As a writer, I have a special place in my heart for children's fiction. I have loads of memories of myself reading picture books, leaving my grubbing fingerprints on the pages, and mouthing bigger words aloud to myself. I didn't always understand what the words meant, but when I did, it thrilled me down to my toes. I use to beg my mother to read to me at night, and when she finally agreed to curl up with me and my stuffed animals, I would then shove my favorite book her her face and then sit in her lap. Although she had the sense to occasionally pick something else to read and expand my literary repertoire, my favorite childhood story would have to be Cinderella. 

Written by Charles Perrault, retold by Amy Ehrlich, and illustrated by Susan Jeffers, this picture book is, by far, the best told fairytale in my collection. (And being a librarian, my collection is huge by most standards). Although in terms of language and style, there isn't much that makes this version stand out. It's simple and charming. Easy enough for a young reader to comprehend, but not so watered down that it becomes less of a story and more of a smattering of three letter words. The illustrations, however, are breathtaking. I can't help but marvel at the loving pen lines and remarkable details put into each sketch. The little redbird that pops up on almost every page was like finding a present, a special secret to the person who could find it in the corner of one or hiding at the top of another.

I don't even remember the first time my mother opened it's pages, but over twenty years later, I still have that first copy she gave to me. It's cover is missing. Several pages have small tears near the bottom from when I'd turn the page too fast. It's battered but well-loved, and I wouldn't trade the book for anything--not even a newer cleaner copy of the same story. If anything, I love it more now than I did as a child because of the sheer amount of nostalgia that comes over mean whenever I open up the cover. It represents a time when I believed that fairytale endings were possible. That good always shone through in the end. That the princess really does marry her prince and live happily ever after.

And one day, I will read it to my daughter.

Now I know that at this point, I don't have a lot of followers on this blog. But to you who happens to stumble upon this entry, I hope you take my advice and search out a copy for your own children. It really is one of those select few books that bring about something special and magical in the lives of young children. It's not the mindless Disney-fied version, but a unique retelling in its own right. It's captivating and enchanting and meant to be read for years and years to come.

And to not appear as though I'm the only one praising this book, here are a few more reviews:

Synopsis:

'Cinderella', the most popular of all fairy tales, first appeared in print in 1697 in a French Collection by Charles Perrault. Anthea Bell's graceful translation of this classic tale is faithful to the original yet accessible to today's children. It is a timeless story of virtue rewarded.

Review:
In this kinder, gentler version of the old French fairy tale, the poor cinderwench forgives her stepsisters in the end and gives them a home in her palace. This Cinderella is pretty, but not perfect, and instead of having the tiniest feet in the kingdom, she in fact has wide
feet (which fit the glass slipper nonetheless). From the details of the ball gowns to the trees of jewels glittering at the palace, Susan Jeffers's glowing, imaginative artwork is breathtaking. Jeffers has illustrated many fairy tales, as well as the popular McDuff books. With pen and ink and brilliant colors, she creates paintings of exquisite detail and clarity, wonderfully showcased by this book's large format and abundant full-page illustrations. The magical transformation of Cinderella into a beautiful princess never fails to capture the imagination of young ones, and this lovely edition is sure to be a hit. (Ages 5 to 7)-Abebooks.com

Cinderella's transformation from poor girl to princess never fails to captivate young ones, and this stellar retelling, exquisitely illustrated by Susan Jeffers, is a must for every library. When the original version of this book was published in 1985, Publishers Weekly called it "a treasure for all ages," and The New York Times declared, "Fairy-tale aficionados will be mesmerized." For this hardcover reissue, Susan Jeffers retouched her pen-and- ink and dye illustrations, making them even richer. Her brilliant artwork is showcased in a new interior design featuring a fifth-color gold border. Embossed gold foil type on the jacket of this large-format picture book trumpets the arrival of the girl who went from rags to riches.--Amazon.com

Charles Perrault’s timeless tale of the cinderwench is retold by Amy Ehrlich. Cinderella’s father remarried and her stepmother and two stepsisters treated her poorly and made her work all day. The prince held a ball and Cinderella wanted to go. Her fairy godmother came and magically transformed a pumpkin, mice, rats, and frogs to a fancy equipage for Cinderella to drive to the ball. At the ball Cinderella shares orange slices with her stepsisters who do not recognize her. She attends again the next night, but forgets the time and leaves behind a glass slipper. The prince declares he’ll marry the lady who fits the slipper and of course Cinderella does. Cinderella is not vindictive and finds a place a court for her two stepsisters. The ink and pen illustrations are eye-catching and lovely. EL – ADVISABLE. Samantha, Public Librarian.

