You're the One that I want - Cecily Von Ziegesar

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You're the One that I Want - Von Ziegesar, Cecily 
Summary: After an agonizing wait for college acceptance letters, Blair, Serena, Nate, and their classmates at elite Manhattan prep schools discover that their college choice depends a lot on relationships--old and new. 


Cecilia's Review It's spring on the Upper East Side and all the senior girls and boys are finding out which colleges accepted them. Serena van der Woodsen goes off to the schools that accepted her and falls in love with every school (tour guides included). Will she be able to make the right choice? Blair Waldorf has her eye on Yale and only Yale. Nate Archibald decides to test how bad each school wants them but, will that help him to choose the right school? Vanessa Abrams and Dan Humphrey decide to take a big step in their relationship by moving in together. Dan is debating whether or not to stay in New York for college. Dan's little sister, Jenny, idolizes Serena and pursues a modeling career. Decisions, decisions. Who knows if they will make the right ones. Most of the characters find spots at colleges or universities in the northeastern United States, conveniently within watch of the Gossip Girl, who will no doubt be reporting on them for many volumes to come. This series is quite addictive, and as the other Gossip Girl books, you wont be able to stop reading it. I definitely enjoyed reading this book. 
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Charlotte's Web - E.B. White

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Charlotte's Web - White, E.B. 
Summary: Wilbur, the pig, is desolate when he discovers that he is destined to be the farmer's Christmas dinner until his spider friend, Charlotte, decides to help him. 



Jinnee's Review A little piglet, Wilbur, was saved from a horrible fate by a little girl named Fern. When he's all grown up, his life was in danger again. He met a spider named Charlotte and she is trying to save Wilbur's life by using her web. I think this is a good book because you can learn about friendship, trust, love and how important they are. Interest readers need to understand how writers uses metaphor to express their message of the book. I loved it. 
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New Year Zombie Story

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It's been a while since I've posted something I wrote so I figure, what better way to start the new year than with a zombie story? Hope you like it! 

