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.

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...