So if you happen to be shopping around in an old book store and see this book lying lonely and forgotten on some back shelf. DO NOT pass it by. Pick it up. Wipe the dust off it's cover, and behold the beautiful illustrations for yourself. Take it home. Read it. Love it. Cherish it.

What, you may ask, am I doing up at the late hours of the evening, or early hours of the morning (whichever you prefer to be politically correct)? Am I sick and can't sleep because of non-drowsy medication? Am I getting back from some late night party and am just getting back home to the familiarity of the Internet? Am I being held hostage and forced to write, not of my own free will, but to please my armed assailant? Nope. None of the above....though the last one is pretty close.

I'm blogging obviously.

I've never been a very consistent blogger. I'm usually gung-ho the first few days and then get bored quite quickly. Thinking on a different topic every single day, trying to sound important or at the very least sound like I actually know something, typing over 500 words because it looks better on a page--it's such a different style of writing for me that I struggle. I like the free-flow of a story. The snap of a dialogue. The pleasant alternation between the two. I think in terms of plot and character and scene. In fact, if this blog were a book, it'd probably sound a bit like the following few sentences:

The librarian hunched at her desk. She started typing, only to furiously hit the backspace key. Sentences that used to come so willingly now had to be dragged out screaming from the corners of her mind. She paused to stare at the computer screen and groaned softly.  Her own writing had taken her hostage and put a gun to her brain.

"Why?" She whispered. "Why am I still doing this?"

Because she had accepted a challenge.

Alright, I confess. The above sentences didn't come any easier than I thought they would, and they weren't much better in terms of style, language, or character, so I might as well just hurry up and get today's entry out of the way. The sooner it's over with, the sooner I throw myself onto my luxurious king-sized bed and escape into the world of dreams.

My original idea for today's topic (before I procrastinated it to the point where today is technically yesterday) was on creativity. No one quite knows what it is or where it comes from, but when someone has it you can point it out. Essentially it means to create something in a new or original way. It doesn't matter how old you are or how skilled, creativity seems to be an ability that exists in and of itself.

For example: One day in your English class, you happen to see someone doodling in their notebook. It's a fantastic rendition of a monster from under the bed. Without getting caught by your teacher, you ask your creative neighbor how they manage to draw such a fine work. Surprised, your classmate replies, "I don't know. I just did it." Interestingly enough, if they try to recreate the original artwork a few days later and discover that they can't. The charm, the life, the unique spirit that was invested into the doodle has fled.

From the example you can see that creativity doesn't always depend on careful planning or painstaking detail. It's spontaneous and beautiful. Sometimes, it just happens. Like the flickering of an ember caught on the wind, you can follow it with your eyes for a few brief moments, and then it vanishes. And no matter how much you stoke the flames of your inspiration, you're never going to get the exact shape or color of the original.

Now there is nothing wrong with this particular bit of slime either. In fact, I like the end result and will probably use it in my next blog layout which I will finish and make available tomorrow. Yet even a novice can tell that one bit of slime, obviously looks more like slime than the other despite a higher resolution. The original has more spread and less blob. More jelly, less juice. I have no explanation for the fact that my inexperienced high school self could create a more convincing piece of slime than my 23 year old self can, but unfortunately, for both instances,  if someone were to ask me how it's done, I'd have to shrug my shoulders and say, "I don't know. I just did it."

And if you were to ask why I'm up this late blogging about slime, then you'd get the exact same answer.

In the comic book world, there is often a heated debate as to which universe is better: Marvel or DC. Both are widely populated with muscular superheroes, savvy reporters, and bizarre villians. Both have a wide following and both have an appeal to a large audience. Having to choose from either is like having to choose either jelly or honey for my peanut butter sandwich, both a loved for different reasons. That is an argument for another day.

But if a caped man were to rescue this librarian from a burning building, which top ten would make it into her favorites list? (Note: These are not listed in order of preference--any one of these super heroes can come save my day anytime.)

Wolverine
Universe: Marvel
Movie Appearances: X-men, X2, X-men: Last Stand, X-men Origins: Wolverine
 Powers: Adamantium Skeleton, Regeneration
Why he makes the top ten: He's a man with a past but still has a heart, which makes him an amazing combination of bad boy and good guy. His abilities make him pretty much unstoppable, so if things get tough, it's easy to know who's coming out top dog. Also, who doesn't like a guy who can smell laser beams?



Batman
Universe: DC
Movie Appearances: Batman Begins, Dark Knight, Batman, etc.
Powers: Unlike other super heroes, he lacks any genetic alterations and mutations. Instead he relies on his wit, strength, and stealth--as well as some super nifty gear.
Why he makes the list: Dark and brooding, this millionare playboy knows how to work both his secrety identity and his superhero status. Rather than making ridiculously flashy appearances, Batman is the stealthy guardian and defender. Not to mention the fact that he's got a sweet car. I'll take the batmobile over a compact car any day.


Captain America
Why he makes the list: Captain America wasn't always the macho super-soldier that he seems to be. Early in his life he was a scrawny fine arts student living during the great depression--an endearing trait to be sure. Now he's willing to do anything to serve his country and protect those weaker than himself. And if the being the leader of the avengers doesn't do it for you, then at least take time to admire his amazing bullet-proof shield.

Spiderman
Universe: DC
Movie Appearances: Spiderman, Spiderman 2, Spiderman 3
Powers: Web-slinging, Spider reflexes, Super Strength
Why he makes the list: Who doesn't love your friendly neighborhood spider-man? True, his 3rd movie fell flat, but I don't hold that against him. In his history of comic book heroics, Spider-man easily wins me over with his adorable respect for his Aunt and Uncle and his child-like love for the fiery red-head Mary Jane. And if you're looking for a creative kisser, go no further than DC's web-slinger.
 
 
Iceman
Universe: Marvel
Movie Appearances: X-men, X2, X-men 3: Last Stand
Powers: Ice
Why he makes the list: Bobby Drake is one of the few mutants in the Marvel Universe that make it to Class Five--the same class as the legendary Jean Grey, and capable of challenging gods. Although his screen debut made him appear to be more of an everyman of a superhero, the Iceman is no pushover. Despite his icey appearance, Bobby Drake can make any girl's heart melt.


The Green Lantern
Universe: DC
Movie Appearances: Upcoming Film: The Green Lantern
Powers: Wields a power ring--ability undefined
Why he makes the list: Unlike other mutants, the Green Lantern is only limited by his willpower and creativity, which grants him an enormous appeal in this librarian's eyes.  Oh, and his oath is quite charming:

...and I shall shed my light over dark evil.For the dark things cannot stand the light,The light of the Green Lantern!

 Gambit
Universe: Marvel
Movie Appearances: X-men Origins: Wolverine
Powers: Ability to convert potential energy into kinetic energy, typically with cards
Why he makes the list: Cajun accent, stylish overcoat, and hypnotic charm--Remy Labeau is definitely the ultimate ladies man. Although he was originally a thief in the Bayous, Gambit turned his life around to pursue the woman he loves (namely: Rogue). Gambit is just the sort of tortured soul that comic book fangirl girls fall for every single time.


The Green Hornet and Kato


Mr. Incredible
Universe: Pixar
Movie Appearances: The Incredibles
Abilities: Super Strength
Why he makes the list: He's huge, he's adorable, and he's a family man. Although neither Marvel nor DC, Mr. Incredible has proven worthy of this top 10 list by battling robots and rescuing citizens from burning buildings, all while coping with the struggles of being a good dad. Mr. Incredible lives up to his name and shows us that there's no school like the old school style of super hero entertainment.


And last but not least. . .

