Because I am sappy and because I have the most adorable Teddy Bear in the world who needs to be told he’s loved with similar levels of cuteness.
I love you, Teddy Bear.
Because I am sappy and because I have the most adorable Teddy Bear in the world who needs to be told he’s loved with similar levels of cuteness.
I love you, Teddy Bear.
In a completely unrelated note to what I’m about to discuss: Happy 25th birthday to my darling Teddy Bear! White-Harp wishes him a happy berfday too. *\(^.^)/*
Lately I’ve come across something in all my work reading that has become common enough to warrant a blog post. Her name Quirky McSprite and she is a Manic Pixie Dream Girl.
You are all familiar with Manic Pixie Dream Girls–they exist everywhere, both in real life and in various forms of media. Take a walk down any street in Greenpoint or Williamsburg and you’ll meet 8 million hipster girls who fit the criteria. The Manic Pixie Dream Girl seems to be the most prevalent onscreen these days, starting with Annie Hall and tracing her path from Penny Lane to Sam from Garden State and most recently ending with Summer from 500 Days of Summer.
This, my friends, is a big problem.
I am dire need of a divan, a fainting couch, a sofa, a futon–anything. When I first signed on for this gig, I knew there would be a lot of reading involved, but I didn’t quite factor in the occupational hazards. The volume of reading I can deal with, but it’s how I read that’s starting to catch up to me. Reading while sitting at my desk wreaks havoc on my neck and shoulders. At the moment I’ve jerry-rigged an arrangement where I lean the back of my desk chair against one angle of my desk while I prop my feet up on the opposite angle. This sort of approximates a reclining angle, but any sudden movement and I’m head over heels on the floor.
White-Harp often comes to work with me now to double as a neck pillow. Finally found a way to earn her keep, oh that Lazy Harp.
Remember this video White-Harp made for Maggie Stiefvater SHIVER?
Even if walking about in the city after it’s snowed is a dirty, slushy, wet, and disgusting slog, there’s something magical about the first real snowfall of the season.
There’s something lovely about a world blanketed in white, hushed and quiet. I always think of snowfall as silent even when it’s not, even when little tinkling bits of ice gather musically on the windowpanes. I watched the sun rise over the city as I left a warm, sleepy Bear behind in New Jersey, the sky a brilliant rosy-orange fading into a muted lavender-pink. It’s the shortest day of the year and soon I can celebrate the return of the sun, but reflected in my mind’s eye are scenes of play: me dressed as Lyra Belacqua with a faux fur-lined hood, me with a daemon White-Harp tucked in my coat, stealing piggy back rides from a Bear in the snow–my Iorek Byrnison, my Will Parry.
Uncreated Conscience is JJ's blog, in which she rambles about the toils and tribulations of writing her first novel, why CSS eats her brain, or how skydiving takes all of her money.
And when she's done with that, she's reviewing books and looking for fiction to publish for postadolescent, "new adults.
| Sun | Mon | Tue | Wed | Thu | Fri | Sat |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| « Feb | ||||||
| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | |
| 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 |
| 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 |
| 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 |
| 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | |||