An interview with Arthur Conan Doyle, 1927.
An interview with Arthur Conan Doyle, 1927.
Two of my favourite things, together at last.
Writer Food From A To Z, courtesy of THE AWL.
The temperature remains high, at least where I live, but autumn is sneaking around the corner. Although I find scant joy in the companions of cold weather-believing that you should visit ice and snow if the fancy strikes, and not the other way around-there are some compensations that arrive with this particular changing of the seasons, among them: hot mulled cider, hot chocolate, gingerbread cake, holiday cookies, ice skating, scarves, boots, crackling fires, the ability to watch Miracle on 34th Street ten times without being judged (too harshly), silly parades, a changing landscape and, of course, the built-in excuse to hunker down and read as many books as possible. That last one is the best. The Autumn 2012 edition of Bas Bleu is crammed with enough delicious books and literary-related goodies to last the next two seasons. Check out my jumble bag of favourites below, complete with handy links. Continue reading
I’m reading a dirty book and, no, it’s not Fifty Shades of…Anything. It’s worse. I picked it up last week at the dollar store. During check-out I hid it in the middle of a pile of cleaning supplies, but the cashier wasn’t fooled: she gave me side eye. Owning it makes me blush. I would never, ever be seen in public with it under my arm or nose. We’re friends, though, right? Right? Okay, good. I’m a bit shy about this sensitive subject, so I am going to divulge my secret in a photograph. Deep breath. Here it is: Continue reading
A bunch of books I’m glad I didn’t write, courtesy of AbeBooks.com’s Weird Book Room.
Plus, two I wish I had:
Although hundreds of trees spread across the distant horizon like ink blots, the park adjacent to my flat is the only true green spot in this industrial neighborhood.
I’m partial to the rust and dust and accumulated dirt, the graffiti and old buildings that litter the CW. The flowers are bright and perky, but they’ll die in service to the coming season. I like the good bones of the stone and brick structures, even if the edges are crumbly. They last, even if they are a bit shabby.
*I will be the gladdest thing/Under the sun!/I will touch a hundred flowers/And not pick one”-Edna St. Vincent Millay, Afternoon on a Hill