TheZombies of Cow ValleyBy:Adam Gaylord
WhenI opened my eyes, the cows were gone.     “Shit.” Iscrambled to my feet. I’d only closed my eyes for a few minutes. How a herd of1500 lb. heifers was able to sneak away was a true mystery of nature. Usuallywhen the cows laid down they’d stay down for hours, chewing their cud in aswarm of flies. Rarely did they abandon their morning nap.Somethingmust have spooked them.I shruggedon my backpack and looked around the partially wooded pasture, seeing no signof the cattle. If they weren’t in the open they were probably down near thecreek. That meant fighting my way through dense thorn bushes and clouds ofmosquitos to find them. I walked toward the creek, once again I cursed my luckin landing such a crappy summer job. When applying for the field researcher positionI’d pictured helicopter wolf surveys or bull moose tracking. Instead I wasputting my new graduate degree to use taking second-by-second behaviorobservations of walking crap factories.Damnthis economy.Ireached the wall of thorn bushes marking the edge of the stream corridor. Sureenough, a steaming fresh cow patty waited for me on a small trail penetratingthe bushes. I ignored the smell and plunged in. By sticking to the trail Iavoided most of the thorns, only earning a few new scratches. What I couldn’tavoid were the mosquitos. Dozens circled, determined to find a chink in thechemical armor I coated myself with every morning. They attacked my knuckles,behind my ears, through my cotton t-shirt, anywhere that the bug spray wasn’tthick enough to assure cancer. I trudged through the bramble for half an hourbefore finally spotting the heard clumped together in a corner at thedownstream end of the pasture.“That’sweird,” I mumbled. That area was rocky with hardly any grass so the cattle usuallyavoided it. It was also directly adjacent to the road and its complement ofpickup trucks that never failed to scare the half-wit bovines. Pickuptrucks and dogs. Overthe course of the summer I had come to the conclusion that if you lived ineastern Oregon and you drove a pickup, you were required by law to carry a cowdog in the back. I pictured young men going to buy their mandatory first pickuphaggling with the salesman about what kind of dog to include with the truck. “Foranother grand I’ll throw in a pure bred border collie, already trained to barkhis head off at any living thing you happen to drive by.”Ineared the herd and noticed something else strange. None of the cows, not asingle one, was either eating or crapping. What such a bizarre andunprecedented event might foretell I couldn’t begin to guess. I was just happyto see something, anything different from the herd.Icircled down toward the road to get a better look. The cows were lined upagainst the fence, staring intently down the road to where it and the creekcurved down the narrow valley. I hadn’t seen the animals this interested insomething since the rancher put out a new salt lick.Ireached the fence, the cattle ignoring me as I tried to see what the fuss wasabout. At first I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. I was about tochuck the whole thing up to bovine stupidity when a movement caught my eye.Over the rocky bank that hid the creek from view climbed a sopping wet bordercollie.“Wellthat explains it.” Anything on four legs automatically warranted the cow’s fullattention. Buta dog without a truck? Where had it come from?Asmall plume of smoke drifting over the creek bank answered my question.“Shit.”Iscurried over the fence and ran down the road, already knowing what I’d find.Sure enough, as I neared the dog the underside of a pickup came into view, thevehicle sitting upside down in the middle of the creek. The dog ran up to meand then back to the creek bank, whining.“Iknow boy. I’m coming.” Thepickup was in bad shape. It looked like it had rolled a couple times beforeending up in the water. The smell of burnt rubber and oil filled the air. I dugmy cell phone out of my pack but as always, there was no signal. I triedcalling 911 anyway but without any luck. “Cananyone hear me?” I yelled from the bank.  Noresponse.Iclimbed down the rocky slope toward the wreck. The way people sped down thesewinding valley roads, I wasn’t surprised to see an accident. I’d only narrowlyavoided several myself. I wadedinto the knee-deep water, looking around for the cause the crash. I didn’t seeanother vehicle. Maybe the pickup swerved to miss a deer. Maybe the driver wasdrunk.Ireached the pickup and banged on the partially submerged driver side door. Thewidows were under the muddy water.“Areyou OK?” I shouted, feeling a little dumb for asking.WhenI got no response I splashed my way against the current around to the passengerside of the truck and banged the door.“Canyou hear me?”Stillnothing.Ibent down and peered through what was left of the passenger window. I could seepart of the seat and some of the dash above the waterline but everything elsewas submerged. Not sure what else to do, I reached into the water. My hand metthe resistance of flesh and fabric. Grabbing the driver’s shirt, I shook, andthen waited for some kind of response. Getting none I felt my way down theseatbelt, fumbling with the buckle before finding the release. Bracing myself Ipulled on the driver’s clothes and body. Try as I might he would not budge. Bloodswirled in the muddy water. Iwaded back to the bank. I had no idea how long the driver had been submergedbut if he was losing that much blood, it didn’t look good. I’d have to drivedownstream 20 minutes before I was out of the steep sided valley and in cellphone range to call for help. I jogged back up the road toward my truck. I Atleast I could honestly say I’d done all I could. Orhad I?Istopped and turned back to the dog, still pacing and whining on the bank.“Commonboy. There’s nothing we can do.” Thedog stopped and looked at me, cocking his head with a whine. “Iknow you wanna stay but we need to go get help.”Thedog looked at the pickup again but then started toward me. “Notthat it’s gonna do much good,” I mumbled.Atthat the dog’s ears went back and he growled low in his throat.Ithrew up my hands. “Whoa big fella. I’m just the messenger.”Themenacing growl continued but as the dog circled to one side I realized hisattention wasn’t on me but on something behind me. I turned around.   From the brush on the other side of the roademerged a woman in a yellow spandex bicycle outfit and matching helmet. “Holycrap. Are you ok?” I asked, moving toward her.Shewas obviously not ok. One leg dragged behind her as she staggered forward, bonesticking out of the compound fracture below her knee. Her arm on the same sideswung freely and most of the skin had been scraped off that side of her body,blood staining the remains of her tattered cycling outfit. It was her eyesthough that brought me to a stop. They were completely white, even thepupils.  “Youshould probably sit down,” I cautioned.Thewoman continued to lurch forward, her only response a low gurgling moan thatblended with the growl from the dog behind me.“Quietdog,” I said without taking my eyes off the woman. She kept moving toward me,her clip in bike shoe scraping against the road as her leg drug behind her. Istepped back toward the growling canine.