The Albatros Bookmark Part II

Now that I've had a little bit of time to use my Albatross bookmarks, the verdict is in.

I'll start off with the things I've noticed about this revolutionary bookmark.

1. It's simple to use, just peel from the paper backing and stick;

2. no more losing your place!

3. it's novel (pun intended)!

1. If you do remove and reattach one end of the bookmark, the end may not stick very well and actually come off when you're not expecting it. Although this doesn't lead to an immediate loss of place, it can be irritating or frustrating while reading;

2. if you're reading a book that is more than an inch thick, and you're at the beginning (or end) of the book, the middle crease (which is supposed to follow your place) does not reach your page and you'll have to crease the bookmark elsewhere for those sections;

3. price--at £8 for 6 bookmarks, and assuming one-time use of all six, it increases the price of your book by £1.33.

I like it. I'll probably savor them and use them on books that I know I'll read again--that way I can get the most use out of each bookmark. But it's definitely better than losing your place when your bookmark slips out of the book.

It'd be a good birthday or Christmas gift for a bookworm, and the novelty has yet to wear off! Provided ebooks don't completely take over the world, I think the Albatros bookmark will stick around for awhile yet!

Order here.


In Memorium

In memory of all of those who died for our freedom, known and unknown, recognized and unrecognized. There are no words to express how grateful I am to you. May God bless you and your families and may we take Memorial Day not to party and vacation from our lives, but to remember the price you and your loved ones have paid for our freedom.


The Albatros Bookmark

They're here.

You can just see on the white paper behind the bookmarks the visual instruction guide for situating the bookmark in your current read.

I've only placed one in a book so far--the top one.
As I'm not too far into the book, it's awkwardly placed at the moment.
I found that in order to get the bookmark to sit flat on top
early (or late) in the book, I must fold a crease that does NOT
correspond to the actual fold on the bookmark.

So I haven't really gotten a chance to read with one of these in place. Unfortunately, I didn't pick up my mail until nine o'clock last night, and reading wasn't on the agenda. However, I did take the time to put one of these babies in my current read (Perpetua by Amy Peterson).

First application is just a hint on the confusing side--but there's handy little instructions on the back of the bookmark sheet. (I referred to it a couple of times.) Thankfully, when I misplaced the bookmark, I was able to lift it up without any damage to the book pages and reapply it where I wanted. It took me a couple of applications (because I'm that AAA-personality). 

Other than having to read instructions for a bookmark for the first time in my life, it's a handy little device, and I look forward to using it later today! 

Aside: I'll be updating this blog when I have more fully experimented with this bookmark.

And here's the link if you want to find out more about the Albatros book mark. Who needs eBooks these days?


Where do you like to write?

I have a few favorite spots to write. One is, hands down favorite, Starbucks. I love the people-watching, the smell of coffee, the clanging of the baristas, the lack of personal responsibility I have outside my home. 

However, a close second would be my front porch. As long as the dogs are behaving, and the temperature is comfortable to warm (but there are no spiders nearby), I could not be a happier writer. There's something about sitting on my front porch, watching the sun move across the sky, listening to the birds chirp in the trees, seeing them hop across the lawn in search of lunch or circle in the air. If the weather is too chilly, but I'm at home for the day, I'll spend my writing time in my home office, pounding words out on the keyboard and wistfully staring at the trees outside my window, wishing the sun would shine so I could head outdoors.

Although these are my favorite spots, every once in awhile, I feel the need to switch things up. All writers need a couple of go-to spots to write, ones where they feel comfortable and "free" from unwriterly duties where they can focus on their task at hand. But sometimes, those spots feel stifling. There's nothing unexpected there, everything feels comfortable. I don't know about you, but when I start to feel "comfortable" I often forget to look around me and absorb the scene before me. We're writers. We need to be able to explain a scene in words, and in order to do that, we must first observe it. If our writing nook is too comfortable, we risk the chance of writing without seeing. When we write without seeing, our reader cannot "see" the world we've created either.

I challenge you, next time you're headed out to your favorite spot to write, take a few minutes, sit back and observe (feel free to journal these observations) the sights, sounds, smells, textures around you before you plunge into business. The few minutes you take to do so are well worth the time.


Auguries of Innocence, by William Blake

To see a world in a grain of sand

And a heaven in a wild flower,

Hold infinity in the palm of your hand

And eternity in an hour.

A robin redbreast in a cage

Puts all heaven in a rage.

A dove-house filled with doves and pigeons

Shudders hell through all its regions.

A dog starved at his master's gate

Predicts the ruin of the state.

A horse misused upon the road

Calls to heaven for human blood.

Each outcry of the hunted hare

A fibre from the brain does tear.

A skylark wounded in the wing,

A cherubim does cease to sing.

