The writer in me sometimes switches to talking in third person, even though she prefers to write in first person.
The writer in me (too) frequently uses ellipses. And sentence fragments for effect.
The writer in me always (unless for an academic paper) writes in the past tense because all the books she read growing up were books about pioneer girls, freed slaves, or Victorian ladies written in the past tense.
The writer in me likes using big words just because it makes her feel smart.
The writer in me knows that she can't not write.
The writer in me sometimes just loves books for the feel, look, and even smell of them.
The writer in me knows she was a reader before she was a writer and that she will always be a reader first and foremost. She also recognizes that even though she and her dad frequently disagree and fight, he was the one who made her a reader.
The writer in me prays, "God, you made me a writer. Make me a good one."
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
How I Want to Live Out My Faith
"We began, hardly knowing we were doing it, to revise our opinions, not of Christianity, but of Christians. Our fundamental assumption, which we had been pleased to regard as an intelligent insight, had been that all Christians were necessarily stuffy, hide-bound, or stupid - people to keep one's distance from. We had kept our distance so successfully, indeed, that we didn't know anything about Christians. Now that assumption soundlessly collapsed. The sheer quality of the Christians we met at Oxford shattered our stereotype, and thenceforth a reference in a book or conversation to someone's being a Christian called up an entirely new image. Moreover, the astonishing fact sank home: our own contemporaries could be at once highly intelligent, civilised, witty, fun to be with - and Christian."
~Sheldon Vanauken, A Severe Mercy
Thursday, December 23, 2010
On Books and Growing Up
I grew up reading books. For Christmas one year, I asked for "a book with lots of pages." I was thinking dictionary-sized, but I was too young to know what a dictionary was. So my mom got me a children's books about a mouse that discovers the Bible. Not what I had in mind, but I liked it anyway.
Ironically, I hated learning to read. The books were hard to read and were boring when you could understand what the words said. The only thing that kept me going (besides the fact that I didn't have much choice) was my dad telling me, "Readers are leaders and leaders are readers." I wanted to be in charge of something when I was "all grown-up"- I didn't care what- but that meant I had to read.
In elementary school, I always had a book with me. I read when I finished my work, I read during recess, and I probably got in trouble for reading during class. Whenever my family went on long road trips (which was often), my mom would buy us a new book or two to keep us occupied in the down-time. The worst punishment in my family was "going to bed without a story." My mom would read aloud to us every night until I was eleven or so. Then, I would read books, then dress up and act out the parts of the female main character. My mom spent countless hours sewing dresses, bonnets, capes, and skirts for me. (Then I discovered thrift stores and my costume hunting took place there, instead. But I still haven't outgrown that urge to dress up in long skirts like the heroines of old). And it all stemmed from books. Even now, my room is full of not only school books, but also children's books, young adult books, and novels.
For my first two years of high school, I adored books. I always had one with me. I had my preferences, but I read almost anything. Then I discovered people. I realized that although books were wonderful, people were like living books to me. The "best friend" relationships in books could happen in real life. There were people who had lived exciting things and could tell me about with a twinkle of the eye and the expressive tone that I missed in reading. For that reason (and due to too much homework), I stopped reading for fun during my junior year of high school. I read philosophy homework, economics textbooks, and political articles for debate, instead. I still read the occassional fun book (and books for English classes), but the novels I usually carried to class to read during passing periods were gone. They were replaced by wonderful conversations and genuine smiles. But I still missed those books. Especially the feel of a book in my hands.
College brought back the wonder of books to me, combined with the joy of being with people. In college, I read stories again, instead of textbooks. I read fiction again for the first time in a long time. There were characters to relate to (and analyze, now that I was older). But the best part was that it was not just me reading the book. In college, I read it with people by my side, reading the same book, and enjoying it with me, and discussing it to no end. We bonded over books. We stayed up to all hours reading. We had "study parties" during which we read for hours straight. That feeling brought together my early years of loving books and my teenage years of loving people. I cannot think of a better way to end my childhood.
Ironically, I hated learning to read. The books were hard to read and were boring when you could understand what the words said. The only thing that kept me going (besides the fact that I didn't have much choice) was my dad telling me, "Readers are leaders and leaders are readers." I wanted to be in charge of something when I was "all grown-up"- I didn't care what- but that meant I had to read.
In elementary school, I always had a book with me. I read when I finished my work, I read during recess, and I probably got in trouble for reading during class. Whenever my family went on long road trips (which was often), my mom would buy us a new book or two to keep us occupied in the down-time. The worst punishment in my family was "going to bed without a story." My mom would read aloud to us every night until I was eleven or so. Then, I would read books, then dress up and act out the parts of the female main character. My mom spent countless hours sewing dresses, bonnets, capes, and skirts for me. (Then I discovered thrift stores and my costume hunting took place there, instead. But I still haven't outgrown that urge to dress up in long skirts like the heroines of old). And it all stemmed from books. Even now, my room is full of not only school books, but also children's books, young adult books, and novels.
