As part of a homework assignment for my Journalism course I had to look up several online features. Now, since I am a travel-lover, I decided to look for articles about travelling. In my search I found the following interesting article on the BBC website titled “Ethical Traveller: Taking Photographs of People” accompanied by the following intriguing picture.
The time has arrived; the moment that I finally read finished a Jane Austen novel. Being a literature student and, therefore, having all these Austen-groupies surrounding me, I could not avoid reading one. In my last winter break, I started reading the novel Emma in one of my reading fits (whenever I have a break, I try to read as much as possible). At that time, I had already finished six novels and, feeling encouraged by some other peers, I took up the book. Anxiously, it had been waiting in my bookcase for this day; the day I would take it in my hands and flip the pages. Unfortunately, I was not able to embrace the book in return.
After having read the book last year, I simply had to see the movie too. I have never been looking forward so much to seeing a movie as this one. The book moved me and touched me. I just wanted and needed to relive this experience. Some people might think that such high expectations like these are prone to be let down, but the opposite was true. Last weekend, when the movie was finally released in the Netherlands, I hurried to the movie theatre to watch it, Kleenex tissues in hand.
Within the territory of Morgan le Fay
Arise the dangerous misdirected signs
That purposefully leads lads astray
Walking along new predestined lines
Of a bad bachelors novel’s power play
The fairytale mind, nullifying quite fine
In magic castles with antithetical design
And yes, that is life, miss theoretically refined
– Just because I wanted to share this with you. From the Facebook page of The Book Connections.
(My final short story for my Creative Writing course of last semester)
“Always be a poet, even in prose.” Charles Baudelaire
Maybe she ought to have been happy with Hitler’s regime, Rosemary’s thoughts twisted. For wasn’t it thanks to him that she had met the love of her life? But then, wasn’t it also thanks to him that she had lost him? Rosemary tightened her fingers around the glass. Should she be happy to have known him or should she be angry to have lost him? In the past, these questions had swerved around her mind like fish lost in the endless sea. She had tried to stretch the limbs of her mind, trying to reach and grab the notions of explicable nature. The paper underneath her poems had been her sidekick. Everything from dreams to troubles were subjugated by pen. She had been one of the few lucky people alive to make a living by writing and performing her poetry. Unfortunately over the years, old age had caused her to stop pondering. It needed her to save the last of her life energy to live. Her writing had turned into sporadic twists and outbursts. Not today though. Today was different. Today, back in her hometown, it was like her past was suddenly the present again.