Merry Christmas & Happy New Year! I hope you all had good ones. Did you make any resolutions? Mine are simply to write more, complete last year's creative projects, and . . . eat food? Tone my butt? I don't know. Seve and I have talked about taking up slacklining.

I got an email recently from Goodreads congratulating me on another great year of reading and calculating my literary consumption of 2013 to be . . . 2 books. Now, I read voraciously in 2013, but I clearly never updated that to reflect on my Goodreads account. I'm not one to read or write reviews, but I do regret not at least keeping a log of the books I read.

I don't often recommend things either, but I will now: the other day I was loading up our Netflix account and a foreign film called "The Wall" popped up on my dash. I was immediately intrigued by its premise (A woman inexplicably finds herself cut off from all human contact when an invisible, unyielding wall suddenly surrounds the countryside). I started it right then and there instead of browsing to whatever it was I had originally wanted to watch. And I'm glad I did, as the film has stayed with me for days. It was sci-fi but not really? Not at all? YouTube markets it as scary, but it's not that either, not in the least. I won't tell you much more than that because after watching the film I looked up as much information on it as possible and sort of regret it because other people's interpretations have tainted that initial beautiful and immersing feeling I felt while watching it. Just know that it's beautiful, and immersing, and on Netflix, so go watch it right now.

Also, I recently learned to crack open an egg with one hand and I'm feeling terribly accomplished at the moment.

Promotional photo I took for Twin Falls High School's production of The Mummy's Claw. Seve and I saw it this last Friday and it was fantastic. It was a live radio show performance and James (their director) transformed the stage into an intimate blackbox theatre as though we were inside a radio station, complete with students performing with scripts into microphones and clopping shoes on tables to make the sound effects of footsteps, rotating stone slabs for the sound of the mummy's tomb opening, etc.

This weekend I also took Simon and Graham to Barnes & Noble to pick up some Halloween books. The second we were inside, I saw a local author sitting at a table, hosting a book signing. She was by herself, the table was small, and no one was in line yet. Seeing her made me think of my mother and the time she sat at a Barnes & Noble hosting a book signing, and how hard it was for her. Really good of course, but hard because it was awkward. Writing and authorship is reclusive by nature. It's an act you do alone, but if anyone's going to buy your opus you have to put yourself out there. I decided then and there that, whether it was the next Hunger Games or a book about potatoes, I'd buy this author's book.

Luckily it was right up my alley. A contemporary realistic YA novel about two black kids dealing with darned white kids in the south. That's putting it crudely, but it's really a great read. You can check it out here. Hush Puppy by Lisa T. Cresswell.

I was tempted to tell her that I'm an aspiring author too! and yadda yadda blah blah blah but until I actually have a book out there I'm not eager to really share that with anyone. No one cares if you're writing a book unless it's the sequel to something they've already read.

This move has taken me to a place I haven't been in a long time: feeling alone. We knew when we left Rexburg we'd be leaving all our friends behind and would have to start fresh, but during Seve's student teaching we had all those other student teachers to hang out with, and Portland was abundant with family.

In our new home I only see Seve early in the morning and late at night, since he stays late for all that drama he's teaching. His first play as a new teacher: Wit. He's worried about the pelvic exam scene. He and the town's other high school drama teacher are also considering a collaboration on a joint musical, Urinetown.

So Simon and I are left to our own devices all day long. This is what I thought I was waiting for, this is what I thought I wanted for years. To simply be home with my baby, but goodness, I find it very lonely. Simon is wonderful, but his conversation capacities are limited at the moment.

To keep my spirits up, I've created a writing nook where this apartment's fireplace used to be. I bought a cork board where I post all of my ideas and visual inspiration so I can keep myself grounded in my writing and not drift into depression. My desk fits perfectly into the nook and I write for about 2-3 hours each day during Simon's naps.

But sometimes it's not enough. I need some girlfriends, stat. And if I could choose, I'd like some weirdos like me. Who like the dark and the feminine, who are excited for Bat For Lashes' new album The Haunted Man, who will start a book club and read something other than Tuesdays with Morrie. It'd be nice if they had babies, too. But who am I to be picky?

Who's excited for The Great Gatsby? Who's excited for Les Misérables? Well, goodness, I am!

Once in 6th grade, our school principal came over the loud speakers to announce that Robert, eh, Somebody - the kid sitting behind me in Biology - had just read the unabridged copy of Les Mis and wasn't that something? Congratulations, Robert! For a sixth grader, yes, that was amazing. But, jerk that I was, I said to him later "Oh, big deal, I read that in like 4th grade, psshh." I had, but my version was in a simpler format for children and contained many pictures.