For my first two years of high school, I adored books. I always had one with me. I had my preferences, but I read almost anything. Then I discovered people. I realized that although books were wonderful, people were like living books to me. The "best friend" relationships in books could happen in real life. There were people who had lived exciting things and could tell me about with a twinkle of the eye and the expressive tone that I missed in reading. For that reason (and due to too much homework), I stopped reading for fun during my junior year of high school. I read philosophy homework, economics textbooks, and political articles for debate, instead. I still read the occassional fun book (and books for English classes), but the novels I usually carried to class to read during passing periods were gone. They were replaced by wonderful conversations and genuine smiles. But I still missed those books. Especially the feel of a book in my hands.
College brought back the wonder of books to me, combined with the joy of being with people. In college, I read stories again, instead of textbooks. I read fiction again for the first time in a long time. There were characters to relate to (and analyze, now that I was older). But the best part was that it was not just me reading the book. In college, I read it with people by my side, reading the same book, and enjoying it with me, and discussing it to no end. We bonded over books. We stayed up to all hours reading. We had "study parties" during which we read for hours straight. That feeling brought together my early years of loving books and my teenage years of loving people. I cannot think of a better way to end my childhood.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Reading List for Interterm
-Brothers Karamazov by Dostoyevsky
-Anna Karenina by Tolstoy
-Symposium by Plato
-Oedipus the King by Sophocles
-A Severe Mercy by Sheldon Vanauken
-Mara: Daughter of the Nile
-The Voyage of the Dawn Treader by C.S. Lewis
-Christy by Catherine Marshall
-Confessions by Augustine
-The Genesis Flood
-Anna Karenina by Tolstoy
-Symposium by Plato
-Oedipus the King by Sophocles
-A Severe Mercy by Sheldon Vanauken
-Mara: Daughter of the Nile
-The Voyage of the Dawn Treader by C.S. Lewis
-Christy by Catherine Marshall
-Confessions by Augustine
-The Genesis Flood
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
What's Been Up
I have been so stressed for the last few weeks. Don't ask why. It's a long story. But, when you're stressed, you appreciate a sense of non-stress much more.
-Like how I got a good laugh out of watching Dr. Campbell. She was walking down the stairs in Sutherland Hall muttering to herself. "Okay," she said, "try not to fall down the stairs."
Always a good first step.
No pun intended.
-And when I managed to get all but one of my pull questions done before leaving for Thanksgiving break. I had just finished stapling the sheets together when my phone rang. It was Jessica Carter calling to say she was ready to leave. Perfect timing or perfect timing?
-And when I realize I have great friends who grab me and command me to read Mara: Daughter of the Nile over break.
-And when I discover a copy of Surprised by Joy by C.S. Lewis sitting under a pile of books in my bedroom at home.
-Or when I realize how incredibly funny old TV shows are.
-Or even as I see mountains for the first time in four weeks. Not just the dinky little mountains visible if I look out my dorm room window at just the right angle between the tree and the Facilities Services building. Big, majestic, green mountains with beautiful clouds as a backdrop.
-Or getting a good laugh out of turning the radio on and realizing that we must be close to Bakerfield since every other station is playing country music.
-Driving past miles and miles of farmland. Such a beautiful thing.
-The only thing left to make me any happier is to see real, true, bright stars again. And to get that paper turned in and my major decided on.
But we're not going to think about that right now.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Books, Books, Books
In my opinion, you can tell the most about a person by what books a person likes and who the person aspires to be like. I would like to tackle the first on the list today. So, in no particular order...
- To Kill a Mosckingbird by Harper Lee
- A Snowball's Chance by ted Duncan
- Kathleen: The Celtic Knot by Siobhan Parkinson (not me)
- A Walk to Remember by Nicholas Sparks
- Mere Christianity by C.S. Lewis
- The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis
- The Last Battle by C.S. Lewis
- Jamie O'Rourke and the Big Potato by Tomie de Paola
- The Christy Miller series by Robin Jones Gunn
- A Torch for Trinity by Colleen L. Reece
- Do Hard Things by Alex and Brett Harris
- Abram's Daughters series by Beverly Lewis
- Annie's People series by Beverly Lewis
- Christy by Catherine Marshall
- God's Smuggler by Brother Andrew
- The Hiding Place by Corrie ten Boom
- Shadow of the Almighty by Elisabeth Elliot
- Passion and Purity by Elisabeth Elliot
- More Than a Carpenter by Josh McDowell
I highly recommend any of these books. Do you have any amazing books that you think I would like? Or any that you think people who read this blog would like? Please comment!
Soli Deo Gloria,
Siobhan
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