If you haven't figured it out by now, I'm going to state it simply and clearly for the record. I love books. I love to read. I love words, and sentences, and the sounds that make them. Whether it's the darling short lines of an illustrated children's book or the laboriously long but carefully crafted chapters of an old classic--I inhale it. Even the smell of a good book sends a delightful tingle up my spine and to my fingertips. It's such a wonderful feeling that I want everyone to experience the same joy I get when I come across a particularly good piece of literature, so naturally, every once in a while, I'm going to share that goodness with you.

Last night, I read and re-read this short story by Washington Irving. It was beautiful and touching and romantic, something I wasn't expecting from the author of Rip Van Winkle or The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. So rather than go on and on, wasting your time with an in-depth analysis of the symbolism and other such useless rubbish, I'm simply going to let you read it for yourself.



I HAVE often had occasion to remark the fortitude with which women sustain the most overwhelming reverses of fortune. Those disasters which break down the spirit of a man and prostrate him in the dust, seem to call forth all the energies of the softer sex, and give such intrepidity and elevation to their character that at times it approaches to sublimity. Nothing can be more touching than to behold a soft and tender female, who had been all weakness and dependence, and alive to every trivial roughness, while treading the prosperous paths of life, suddenly rising in mental force to be the comforter and support of her husband under misfortune, and abiding with unshrinking firmness the bitterest blasts of adversity.

As the vine which has long twined its graceful foliage about the oak and been lifted by it into sunshine, will, when the hardy plant is rifted by the thunderbolt, cling round it with its caressing tendrils and bind up its shattered boughs, so is it beautifully ordered by Providence that woman, who is the mere dependent and ornament of man in his happier hours, should be his stay and solace when smitten with sudden calamity, winding herself into the rugged recesses of his nature, tenderly supporting the drooping head, and binding up the broken heart.

I was once congratulating a friend, who had around him a blooming family, knit together in the strongest affection. "I can wish you no better lot," said he with enthusiasm, " than to have a wife and children. If you are prosperous, there they are to share your prosperity;if otherwise, there they are to comfort you." And indeed I have observed that a married man falling into misfortune is more apt to retrieve his situation in the world than a single one; partly because he is more stimulated to exertion by the necessities of the helpless and beloved beings who depend upon him for subsistence; but chiefly because his spirits are soothed and relieved by domestic endearments, and his self-respect kept alive by finding, that though all abroad is darkness and humiliation, yet there is still a little world of love at home, of which he is the monarch. Whereas a single man is apt to run to waste and self-neglect; to fancy himself lonely and abandoned, and his heart to fall to ruin like some deserted mansion, for want of an inhabitant.

These observations call to mind a little domestic story, of which I was once a witness. My intimate friend, Leslie, had married a beautiful and accomplished girl, who had been brought up in the midst of fashionable life. She had, it is true, no fortune, but that of my friend was ample; and he delighted in the anticipation of indulging her in every elegant pursuit, and administering to those delicate tastes and fancies that spread a kind of witchery about the sex. " Her life," said he, " shall be like a fairy tale."

The very difference in their characters produced an harmonious combination: he was of a romantic and somewhat serious cast; she was all life and gladness. I have often noticed the mute rapture with which he would gaze upon her in company, of which her sprightly powers made her the delight; and how, in the midst of applause, her eye would still turn to him, as if there alone she sought favor and acceptance. When leaning on his arm, her slender form contrasted finely with his tall manly person. The fond confiding air with which she looked up to him seemed to call forth a flush of triumphant pride and cherishing tenderness, as if he doted on his lovely burden for its very helplessness. Never did a couple set forward on the flowery path of early and well-suited marriage with a fairer prospect of felicity.

At length he came to me one day, and related his whole situation in a tone of the deepest despair. When I heard him through I inquired, " Does your wife know all this?"- At the question he burst into an agony of tears. "For God s sake!" cried he, "if you have any pity on me, don t mention my wife; it is the thought of her that drives me almost to madness!"

"And why not?" said I. "She must know it sooner or later; you cannot keep it long from her, and the intelligence may break upon her in a more startling manner than if imparted by yourself; for the accents of those we love soften the hardest tidings. Besides, you are depriving yourself of the comforts of her sympathy; and not merely that, but also endangering the only bond that can keep hearts together an unreserved community of thought and feeling. She will soon perceive that some thing is secretly preying upon your mind; and true love will not brook reserve; it feels undervalued and outraged, when even the sorrows of those it loves are concealed from it."