Nowadays I'm reading the legitimate, but abridged, version - abridged because in the original French novel of 1,900 pages, Victor Hugo goes on about everything from religion, politics, the Battle of Waterloo, the construction of the Paris sewers . . . anything remotely of historical note. Because novels back then also acted as history books, and the fictional stories contained within were just meant to spice things up a bit. So bravo, Hugo, for your beautiful fictional aside. And bravo, Robert, for bothering to read every last bit of it, Paris sewers included. I'm sorry I was a jerk.

I have been working on this all the livelong day. Aside from taking my mother's author photos, I've also been working on her site, and I tell you what I'm mentally exhausted. It's not yet near completion, but I thought I'd offer you guys a sneak peek of the work in progress. If you're interested, check out her blog to read up on her journey to publication.

I've been trying to establish a blogging schedule for myself, though I'm finding it's not an easy thing to keep up . . . sometimes it feels like too much of an obligation. Like homework. But it was a goal I set for myself this year: to write daily. Because, you see, I'm writing a book. I won't bother to share much more than that, because I've taken enough creative writing classes to know that the phrase "I'm writing a book" elicits the glazing over of eyes if the polite "Oh, what's it about?' is answered.

So instead, I'll recommend you to pick up my new favorite read, John Green's The Fault In Our Stars. Do you ever have those days when your schedule is so swamped that you feel you'll be buried alive if you don't meet some kind of a quota by bedtime? I was so caught up in this novel that I put my buried-alive life on hold just to finish its cancer patient pages. Yes, it's about two teenagers with cancer who fall in love, but don't worry, it's not a Cancer novel. Because, to quote the protagonist, "Cancer novels are shitty."

And Simon seemed to enjoy it? Enjoy falling asleep while I read to him, anyway. Or when he'd occasionally get excited and reach over to swipe the pages on the touchscreen. Amazing to me that his generation gets to have a thing like touchscreens as the norm.

Whenever asked what the greatest gift I've been given is, I usually stumble and say "life," or "cake?", but this past Christmas changed all that when my mother-in-law bought Seve and me a Nook. I'll admit to having hogged the thing since we got it, which Seve has made fun of me for since I'd previously been known to rant: "What's the point of an eReader when I already have a laptop and smartphone and can just download a book app?" I'll tell you the point: books are cheaper on eReaders. If you're not into reading often, the price of the eReader itself might negate that, but if you're like me and have a penchant for John Green or you're like Seve with a penchant for R.A. Salvatore, and, of course, when the eReader is a gift, then a Nook (or that other fire-related reader) is right up your alley.

I love our Nook. I think Russel Brand titled his autobiography "My Booky Wook," and likewise I call my greatest gift ever received my "Nooky Wook." Oh, Nooky Wook! I love you. Thanks, Mom!

P.S. friend me on Goodreads!

Francesca Lia Block's Witch Baby was my favorite installment of the Dangerous Angels series. That purple-eyed, snarly black-haired child crawled right into my heart in middle school and hasn't ever bothered leaving.  These shoes are my homage to her band, the Goat Guys. You see, just like in Pinocchio when all the boys started to turn into asses once they started boozin' n smokin' n' poolin', the Goat Guys started to turn into goats once their band took off and their egos started to soar - a transformation that began with some goatly band gear: furry pants, antlers, and hooved shoes. Once these items were removed, they were able to see what they had become and change their ways.

Not that my goal is to turn into a goat. And these shoes aren't terribly hoof-like; just enough so that I love wearing them everyday. Though, Seve thinks they're ugly. I try to explain to him that that's kind of the point. Also, they put me at or near eye level with my friends, which is always a plus.

Seve and I really love the name Henry. We talk about using it for another boy, but the name has risen so quickly in popularity that I'd rather not use it anymore. I don't want my son to have to suffer through being one of 8 kids who turns around every time their name is hollered down a hallway. I know the feeling because my real name isn't Jules, it's one of those hallway multiple-head turners. To the question "what's in a name? Would a rose by any other name smell as sweet?" I say no, because my life changed the day I started going by Jules. I was suddenly less forgettable, suddenly thought of as quirky and cool, suddenly taken more seriously in job interviews. This rose smelled sweeter once it changed its name.

On the other hand, we plan to stay away from names that are too unique. Seve is named such because he is his father's seventh son, but everyone just seems to think he's a Steve who consistently forgets his "t."