“Shutup dog!”Butthe dog wasn’t paying attention to me anymore, or even the woman. Instead hewas watching what was left of his former master emerge from the passenger sidewindow of the overturned pickup. I could only stare as an old man in a muddyplaid shirt pulled his torso out of the cab, only his tattered clothing andentrails following behind. He’d left his bottom half pinned in the pickup. “Holyshit.”Mycurse drew the man’s attention, his milky white eyes turning toward me, jawopen in a raspy moan. His skin sizzled on the truck’s smoking hotundercarriage. Icried out as a cold hand grasped my shoulder. I whirled around to find thewoman cyclist reaching out for me with her good arm, her functioning fingerspinching the air. Istaggered backward. “Ok, I know you’re pretty messed up but could you pleasesay something coherent so that I know you’re not a…a freakin’ zombie!”Thewoman groaned. “Anything.Like your name or ‘Help me’ or something. Please.”Shegroaned again. “Yeah,I was afraid of that.”Ijumped and whirled again when the dog barked. The farmer’s torso had managed topull its way through the creek and was cresting the bank. Feted water pouredout its mouth as it crawled toward me, moaning.“Thanksdog. I’m on it.” I jogged a short way up the road toward a patch of trees. Ifigured chances were pretty good that I was dreaming. It wouldn’t be my firstzombie dream. I’d always been a bit of a zombie nut, watching every movie,reading every book, playing every game. They were fun. Thiswasn’t fun.Ireached the trees and took a deep breath. Then I slapped myself in the face, hard.“Ow,”I mumbled, rubbing my cheek. “Ok, not a dream.”I searchedthe stand, quickly finding a downed pine tree. I broke off a nice sized branch,about 4 feet long and as thick as my bicep. Then I stepped back onto the road,my pursuers slowly closing ground, the woman in the lead. I grabbed a fistsized rock from the side of the road.“Ok,last chance. Stop fucking around or I’m gonna bean ya.”Neitherreacted, they just kept coming.“Allright, I warned you.”Withthat I took a full major league windup and hurled the stone at the femalecyclist. The rock bounced off her sternum with a sickening wet thwack. Shehardly reacted, staggering only slightly before continuing her halting marchtoward me. “Well,that pretty much cinches it.” I told the dog who had retrieved the rock and setit at my feet.“Thanks,but I think I’ll use this.” I raised makeshift club and started forward. Then Istopped and turned back to the dog.“Sit.”He did. “Stay.”He did.“Man,border collies are smart.” Iturned back to the zombies. Squaring my shoulders I closed on the cyclist, herfingers pinching the air as I approached. Taking a deep breath I growled andswung the timber, aiming for her left ear. The blow missed high and struck herhelmet, sending it flying and tilting her head to one side with the crack ofbone. Her head stayed at the odd angle and she kept coming.“Yikes.”Iswung again, this time bringing the club up over my head like I was choppingfirewood. The woman’s head cracked open like an unripe melon. She collapsed,twitching for a moment before finally stilling. The dog barked but I didn’treact, transfixed by the gruesome sight.Thesmell of rotting flesh hit me as I was yanked backward, something pulling on mybackpack. Trying desperately to keep my feet, I shrugged of the straps andfell, dropping the club. I scrambled to my feet only to find myself face toface with a third zombie. This one was much further gone, bits of skin andmatted hair barely clinging to its decomposing muscle. The creature lunged at memouth first and I ducked to the side, expecting to feel the zombie’s hands clasponto me. Again it snapped at me and again I was able to step away unhindered. Afew quick steps backward showed what had saved me: the zombie had no arms. Whatit lacked in limbs however, it made up in persistence. It lurched toward me,forcing me back again. I managed to circle around and retrieve my fallen club. Thezombie lurched toward me and I whacked its head with a similar chopping motion,a second swing necessary to dispatch it completely. Itook a deep breath only to stagger as the farmer’s cold wet hand clamped hardonto my ankle. “Shit!”Thecreature moaned, pulling himself toward my foot, mouth agape. He bit down, histeeth sinking into the club I had just managed to jam between us. I pulled awaybut the torso drug behind me with every step, only the club keeping his teethfrom my flesh. “Dog,help!”Dogran over from where he had been sitting the whole time and chomped down on hisowner’s shirt, pulling hard. The sudden change in momentum sent me sprawling,dislodging the club from the zombie’s mouth. I kicked at its head, its jawssnapping at my boots. Only Dog’s pulling kept the zombie off me long enough tojam the end of the club into its mouth again. “Dog,get me that rock.” Hestopped pulling and looked at me.“Getme the rock boy, go get it!”Thezombie ground the log into my leg with its mouth, teeth breaking off as ittried desperately to feed. It was all I could do to keep the club between us.Dogdropped the same fist-sized rock by my head. “Goodboy!”Igrabbed the stone and tomahawked it down onto the zombie’s head. Over and overthe crack of bone and splatter of blood met the stone until finally thecreature stopped moving. Even then I had to pry its hands off my bruised ankle.I stoodand examined the corpses. The farmer’s blood pooled on the asphalt, a trail ofgore marking his path from the creek. In contrast, the cyclist was hardlybleeding. With the exception of her newly acquired head wound, her injuriesappeared older, the blood around them dried to a rusty brown, the flesh purpleand sagging.“Poorbastard, wrecked to miss a dead woman.” I rolled the farmer over with my footimmediately spotting what I was looking for, a circular chunk of flesh missingfrom the inside of his wrist. Abite mark.Awave of nausea sent me scurrying to the side of the road, separating me from mymeager breakfast. I stayed doubled over for a few minutes, overwhelmed, not bythe violence or gore but by the implications of what had just happened. I’dwatched enough zombie movies to know how these things worked. Pandemics startedin big cities. I’d been camping in the middle of eastern Oregon, over 200 milesfrom anything close to a big city for the last three weeks. I was due to gointo town the next day to restock my dwindling supplies. I had no cell service,no contact with the outside world. It was just me and the cows. And if there wezombies this far in the boonies…I pickedup my club and jogged back toward my truck.   “Comeon, Dog.”ButDog stayed put, his attention trained down the road to where it and the creekcurved out of sight. I stopped and saw Dog’s ears lay back and his hacklesrise. He growled low in his throat, like before. By now I knew enough to listento him.“Whatis it, boy?” I walked back and crouched down by his side, trying to see what hesaw. The road was empty. Not even a bird moved in the brush. I stayedmotionless. Slowly,unperceivably at first, Dog’s growl grew louder. Soon it seemed to fill thevalley around us. As it continued to grow I realized it was less of a growl andmore of a moan. A few moments later a wall of zombies rounded the corner intothe valley. There were dozens, maybe hundreds. I watched as the road back tocivilization, back to my friends and family, filled with the undead. I thoughtof my parents and my little brother back in Portland. Was there a chance theywere ok? Would I see them again?Dogbarked, glancing from the zombie hoard to me and back again.“Yeah.You’re right. Let’s go.” I resumed my jog to the truck, this time Dog fallingin step beside me. We’dhead into the mountains. There were dozens of old logging roads we could use.Maybe I could find an old fire tower or something where I could get cellservice. We’d have to try.“Goodluck cows!” I shouted to the herd who nervously eyed Dog as we ran by. I didn’tknow if zombies liked beef. Ihalf hoped they did.THEEND Note: I wrote this while doing behavior research with cattle in eastern Oregon. Pretty much any time I'm bored I think to myself, "What would I do if zombies showed up right here right now." It's a good way to stay entertained. 