"Oh, but, my friend! to think what a blow I am to give to all her future prospects--how I am to strike her very soul to the earth, by telling her that her husband is a beggar! that she is to forego all the elegance's of life all the pleasures of society to shrink with me into indigence and obscurity! To tell her that I have dragged her down from the sphere in which she might have continued to move in constant brightness--the light of every eye--the admiration of every heart! How can she bear poverty? she has been brought up in all the refinements of opulence. How can she bear neglect? she has been the idol of society. Oh ! it will break her heart it will break her heart !
I saw his grief was eloquent, and I let it have its flow; for sorrow relieves itself by words. When his paroxysm had subsided, and he had relapsed into moody silence, I resumed the subject gently, and urged him to break his situation at once to his wife. He shook his head mournfully, but positively.
"But how are you to keep it from her? It is necessary she should know it, that you may take the steps proper to the alteration of your circumstances. You must change your style of living--nay," observing a pang to pass across his countenance, "don t let that afflict you. I am sure you have never placed your happiness in outward show--you have yet friends, warm friends, who will not think the worse of you for being less splendidly lodged: and surely it does not require a palace to be happy with Mary ."

"I could be happy with her," cried he, convulsively, "in a hovel! I could go down with her into poverty and the dust! I could I could, God bless her! God bless her! " cried he, bursting into a transport of grief and tenderness.

"And believe me, my friend," said I, stepping up and grasping him warmly by the hand, "believe me she can be the same with you. Ay, more: it will be a source of pride and triumph to her--it will call forth all the latent energies and fervent sympathies of her nature; for she will rejoice to prove that she loves you for yourself. There is in every true woman's heart a spark of heavenly fire, which lies dormant in the broad daylight of prosperity; but which kindles up, and beams and blazes in the dark hour of adversity. No man knows what the wife of his bosom is--no man knows what a ministering angel she is until he has gone with her through the fiery trials of this world."

There was something in the earnestness of my manner and the figurative style of my language that caught the excited imagination of Leslie. I knew the auditor I had to deal with; and following up the impression I had made, I finished by persuading him to go home and unburden his sad heart to his wife.

I must confess, notwithstanding all I had said, I felt some little solicitude for the result. Who can calculate on the fortitude of one whose life has been a round of pleasures? Her gay spirits might revolt at the dark downward path of low humility suddenly pointed out before her, and might cling to the sunny regions in which they had hitherto revelled. Besides, ruin in fashionable life is accompanied by so many galling mortifications, to which in other ranks it is a stranger. In short, I could not meet Leslie the next morning without trepidation. He had made the disclosure.

"And how did she bear it? "

"Like an angel! It seemed rather to be a relief to her mind, for she threw her arms round my neck, and asked if this was all that had lately made me unhappy. - But, poor girl," added he, "she cannot realize the change we must undergo. She has no idea of poverty but in the abstract; she has only read of it in poetry, where it is allied to love. She feels as yet no privation; she suffers no loss of accustomed conveniences nor elegancies.When we come practically to experience its sordid cares, its paltry wants, its petty humiliations then will be the real trial."

"But," said I, "now that you have got over the severest task, that of breaking it to her, the sooner you let the world into the secret the better. The disclosure may be mortifying; but then it is a single misery, and soon over: whereas you otherwise suffer it in anticipation every hour in the day. It is not poverty so much as pretence, that harasses a ruined man--the struggle between a proud mind and an empty purse--the keeping up a hollow show that must soon come to an end. Have the courage to appear poor and you disarm poverty of its sharpest sting." On this point I found Leslie perfectly prepared. He had no false pride himself, and as to his wife, she was only anxious to conform to their altered fortunes.

Some days afterwards he called upon me in the evening. He had disposed of his dwelling house, and taken a small cottage in the country, a few miles from town. He had been busied all day in sending out furniture. The new establishment required few articles, and those of the simplest kind. All the splendid furniture of his late residence had been sold, excepting his wife's harp. That, he said, was too closely associated with the idea of herself; it belonged to the little story of their loves; for some of the sweetest moments of their courtship were those when he had leaned over that instrument, and listened to the melting tones of her voice. I could not but smile at this instance of romantic gallantry in a doting husband.