I just finished a book for my Harlequin Teen Reader Panel about a modern day twist on Greek mythology where the dark and mysterious Hades is now the dark and modern Henry. Is anyone else a closet YA fan?  After a long session with Mr. Franzen I like to balance the weight by wrapping myself in a more frilly read, but lately my YA has just been so much fun I don't care to read anything else. I'm trying to more readily embrace my guilty pleasures by eliminating their guilt and just reveling in their pleasure, and I regret not joining some club or group earlier in my youth that celebrates the "issue" novel and has My So-Called Life marathons. Anyone care to start a club? You-know-what is on Instant Queue.

My mother-in-law recently left town and I miss her very much.

I always forget to take pictures of my outings, like Simon's first trip to the zoo and the so-so vegan restaurant Seve and I went to over the weekend (the smoothies were lukewarm. Like the Bible verse, I wanted to spit). But here's some shots of Simon's first bookstore, the Yesteryear Shoppe in downtown. We've been a few more times since and I'm quite sure he doesn't like it - he always fusses when we go, and instead seems to prefer the bookstore next door, Twice Told Tales. Perhaps there are demons in Yesteryear that only a keen innocent soul can sense? Or maybe it's just smelly.

On a not-related note, I'm finally getting a DSLR. Good friends, what cameras do you use, and are you happy with them? I'm buying used and currently looking at the entry level Nikon D3000 and a 50 mm f/1.8 lens. Thoughts? I want fuzzier backgrounds.

Simon and I just finished The Graveyard Book, his very first novel. Of course I also have some picture books lined up for him, Where the Wild Things Are and whatnot, but I was excited for this particular book to be his first read, or "read to by his mother," to be accurate.

Simon's other firsts:

First song: "True Love Will Find You In The End," Daniel Johnston
First movie: Dr. Horrible's Sing Along Blog (that he seemed to watch, anyway . . . the first movie put on our television after he was born was Overboard)
First store: Target (yeah.)
First restaurant: A&W (root beer YUM . . . maybe this doesn't count until he eats at the restaurant?)
First laugh: playing with Uncle Ben
First time to roll over: Last Thursday while I was trying to get a picture of him in his bear hat that's so large on him it looks more like a viking hat
First smile: At the hospital (Doctors say it's just gas but I say NO)
First illness: Staph infection at 2 weeks old . . . awful

Also, on a reading related note: is it cool to hate reading now? With the kids, I mean? Seve says more than half of the students he works with have declared a hatred for reading. I understand that sometimes when a kid struggles with reading it's easy to just say you hate it, but it seems I'm running into kids who are embarrassed to admit they read and that it's uncool to read at all. My niece is hesitant to admit she reads anything outside of a school assignment. When I was a youngin' it was cool to say that you could spend "hours at Barnes & Noble" whether you enjoyed reading or not, because appearing smart was the way to be. Is it lame to be smart these days? If so, then I hope Simon will be mega lame.

Writing that last paragraph suddenly made me feel very old.

One of my favorite books is Wuthering Heights - I wrote my last ever research paper on the novel - and with Kate writing about her first read of the book, I thought I'd address its latest big screen adaptation (first promo poster above).

For the first time, a black actor has been cast to play Heathcliff. The film is set to be released this year or next, it's a major picture, not made for TV, and directed by Andrea Arnold (Fish Tank). I couldn't be more excited - it's always bothered me that white (not to mention old) actors have traditionally been used to portray Heathcliff. While Brontë never outright stated that Heathcliff was black, she clearly described him as non-white. As a child, Heathcliff was adopted by Mr. Earnshaw after being found abandoned at a slave port in Liverpool, and he was written as a "dark-skinned gypsy in aspect and a little lascar," that last word being a 19th century term for sailors from India.

While his ethnicity is uncertain, I always felt his non-whiteness was a vital part of Wuthering Heights as it affects his relationship with every character in the novel, especially Catherine (especially himself!), and I've been disappointed to never see this portrayed in film. I like to think that Brontë intentionally set out to write a novel where the main love interest was of a different ethnicity, but given the time period probably had to address the issue about as head-on as Thomas Hardy's rape scene from Tess of the d'Urbervilles.

p.s. Haven't read it? You can read online for free, here.

p.p.s. Oh goodness, this post was featured on the Brontë Blog! Welcome, Brontites.

Well gosh crap it's snowing.
My new office window!

So, I recently completed my goal of reading and viewing all Harry Potter literary and film installments. Thoughts after reading: I wish I was Harry Potter.

Writing the NaNo while finishing Harry Potter has given me a whole new perspective on world and character building, and the scope by which Mrs. Rowling managed to juggle so much in such a perfectly executed fashion. It boggles me that her mind was able to store so much, though I'm beginning to learn that with the power of Microsoft Excel anything is possible.