Quentin Tarantino's Speech and the Creative Process

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I'm not much for award shows. I get a little tired of Hollywood patting themselves on the back.

However, I love Tina Fey and Amy Poehler. A pair of funnier ladies is hard to find. Given that, I did watch a little bit of the 70th Annual Golden Globes last night, mainly while The Good Wife was on commercial breaks (my wife loves that show). From what I saw I came away with three thoughts.

First, Brave shouldn't have won for Animated Feature Film. I love animated movies and I love Pixar but Brave didn't live up to their extremely high standard. It was a good but a little boring and predictable. My vote would have been for ParaNorman.

Second, holy plastic surgery batman! There were a few actresses I didn't even recognize they've had so much work done. Kate Hudson is starting to look an awful lot like Lindsay Lohan (which isn't a good thing) and one gall (who's name is now escaping me, which I realize doesn't help this post) doesn't even look like anyone anymore!

Finally, the last thing that stuck with me and the reason for this post was Quentin Tarantino's acceptance speech for Best Screenplay for his movie Django Unchained. If you haven't seen this movie, it's very good. Don't go see it unless you're prepared for some serious violence and profanity but do go see it. It's funny and sad and action packed and wonderful. The amazing thing about Mr. Tarantino's acceptance speech was the small glimpse he gives into his creative process. Take a look (hint: his speech starts at about 1:12):


He thanks his actors (which is good) and then he goes on to thank a group of friends that he reads scenes to as he writes. Apparently, when he's gone through a scene as many times as he can stand, he then reads the scene to a friend or two. Instead of feedback he simply asks for these people to listen. They are sounding boards. Mr. Tarantino explains that when he reads a scene to a friend he hears it through their ears. For him to take the time to thank this group in front of a live national audience lends weight to how important this step is for him in his creative process.

So here's my question: do you do anything like this?

I've done something similar with my non-fiction. When writing journal articles to be submitted to peer reviewed publications I will sometimes read particularly tricky sections to a colleague in order to see how it flows and to gauge their reaction and level of understanding to the material. But I've never done it for one of my fiction stories. Perhaps I should.

What about you?