He was now going out to the cottage, where his wife had been all day superintending its arrangement. My feelings had become strongly interested in the progress of this family story, and as it was a fine evening, I offered to accompany him.

He was wearied with the fatigues of the day, and as he walked out, fell into a fit of gloomy musing.

"Poor Mary!" at length broke, with a heavy sigh, from his lips.

"And what of her?" asked I: "has anything happened to her?"

"What," said he, darting an impatient glance, "is it nothing to be reduced to this paltry situation to be caged in a miserable cottage to be obliged to toil almost in the menial concerns of her wretched habitation?"

"Has she then repined at the change?"


"Admirable girl!" exclaimed I. "You call yourself poor, my friend; you never were so rich--you never knew the boundless treasures of excellence you possess in that woman."

There was a degree of probability in this picture that I could not gainsay, so we walked on in silence.

After turning from the main road up a narrow lane, so thickly shaded with forest trees as to give it a complete air of seclusion, we came in sight of the cottage. It was humble enough in its appearance for the most pastoral poet; and yet it had a pleasing rural look. A wild vine had overrun one end with a profusion of foliage; a few trees threw their branches gracefully over it; and I observed several pots of flowers tastefully disposed about the door, and on the grass-plot in front. A small wicket gate opened upon a footpath that wound through some shrubbery to the door. Just as we approached, we heard the sound of music Leslie grasped my arm; we paused and listened. It was Mary's voice singing, in a style of the most touching simplicity, a little air of which her husband was peculiarly fond.

I felt Leslie's hand tremble on my arm. He stepped forward to hear more distinctly. His step made a noise on the gravel walk. A bright beautiful face glanced out at the window and vanished--a light foot step was heard and Mary came tripping forth to meet us: she was in a pretty rural dress of white; a few wild flowers were twisted in her fine hair; a fresh bloom was on her cheek; her whole countenance beamed with smiles--I had never seen her look so lovely.

"My dear George," cried she, "I am so glad you are come! I have been watching and watching for you; and running down the lane, and looking out for you. I've set out a table under a beautiful tree behind the cottage; and I've been gathering some of the most delicious strawberries, for I know you are fond of them and we have such excellent cream and everything is so sweet and still here. Oh!" said she, putting her arm within his, and looking up brightly in his face, "Oh, we shall be so happy!"

Poor Leslie was overcome. He caught her to his bosom--he folded his arms round her--he kissed her again and again--he could not speak, but the tears gushed into his eyes; and he has often assured me, that though the world has since gone prosperously with him,and his life has indeed been a happy one, yet never has he experienced a moment of more exquisite felicity.

Consciousness: that annoying time between naps--Author Unknown

Ever since I was young, I've been conditioned to take a nap on Sunday. It was a day of rest, so naturally everyone in my family conked out after attending church. For the most part, Sunday naps were more of a tradition than a necessity when I was a child. It was just something I did, even though I naturally had a lot of energy any day of the week. I'd bury myself under a huge pile of stuffed animals, snuggle with the biggest one, and take my playtime adventures into the dream world so as to not annoy my exhausted parents. I used to wake up 30-45 minutes later. Refreshed and ready to go start another pretend adventure with my ever-faithful plushy companions.

Interestingly, over twenty years later, the Sunday nap tradition continues. Now, without any threats of sitting in the time-out chair, I still grab the biggest pillow I have on my bed and catch a few Zzz's. Actually, more than a few. On an average Sunday, I can hibernate for several hours. I sleep. I dream. I might even snore.  It seems that I am almost incapable of taking small power naps on Sunday--it's always for ridiculous amounts of time, and if I don't let my body shut down and reboot itself, then I get a Sunday headache-something else that seems to be a family tradition. So rather than putter about  with that irritating ache in the back of my skull, I do the adult thing and let myself sleep.

