It’s a curious autumn afternoon.  The low-sitting sun is shining and warm but the light it projects casts long, cold shadows.  The insects are still abuzz, although the crickets chirp, hidden within the shade, as though it’s time to sing their chorus.  The leaves that have fallen early are scuttling along the sidewalk and the only crunch among them is my own footsteps as I wander the neighborhood in solitude.  There are clusters of workers bustling about, but mostly the streets are empty and shining brightly with the gold and burgundy that is fall’s gift.  The vividly colored leaves make me question whether the leaves are truly dying or only just beginning to live.  Surely something as beautiful would not mean the end.  Down the street waiting at the bottom of the sloping asphalt is the lake, a sparkling blue gem reflecting the clear, cloudless sky above.  I pause for a moment on the corner of the street and appreciate the luxurious color that engulfs me.  As I turn to head home, I breathe in the smell of dry leaves and let the cloudiness in my brain dissipate.  On my street corner, a duo of squirrels rustle around at the top of a tree, scrounging up the last seeds before the chill of winter is here to stay.    I walk up the path to my door and for the first time in weeks, I am in love with the world again.

It’s a curious autumn afternoon.  The low-sitting sun is shining and warm but the light it projects casts long, cold shadows.  The insects are still abuzz, although the crickets chirp, hidden within the shade, as though it’s time to sing their chorus.  The leaves that have fallen early are scuttling along the sidewalk and the only crunch among them is my own footsteps as I wander the neighborhood in solitude.  There are clusters of workers bustling about, but mostly the streets are empty and shining brightly with the gold and burgundy that is fall’s gift.  The vividly colored leaves make me question whether the leaves are truly dying or only just beginning to live.  Surely something as beautiful would not mean the end.  Down the street waiting at the bottom of the sloping asphalt is the lake, a sparkling blue gem reflecting the clear, cloudless sky above.  I pause for a moment on the corner of the street and appreciate the luxurious color that engulfs me.  As I turn to head home, I breathe in the smell of dry leaves and let the cloudiness in my brain dissipate.  On my street corner, a duo of squirrels rustle around at the top of a tree, scrounging up the last seeds before the chill of winter is here to stay.    I walk up the path to my door and for the first time in weeks, I am in love with the world again.

tardiscrash

tardiscrash:

Let’s be real, in a time before the internet people didn’t have more adventures and make more meaningful connections. They watched TV and listened to CDs. Before that they listened to records and read magazines. Before that they listened to the radio and read bad dime novels. Before that they embroidered or some shit.

People have been staying inside and ignoring other people for as long as there have been buildings. 

classicpenguin
The officer, surrounded by these noises, was moved and a little embarrassed. He turned away to give them time to pull themselves together; and waited, allowing his eyes to rest on the trim cruiser in the distance.

William Golding, Lord of the Flies


Friday Final Lines | Every Friday, we offer the closing lines of a Penguin Classic to finish up the workweek. William Golding’s classic boyhood misadventure ranked 68th on ALA’s list of the  most banned and challenged books from 1990-1999. Read banned books!

(via classicpenguin)
classicpenguin
classicpenguin:

2014 marks the 50th anniversary of Roald Dahl’s beloved Charlie and the Chocolate Factory
“You couldn’t accuse Willie Wonka of being reasonable: in a world of children who’ve grown up too fast, he’s an adult who has somehow managed to hang on to his childishness. He’s the opposite of what you’ve been taught to expect from a mentor: where other writer supply their child heroes with grown-ups who teach them how to become grown-ups themselves, Willia Wonka is there to remind Charlie not to grow up too far or too fast.”
—Lev Grossman, from the introduction to our Penguin Classics Deluxe Edition of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, which features cover art by award-winning cartoonist Ivan Brunetti.

NEED THIS.  My Roald Dahl collection should start with this.

classicpenguin:

2014 marks the 50th anniversary of Roald Dahl’s beloved Charlie and the Chocolate Factory

You couldn’t accuse Willie Wonka of being reasonable: in a world of children who’ve grown up too fast, he’s an adult who has somehow managed to hang on to his childishness. He’s the opposite of what you’ve been taught to expect from a mentor: where other writer supply their child heroes with grown-ups who teach them how to become grown-ups themselves, Willia Wonka is there to remind Charlie not to grow up too far or too fast.”

—Lev Grossman, from the introduction to our Penguin Classics Deluxe Edition of Charlie and the Chocolate Factorywhich features cover art by award-winning cartoonist Ivan Brunetti.

NEED THIS.  My Roald Dahl collection should start with this.

yeahwriters
I’d just say to aspiring journalists or writers—who I meet a lot of—do it now. Don’t wait for permission to make something that’s interesting or amusing to you. Just do it now. Don’t wait. Find a story idea, start making it, give yourself a deadline, show it to people who’ll give you notes to make it better. Don’t wait till you’re older, or in some better job than you have now. Don’t wait for anything. Don’t wait till some magical story idea drops into your lap. That’s not where ideas come from. Go looking for an idea and it’ll show up. Begin now. Be a fucking soldier about it and be tough.