My own novel is struggling with elements of brooding darkness and quirkiness that don't seem to mix. I'm getting the word count down for sure; writing isn't the issue, it's feeling accomplished in what I've written. My wolves are wearing glasses and listening to '50s doo-wop music one minute then debating the handling of a severed head the next. They're dealing with a haunted canoe, falling in love, missing their moms, hunting down ghosts, discussing the merits of devouring the haunted canoe . . . I guess it's silly of me to expect anything real to come of this project. I went into it knowing it'd be just for kicks. But since when am I a werewolf novelist?

Also. Due to my husband's fervent dislike of the title On All Fours, here are some other titles for your consideration:

Red Riding (turns out this is the title to a TV series)
The Book Smart Wolf (serious consideration at this point)
Muzzle (boring)
Wolf Like Me (TV On the Radio song title)
Haters Gonna Hate Now Let's Go A'Howlin (made this one up on the spot while typing this post)

I worry that anything with "wolf" in the title will be tossed aside as another Blood & Chocolate or Twilight knockoff. Lord help me, if I ever attempt to publish this thing I'll need a good query letter to sever that connection, but when you're an agent with a daily slush pile to tackle, the wrong title can set a bad taste in the mouth that spoils the rest of the letter. Hmm.

Oh, and for the record, Harry Potter was a much better boyfriend than The Hunger Games. By far.

Well, I think ya'll know by now how much I love this wolf by Rosie Music. While procrastinating plot outlining I made this little cover for my NaNoWriMo novel. Seve thinks my title suggests an innuendo; my friend Daniel said if I wanted an innuendo I should have named it Doggy Style.

Well, I'm here to say that I hope my cover and title alike suggest a werewolf novel without silly full moons, silver bullets, or innuendos; but rather awesome Buddy Holly references and book smart wolves.

But, you know, without being all hipster-pretentious. Actually, this cover doesn't really convey my story at all, I just thought it was cute. Maybe too cute. Because there's scary stuff in the novel too, like getting your hand ripped off, accidentally eating your favorite horse, and whatnot.

Oh look it's hipster Harry Potter & pals!

Who hasn't heard of the NaNoWriMo? You? K, click on that link and then come back.

I attempted my first National Novel Writing Month back in high school. I've done it few times since, but feel a strong conviction to really go for it this year. Not as in write a serious novel and submit to publishers with bleeding heart but to just write a novel for fun, see how it turns out, and share it with friends if they care. Make it cheesy on purpose or something.

Sadly, I can't remember just how many years I've participated in NaNoWriMo . . . I know it's a lot, and I've only reached the 50,000 word count once. That was for my own personal retelling of The Nutcracker . . . trust me, it was pretty awesome. Well, I had fun writing it, anyway (have you seen the trailer for that nutso steampunk little-kiddy Nutcracker? Not sure how I feel about it).

This year, I'll be writing about [drumroll] werewolves! And please take your mind off Twilight werebros, this is SERIOUS BUSINESS. You can check out my NaNoWriMo profile here, and admire the swanky new badge in my side bar. Oh, and October is officially National Outline Writing Month. What's left of October, anyway.

So who's with me? K. See you there.

Hey so yay Banned Book Week! How can I not put in my two cents with all the great blog posts out there?

My favorite banned book is A Clockwork Orange.
For those of you picturing the sleazy 70s film, you’re probably all WELL YEAH IT WAS BANNED but let’s hear some words from author Anthony Burgess:

"We all suffer from the popular desire to make the known notorious. The book I am best known for, or only known for, is a novel I am prepared to repudiate: written a quarter of a century ago, a jeu d'esprit knocked off for money in three weeks, it became known as the raw material for a film which seemed to glorify sex and violence. The film made it easy for readers of the book to misunderstand what it was about, and the misunderstanding will pursue me till I die. I should not have written the book because of this danger of misinterpretation.”