The game-cock clipped and armed for fight

Does the rising sun affright.

Every wolf's and lion's howl

Raises from hell a human soul.

The wild deer wandering here and there

Keeps the human soul from care.

The lamb misused breeds public strife,

And yet forgives the butcher's knife.

The bat that flits at close of eve

Has left the brain that won't believe.

The owl that calls upon the night

Speaks the unbeliever's fright.

He who shall hurt the little wren

Shall never be beloved by men.

He who the ox to wrath has moved

Shall never be by woman loved.

The wanton boy that kills the fly

Shall feel the spider's enmity.

He who torments the chafer's sprite

Weaves a bower in endless night.

The caterpillar on the leaf

Repeats to thee thy mother's grief.

Kill not the moth nor butterfly,

For the Last Judgment draweth nigh.

He who shall train the horse to war

Shall never pass the polar bar.

The beggar's dog and widow's cat,

Feed them, and thou wilt grow fat.

The gnat that sings his summer's song

Poison gets from Slander's tongue.

The poison of the snake and newt

Is the sweat of Envy's foot.

The poison of the honey-bee

Is the artist's jealousy.

The prince's robes and beggar's rags

Are toadstools on the miser's bags.

A truth that's told with bad intent

Beats all the lies you can invent.

It is right it should be so:

Man was made for joy and woe;

And when this we rightly know

Through the world we safely go.

Joy and woe are woven fine,

A clothing for the soul divine.

Under every grief and pine

Runs a joy with silken twine.

The babe is more than swaddling bands,

Throughout all these human lands;

Tools were made and born were hands,

Every farmer understands.

Every tear from every eye

Becomes a babe in eternity;

This is caught by females bright

And returned to its own delight.

The bleat, the bark, bellow, and roar

Are waves that beat on heaven's shore.

The babe that weeps the rod beneath

Writes Revenge! in realms of death.

The beggar's rags fluttering in air

Does to rags the heavens tear.

The soldier armed with sword and gun

Palsied strikes the summer's sun.

The poor man's farthing is worth more

Than all the gold on Afric's shore.

One mite wrung from the labourer's hands

Shall buy and sell the miser's lands,

Or if protected from on high

Does that whole nation sell and buy.

He who mocks the infant's faith

Shall be mocked in age and death.

He who shall teach the child to doubt

The rotting grave shall ne'er get out.

He who respects the infant's faith

Triumphs over hell and death.

The child's toys and the old man's reasons

Are the fruits of the two seasons.

The questioner who sits so sly

Shall never know how to reply.

He who replies to words of doubt

Doth put the light of knowledge out.

The strongest poison ever known

Came from Caesar's laurel crown.

Nought can deform the human race

Like to the armour's iron brace.

When gold and gems adorn the plough

To peaceful arts shall Envy bow.

A riddle or the cricket's cry

Is to doubt a fit reply.

The emmet's inch and eagle's mile

Make lame philosophy to smile.

He who doubts from what he sees

Will ne'er believe, do what you please.

If the sun and moon should doubt,

They'd immediately go out.

To be in a passion you good may do,

But no good if a passion is in you.

The whore and gambler, by the state

Licensed, build that nation's fate.

The harlot's cry from street to street

Shall weave old England's winding sheet.

The winner's shout, the loser's curse,

Dance before dead England's hearse.

Every night and every morn

Some to misery are born.

Every morn and every night

Some are born to sweet delight.

Some are born to sweet delight,

Some are born to endless night.

We are led to believe a lie

When we see not through the eye

Which was born in a night to perish in a night,

When the soul slept in beams of light.

God appears, and God is light

To those poor souls who dwell in night,

But does a human form display

To those who dwell in realms of day. 


Writing Plateaus

I’ve been editing like mad lately. Well, I was. 

Whenever I get into this one-track-mind mode, it’s hard for me to do anything else. All other obligations lead to thoughts about how I should be editing right now. Of course, this leads to neglect of household duties, exercise duties and countless other things that I should be doing.

And then things start to happen. Like the entire month of April. Cars break down, my dog sets off the alarm in my house (having learned how to open the door to the garage), my other dog runs into my head (resulting in three stitches for me)... And all these distractions make me antsy. Incredibly antsy. Life is trying to keep me down! How dare it interject these interruptions into my life!

And then I have to stop and think. Yeah, they’re distractions. Yeah, they keep me from writing when I have to spend three hours waiting for a tow truck, an hour driving home to meet the Sheriffs and confirm that it was the dog who set off the alarm and not a burglar, and three hours at the ER getting my head stitched up. However, these distractions offer me a chance to investigate a scene I normally wouldn’t have in my life.  When I look at these “distractions” in this way, I can consider them more...research... And research, well, it’s practically like writing, right?