There is nothing more rejuvenating than the famed Sunday afternoon nap. On any other day of the week, a nap is simply a way to make up for that time I stayed up 'til 4 a.m. reading a particularly gripping novel or playing an addicting online game. It's a way of coping with sleep deprivation, and yet for some reason I always feel a touch guilty when I nap during the weekday. That annoying little voice that says "You need to get something done right now," just won't leave me be. But oh, the glorious Sunday nap is something to be savoured. No commitments. No rush. No shame. Just me and the back of my eyelids.

I've also learned not to fight it. Occasionally on Sundays, I have to work a morning shift at my job-which means getting up at 5 in the morning and then managing the front desk until a few minutes before I leave to church. Don't judge me prematurely, but I find it extremely difficult to stay focused while listening to the speakers. Sitting down for any length of time tells my body that I'm in a comfortable place and that it's finally OK to sleep. Unfortunately, this also means I look pretty darn strange to the people sitting next to me.

Though my ears are obediently open and concentrating on the valuable life-lessons that are being taught, my eyes take on a will of their own. They rebel. They water. They twitch. With every ounce of willpower, I try to keep them open. Then they attack and roll back into my head, sometimes one in a different direction than the other, which is not only disorienting but it forces me to close my eyes. I rub them hard, pretending I have an eyelash, but secretly trying to disguise the fact that my eyes are committing mutiny.

 Next comes the inevitable head bob. Just when I think I've conquered my eyes, my neck decides to abandon its post. My whole head drops, and consequently I nearly fall out of my chair. I can't rest my head on my hands because then I fall forward. I can't sit up straight because I've even had my head drop back before. Inception had it right when it mentioned the kick. The physical feeling of falling is definitely enough to snap me out of my drowsy state--for a few seconds. Until the whole battle starts all over again. By the time church is over, I'm not sure how much of the gospel actually sunk into my head or how much of it was a sleep-deprived hallucination.

When I finally get the chance to collapse on my bed, I sigh happily and then I'm out like a light. Although I'm usually a light sleeper at night, during these blissful unconscious hours on Sunday I am dead to the world. Text messages, phone calls, or alarms fail to release me from Morpheus' grasp until I've slept for a minimum of two, possibly three, hours. After that, well, it simply feels good just to lie there and look at the ceiling.

Studies have shown that those who take regular naps actually live longer. Naps help relieve stress, boost productivity, improve memory, and are generally good all around. Even NASA did a study on naps and discovered that longer naps are better, though one should be careful of the groggy state called "sleep inertia" that comes when a nap backfires. There's even a National Sleep Foundation, so my 3-hour Sunday snoozes are at least partially justified.

And just for your entertainment, I decided to include the following tips on effective napping:

• Make yourself comfortable. Comfy clothes, comfy pillow, comfy couch or bed or floor, etc. You're not going to sleep if you keep having to re-adjust your belt buckle.
• If you wear glasses, take them off! Nothing bends or possibly breaks a nice pair of frames faster than sleeping on your face.
• A little white noise, surprisingly, makes it easier to take a nap. Although at night I have to have it dead quiet, during the day, I find that the slow murmur of the television to be quite soothing. I do not suggest you play any movies, however, 
• Close your eyes and think of something dreamy. Let your mind wander to that private beach or sunny lake. It's easier to fall asleep if you're not thinking "OK, I'm gonna sleep now. Why can't I sleep?!"
• Make sure your nap takes place during the afternoon. If it's too close to your regular bedtime, you'll regret it later. Insomnia kind of defeats the purpose of napping.
• Don't feel guilty. I officially give you permission to sleep.

And for further instruction, I give you this...

As a librarian, I take great pride and joy in helping someone else find the information they need. Whether it's the latest steampunk adventure novel or a motivational self-help book, I like helping whenever I can. When I don't have an answer to a question, I like to research a topic until my curiosity is satisfied, and then pass along that bit of information to someone else who needs it.

As an individual, I also like to find unique ways to express myself. Writing, sketching, designing, the list grows as I explore new areas of creativity. Lately, Photoshop has become somewhat of an addiction for me. No matter how much I think I know, I'm always finding new tools and methods to use. Although it's an expensive program, I highly recommend it for any who wish to invest in graphic design.