In a nutshell, A Clockwork Orange is about a violent teenager doing violent things who is captured by the government who make him an offer: go to jail for your crimes, or enter into our 2 week experimental program to "cure" the violence out of you. Alex (the name of our anti-hero) accepts the latter, and is then strapped to a chair, given severe nausea-inducing drugs, and is forced to watch extremely violent films with his eyes wired open so he won't miss a thing. The experiment works - whenever Alex considers an act of violence, his body falls into an aggressive bout of nausea and pain. As a little we-hate-you, the police also played Alex's favorite music - classical - while they were conducting the experiments, so now that makes him nausea-crazy too. Later when he’s in the top floor of a building some classical music starts playing; the nausea and pain is too much to bear so he flings himself out the window in an attempt to kill himself. He doesn't succeed, and the blow the fall gave to his head has reversed the experiment. He is free to do violence again.*

But does he? Yes, which really blows the whole message of the story IMO. You see, the 21st chapter of the book was omitted from the American release - the publisher thought a redeeming ending was too wishy washy. The backbone of the story is moral choice - how choices don't matter if they're forced upon you; you must choose good or bad for yourself. Back in 1960s America, we were all led to believe in what Burgess called a "badly flawed" ending, where Alex decides to descend back into his dark nature.

To remedy this, Burgess wrote a stage adaptation.**

K so you’re probably thinking JULES GET TO THE POINT OR SHUTZ UP so here we go: Seve has been approved to direct a play at BYU-Idaho in between Arsenic and Old Lace and Marriage of Figaro, and we're thinking it'd be cool to do A Clockwork Orange . . . with an all-female cast.

It's not the play he'll actually do, because of time (it has to be a one act), money (budget is tight), and pending approval (this is BYU-I, after all) but we're thinking it'd be a sweet project to pursue in the future. Thoughts?



* this plot was off the top of my head, so some things might not be exact, but the basic plot is accurate.
** the setting is a dystopian England and the novel was written in Nadsat, an English-Russian hybrid slang language invented by Burgess himself. Take that, Tolkien.

My life at this very moment:

-Listening to Yeasayer's Odd Blood (everyone click here)
-Reading Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (Umbridge . . . Umbridge!)
-Wearing my new coat (remember?)
-Finding this song for Seve (HA! Middle school, right? Maybe elementary for you? Preschool? Am I old?)
-Watched Who's That Girl? last night. So silly.
-Loving Stina Persson, whose lovely art is responsible for my new header.

Oh, and visit Panache if you haven't already for a cool giveaway! Need.

I hope you've all read Mockingjay by now. Because we're gonna pretend for a second that the YA book series Hunger Games is my boyfriend and this blog is my 16-year-old self's journal.

Oh, and


SPOILER ALERT don't read this post if you like your books fresh and unspoiled SPOILER ALERT


Dear Diary (squiggly unicorn),

Today is my first day of school and I just met this totally sweet guy named Hunger Games! Oh gosh and he totally asked me out! (exclamation points with hearts)

   Date 1: OMG this guy is amazing. Hunger Games is so dark and mysterious. He’s so heroic and selfless and totally cares about his family and is super outdoorsy! He has a bow and arrow! Totally can’t wait for date 2.
   Date 2: Wow wow WOW! We had so much fun and let’s be serious, my heart was racing the whole time. He was romantic and clever and all activist in that politically charged way that doesn’t involve aggressive handshakes and campaigning, but like, really cares. And he can, like, drink water from trees. So cool. And at the end he was totally like “Just you WAIT for date 3.” AAAh!! Can’t wait!! (heart heart star kissy lips)
   Date 3: K, so, everything started great and I knew for sure this was going to be the best date evah of my LIFE. Hunger Games had so many great things planned and I was secretly hoping he'd ask me to prom. Then, uh, while we were at the restaurant, he was all “I know I planned this great dinner and movie, but Imma gonna leave now. How about I just vaguely describe the rest our date to you, and then end abruptly with infinite sadness and no hope? And give you NONE of the fun things we shared on our first dates?” Like, hUHH??

Totally reminds me of my BFF’s relationship with Lost, only that ended way worse and more confusing . . . yet I somehow feel more betrayed by Hunger Games. WTF? Now I wonder if those first two dates were even worth it at all ‘cause they just got me all geared up for the third! And now, NO PROM! Lame. (sad cat picture)

K BAi,

~*jules*~


Back to normal blogging self:
Mockingjay totally fell flat for me. It was well written, had intense action, and even started great - but at the end I realized the only thing this series had going for me was Katniss and Peeta. And Prim. And Finnick. And Gale. And District 13. You know, all the beautiful and hopeful things that turned out to be crazy, evil, flaky, or dead in the end. This book left me with nothing to root for, and by the last third I honestly wondered if I was reading some confusing dream sequence that would at some point return to the fast-paced war we were previously expereincing. In fact, when I was at that last third, I realized there weren’t possibly enough pages left to give me a satisfying ending and tie up all the loose ends. Which it didn’t. "But it's realistic," yadda yadda. "War isn’t pretty, war is bad," blah blah. You know what? So is this book.

I wonder what Harry Potter's up to this weekend.