Lollipop and Grandpa's Back Garden Safari - Penelope Harper and illustrated by Cate James

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Summary:
Back gardens have never been this exciting! Lollipop and Grandpa are intrepid explorers, always on the lookout for the next adventure! It’s often just the two of them against the world in their expeditions, armed only with ham sandwiches and imagination. In this book they set out on an exciting expedition in the back garden where they encounter Chimpan-trees, a Hippo-potta-compost and even a Croco-logus. They’re prepared for action, but will Lollipop and Grandpa make it back home safely?~~~

I was given this book a little while ago and I completely fell in love with it. The story is charming, imaginative and heart-warming. It's great for kids who want to have some adventures in their garden or in the park - instead of a boring patch of grass, they can discover a world full of danger and scary creatures like the Chimpan-trees or the Croco-logus. Any corner of the garden can transform into a scary creature and there really isn't a peaceful place to eat ham sandwiches!
The illustrations by Edinburgh-based illustrator Cate James are simply fantastic. They're very stylish and evocative and play on textures as well as colour. The font is really easy to read and Penelope Harper's story is well-paced, funny and an amazing springboard for children's imagination. 
This is an adorable book for grandparents to read to their own little explorers and this is the start of an amazing picture book series about Lollipop's adventures with her Grandpa. Thumbs up from me!

Lollipop and Grandpa's Back Garden Safari, by Penelope Harper and illustrated by Cate James | 2012 | Phoenix Books | Age 3 to 5 | Gift

This week's New York Times Bestsellers (December 24th)

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In hardcover:

Jim Butcher's Cold Days is down eight spots, finishing the week at number 20. For more information about this title: Canada, USA, Europe.

George R. R. Martin's A Dance With Dragons is down one spot, finishing the week at number 23. For more info about this title: Canada, USA, Europe.

In paperback:

George R. R. Martin's A Game of Thrones is up five positions, ending the week at number 6.

David Mitchell's Cloud Atlas is up two positions, ending the week at number 6 (trade paperback).

Max Brooks' World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War is up four spots, finishing the week at number 7 (trade paperback).

Orson Scott Card's Ender's Game is up nine spots, finishing the week at number 8.

Erin Morgenstern's The Night Circus maintains its position at number 14 (trade paperback).

Stephen King's 11/22/63 maintains its position at number 16 (trade paperback).

George R. R. Martin's A Storm of Swords is up six spots, finishing the week at number 17.

George R. R. Martin's A Feast for Crows is up four positions, ending the week at number 18.

George R. R. Martin's A Clash of Kings is up fourteen spots, finishing the week at number 19.

Stephen King's The Dark Tower: The Wind Through the Keyhole is down two positions, ending the week at number 21 (trade paperback).

Ernest Cline's Ready Player One returns at number 27.

Saladin Ahmed's THRONE OF THE CRESCENT MOON is out in paperback

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It's kind of weird to release a book on New Year's Eve, but I just wanted to spread the word that Saladin Ahmed's debut, Throne of the Crescent Moon, has just been released in mass market paperback. For more info about this title: Canada, USA, Europe.

Here's the blurb:

One of the year's most anticipated fantasy debuts, from a finalist for the Nebula and Campbell Awards.

The Crescent Moon Kingdoms, land of djenn and ghuls, holy warriors and heretics, Khalifs and killers, is at the boiling point of a power struggle between the iron-fisted Khalif and the mysterious master thief known as the Falcon Prince. In the midst of this brewing rebellion a series of brutal supernatural murders strikes at the heart of the Kingdoms.

Doctor Adoulla Makhslood, the last real ghul hunter in the great city of Dhamsawaat, just wants a quiet cup of tea. A fat old man who has grown weary of hunting monsters and saving lives, he's more than ready to retire from his dangerous vocation. But when an old flame's family is murdered, Adoulla is drawn back to the hunter's path.

Adoulla's young assistant Raseed, a hidebound holy warrior whose prowess is matched only by his piety, is eager to deliver God's justice. But even as Raseed's sword is tested by ghuls and manjackals, his soul is tested when he and Adoulla cross paths with the tribeswoman Zamia.

Zamia Badawi, Protector of the Band, has been gifted with the power of the Lion-Shape, but shunned by her people for daring to take up a man's title. She lives only to avenge her father's death. Until she learns that Adoulla and his allies also hunt her father's killer. Until she meets Raseed.

When they learn that the murders and the Falcon Prince's brewing revolution are connected, the companions must race against time - and struggle against their own misgivings - to save the life of a vicious despot. In so doing they discover a plot for the Throne of the Crescent Moon that threatens to turn Dhamsawaat, and the world itself, into a blood-soaked ruin.

I know some of you were reticent to pay the hardcover price for a relatively short work, so here's your chance to get your hands on it at a much more affordable price!