When I first started out learning Photoshop, I was pretty dang frustrated with how little I was learning on my own. I always had to turn to someone else's tutorials for help. I didn't have a clue about transparent images or the difference between JPEG or PNG. I wanted to be good at it and I wanted to be good at it fast. It would have been awesome if there had been just one spot where I could get a quick, step-by-step guide with pictures on how to do something. So in memory of my younger struggling self, I've decided to occasionally post my own tutorials.

So here it is--a run of the mill, easy to follow, step-by-step guide to creating a scrapbook style book cutout. Similar to the one I have in the corner of my blog.

TUTORIAL
1. First we begin with a new page. Go into File> New> OK. These are my current default settings but you can make them as big or as small as you want.

2. Next we need to create a new layer. You can do this is several ways.  Layer>New>Layer>OK  or you can hit Shift+Ctrl+N or the easiest method is to simply click new layer in the bottom right hand corner.  Double click Layer 1 and rename it books.

3. Now turn to the tools bar. On the bottom left we have the foreground and background colors. Click it and select the color you want your new book logo to be and hit OK. For this particular example I just happen to be using cc99ee for my foreground color.


4. Next select your custom shapes tool. In the top bar you will see the settings for your custom shape. Double check to make sure that Fill pixels is selected, then click on the drop down box and scroll until you find a shape that looks like a book. It can be a simple rectangle, or I prefer to use banner 2 because it gives our book a nice cornered edge. The opacity and the mode should be set to normal.


5. Now using your shapes tool, click and drag to make a book. Voila! You have the first book in your stack. Continue to click and drag, varying the length and width to create a nice little pile. Don’t be afraid to overlap your books, as we’re just going for the silhouette in this tutorial.

6. Now for the apple. I didn’t have a specific apple shape for this, so I improvised.  Just in case you mess up, but you don’t want to mar your perfectly shaped stack of books. Create a second layer. Double click and rename layer 2 as Apple to avoid confusion.  Make sure you’re working on your new layer and not the old one by clicking once on the new layer. It should be highlighted.

Using your custom shape too scroll down to Hedera 1. Click and drag to create the shape and size of the apple you want. Then erase the top, leaving enough to make the stem.  When you’re finished, it should now look similar to this; though, there’s a lot of room for variation depending on how much time you took into getting that hedera into just the right apple shape. If you wish, you can use the brush tool to draw leaves on your apple. It’s up to you.

7. Huzzah! You’re almost finished. At the top menu bar, click on Layer> Merge Down. This should combine both your apple layer and your book layer.  Now to give it a scrapbook cutout-like texture, click on Filter>Texture>Texturizer. Set the texture to canvas and then adjust the scaling and bas relief until you get a look that you like in the preview. Hit OK when you’re finished.

8. Now after hitting OK, I realize that the texture looks really good, but it’s coming on too strong.  For my blog layout, I wanted something a little more subtle but still cute. To make the texture a little more subtle click on Edit>Fade Texturizer. Drag the opacity down to 50% and hit OK. Note: the fade texturizer only works if the texturizer was the previous step. If you add a new layer or draw with your paint brush, the fade won’t be an option.

9. For the finishing touch, I added a drop shadow to my logo. To do this, I selected the layer and clicked on the blending options. It’s in the same area as the create new layer, but the button looks like an Fx. Select the drop shadow from the menu and a pop up box will appear. From here you can adjust the angle of your drop shadow as well as the opacity and size.

10. To finish, drag the background image into the trash bin (next to the new layer). This should leave you with just your books image on a transparent background.  Save your new logo as a .PNG file and you’ll be good to go.

After eating a few too many no-bake cookies, and then combating the guilt with a few sun salutations, I’ve come to the realization that the special combination of sugar and stretching is almost as stimulating in a creative sense as standing in a hot shower.  Consequently, I began to wonder what would happen if I were to strip down, eat chocolate, and sit in lotus pose while letting the soothing warm water pour over my head. The three combined would undoubtedly form a holy triquetra of inspiring thoughts.  However, I am in no way recommending that you perform a downward facing dog pose in the confines of your bathtub the next time you run out of ideas for your latest novel. Too much of a good thing, you know?