#ink death

[readingperks]

[debacle-disaster]

I am the song that sings the bird. I am the leaf that grows the land. I am the tide that moves the moon. I am the stream that halts the sand. I am the cloud that drives the storm. I am the earth that lights the sun. I am the fire that strikes the stone. I am the clay that shaped the hand. I am the word that speaks the man.

Charles Causley, "I Am the Song"

[ogsourpatchkid]

The book I chose for an assignment at school had one of the hot teenagers call the guy he's obsessed with a, "bloody bastard" and said he's a, "thrice accursed son of a bitch" xDDDD

Don't be mistaken, there's hardly any romance, not a yaoi couple (the other guy is married, had 2 kids, and is like 30 something), and is a book about a girl being sucked into a book with a guy who was sucked out of his book and into that book with the girl to follow the guy who returned to his true home in that book bc he got sucked out 10 years ago and now the girl's family is stuck there too and the dad is going to save them by binding a book that holds immortality so the book's plot can go on in peace.

[thesarcasticscribe]

After all, that was what you wanted from books: great emotions you'd never felt yourself, pain you could leave behind by closing a book if it got too bad. Death and destruction felt deliciously real conjured up with the right words, and you could leave them behind between the pages if you pleased, at no cost or risk to you

-Cornelia Funke, Ink Death

[alittlenovella-blog]

I can't write, and I feel like I'm losing my mind. 

[thesarcasticscribe]

In love- it sounded like a sickness without a cure, and wasn't that just how it sometimes felt?

-Cornelia Funke, Ink Death

[aturtleslove]

""Blue as the evening sky, blue as cranesbill flowers, blue as the lips of drowned men and the heart of a blaze burning with too hot a flame. Yes, sometimes it was hot in this world, too. Hot and cold, light and dark, terrible and beautiful, it was everything all at once. It wasn’t true that you felt nothing in the land of Death. You felt and heard and smelled and saw, but your heart remained strangely calm, as if it were resting before the dance began again. Peace. Was that the word?""

Cornelia Funke, Inkdeath

[coffeewithcalypso]

I'm currently reading (among about six other things) Inkdeath by Cornelia Funke. It's part of a children's series, though she did a good job of maturing the stories a bit to grow with her target audience. 

The trilogy is about a man who, when he read aloud can bespell things out of the story but often something from his world goes into the story. He discovered it accidentally when he read something, I don't remember what, out and accidentally read his wife into it the story. So the trilogy deals with all of that and eventually you are introduced to the author of the story and everyone ends up in the other world and this and that. 

The point of this post. Sorry, didn't mean to take so long getting here. In the novel the author of story (see why I went through the set up) is referred to as the ink weaver. I think that is a stunning title. So magical sounding.

So I've decided that when I get my first novel published and get paid for it, I'm going to take some of that money and go get "ink weaver" tattooed somewhere on me. It will be small simple and innocuous, not some wild, flailing affair. But I want those words on me somewhere.

I also realized the other day that it was about ten years ago when I decided for sure I wanted to be a writer. So I've wanted to do one thing with my life for a decade. Probably longer but definitively a decade. That's a long time.