Let it not be said that I did not enjoy Gabrielle Zevin’s The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry. I did enjoy it. In fact, I only write reviews if I hate or love a book, and I very much hated and loved The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry.
Pirates Ahoy!
This brief post is a warm salute to that anomaly among pirate captains, Jack Sparrow. Wallie and I saw the new film and we simply do not know where all those bad reviews come from! This is, at any rate, a brief sketch with words to that rare fellow what makes pirating a vocation, vacation, and an explosion.
***
He was not, perhaps, prepossessing: diminutive and small-boned: but there was something striking in his easy, careless posture as he leaned at the ship’s rail, and there was something of the captain in the way his dark eyes rested on the open sea. Continue reading
How to Write Muggles Part 2
The final part of our two-part study:
***
‘Miss Graves.’
Jenny hesitated. She turned.
Mr. Thrush met her curious gaze. There was strange warmth in his own.
‘I know you do not like me,’ he said, ‘and I don’t ask that you do—but I would be grateful if you could tell me why.’
‘For no reason,’ she said—and flushed. ‘It’s not that—not that I don’t like—’
‘I have no magic,’ he said. ‘Is that it?’
Her face burned.
‘May I show you something, Miss Graves?’
How to Write Muggles Part 1
In the wizarding world of Harry Potter, we are always told to value muggles but they do not seem to occupy a prominate role in proving themselves valuable. J.K. Rowling’s series is a favorite of Wallie’s, and he only wishes she had given the muggles more time to express themselves before (if not defend themselves from) prejudice, and occupy an equal space. The following sketch is the beginning of a two-part investigation into whether or not muggles can actually stand in a room full of wizards.
***
Inside stepped two common folk.
They were certainly common.
The wife was a little, light thing, black-haired and fair. She was evidently a stranger to that home. She shrank close against her husband and held so tightly to his arm that her knuckles were white. He held her close in turn, as he could. She was more behind than beside him. It wasn’t fear for herself that provoked her; they could all see she was heavily pregnant.
You ask me why I read a book
You ask me why I read a book.
There is no reason I can tell;
No word nor phrase can match the maze
Where my bedeviled fancies dwell.
Happy New Year
Wishing you merry New Beginnings and a dashing New Year, from Wallie’s Wentletrap!
***
“It’s all so—so—ugh—”
“Just try to be quiet, mate,” advised Dancy. “No one’s asking you to give a pledge or anythin’, y’know. It may mean nothing to you, but it means something to these ’uns.”
Meow Keela
As requested by “Meow Keela,” we humbly present a drawing of the child who sometimes thinks she is a cat! We (that is, my Friend and I–Wallie can’t draw to save him) are somewhat ashamed that this young girl may or may not look two years old. Perhaps this is a “Meow” of the future.
