Tag Archives: book

Classy Horror

Sometimes children are creepy. Especially if the children drive their nannies to suicide and cause baboons to attack.

Which brings me to The Omen.

The first time I saw this film I was sure that it would be cheesy and unmemorable.

Boy was I wrong.

The film reminded me of my days of babysitting. I remember the tantrums. The cacophony of screams and babbles. I remember how my body ached to be free from the children.

I remember all of these things because the most significant element of this film is how neither parent is able to bond with their child. He becomes alien to them.

I could sympathize. I didn’t always have a bond to the children.

The horrific things that happen in the film feel plausible. What I mean to suggest is that you could easily watch this film from the view point that both parents are loosing their minds.

What if the child is a healthy normal child of no dark origins. In that instance this film would represent the story of a crumbling family.

It is that doubt that eats away at Gregory Peck’s character. His struggle is what really gives weight to this story. He loves his son.

There are some utterly frightening moments that give this film immediacy.

Take for instance Mrs. Baylock. Her performance was amazing. Somewhere between her clipped responses and her deep voice lurks pure evil.

This is a fantastic movie.

If you want to really question your faith you can look up the story of the making of the movie.

Or watch the documentary on the collector’s disc. There were a lot of ‘fatalities’ and accidents that befell the creators of this film.

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Relish the Past

I always loved toiling over a copy machine.


In high school I was a nerd. My school was sadly deficient of electives. So I spent two years as a library aid. I really loved the job.
I was the sassy aid who got assigned copy duties for all the classes that stopped by the library.

I loved taking my time and pushing the students to the edge of their patience.

One of my first jobs I worked for a professor. I spent a small fraction of my time using the copy machine.

I realized then that I did not love the act of copying. I was in love with the independence.

The machine was at my mercy. I may have been on a little power trip back then.

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Little Inspiration

I love this small intimate moment.

Today I think is the perfect day for some sketchbook fun.

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The heat in Arizona has overtaken my senses.

With each day I feel more and more like a kid waking up to a summer vacation. What I mean to say is the weather is a distraction.
How can you work when the sun is warm, the sky is clear, and sunset arrives sometime around 8:00 p.m.

I have regressed. I have been putting off work. I have been playing with my dog. I even cracked open a book or two. In the past month alone I have read the following from cover to cover:

The Deathly Hallows by J.K. Rowling ; The Mist by Stephen King ; These is My Words by Nancy E. Turner ; Sarah’s Quilt by Nancy E. Turner ; The Star Garden by Nance E. Turner ; Cold Mountain by Charles Frazier

I have also watched four movies in the theater: Kick-Ass, Iron Man 2, Letters to Juliet, and Robin Hood.

As a little girl my summer was spent either lying on my stomach glued to a book or seated in a movie theater munching on popcorn.

I can’t explain it but this summer feels like a good one. These small joys are such a relief.

I should mention briefly that my blog is not named Crafty Horror for novelty sake. I do enjoy horror movies. Thus explaining my current Stephen King selections. I am currently reading Stephen King’s The Stand.

Every few years I start the book The Stand. I never finish. This year may just be my year.

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Come Play With Me

It seems all I ever do is knit, sew and take pictures. I need a mini-break.

I am going to make a mess today. I am going to destroy a few books (nothing is sacred). I will glue some old magazine pages. I will splatter paint on every surface.

I need this.

Its not about profit or beauty. Its just about getting it out of the system.
I will take pictures after the carnage is over.

In other news, I have more photos to take and fabric to sew but I’m getting closer to a new shop update.

I hope you are enjoying Thursday…me and my scissors are going to have a blast!

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Magic Man

Going to school was never much fun for me. College may have its perks but it is hard work. I love to read but I learn from experience not from theory. So education was a constant struggle. One professor would lecture that after college we would find a mentor and everything we’ve learned will come to fruition.

That always pissed me off. Thousands of dollars. Mountains of debt. So that someday in my distant future I would meet someone who would scrape these elements into a whole. Gee, lucky me.

Having said that I came across this article about Ernest Hemingway. I adore Hemingway’s short stories. The more I read the more I want to write and create. In a very short amount of time (little over two months) I have become absolutely obsessed with his prose.

I wonder if it is possible to have a posthumous mentor?

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A New Infatuation

I love to read. I am prone to reading some dull books.

I have bookshelves lined with works great and small that bear bookmarks only halfway through. I may love to read but I will not read unless I am passionate about the work.
Which brings me to my most recent Christmas gift, Love is a Mix Tape: Life and Loss, One Song at a Time by Rob Sheffield.

There is much that could be said about this book. But I think Rob does a great job selling himself. I add here a brief excerpt from the first chapter. I may finish this book tonight. I cannot put it down.

“This mix tape is just another piece of useless junk that Renee left behind. A category that I guess tonight includes me.

I should have gone to sleep hours ago. Instead, I was rummaging through old boxes, looking for some random paperwork, and I found this tape with her curly scribble on the label. She never played this one for me. She didn’t write down the songs, so I have no idea what’s in store. But I can already tell it’s going to be a late night. It always is. I pop Rumblefish into my Panasonic RXC36 boombox on the kitchen counter, pour some more coffee, and let the music have its way with me. It’s a date. Just me and Renee and some tunes she picked out.”

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Saturday Pre-Holiday Hustle

I have three things to get done today. I want to get as much done this weekend before Christmas so that when January comes I am ready for my little Etsy shop.

First and foremost in my mind is a “notebook.” I was inspired by my favorite girl, Elsie, who is currently teaching style school. So my book is an exaggerated planner filled with inspiration that will hopefully prepare me for both my blog and shop.

Second I need to bake. Strange I know. I’ve been putting it off for two weeks. This was a strange and hard year for my family so I am hoping to go home with a large bowl of some sweets. Thinking about making some blondies and cookies.

Lastly my little Sophie is in desperate need for a sweater. I knitted the front half already I just need to complete the back. So I’m hoping to knit a few inches today and tomorrow.

Be back on Monday, have a great weekend!

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Breaking Through Writer’s Block

In college I was a film student. I still have copies of my scripts. My notebooks were filled with story ideas and snatches of dialog. The storyteller in me disappeared with my last student film. I could not capture what was lost.

Since then I’ve been reading voraciously. Hemingway. Oates. McCarthy. Hammett.
Last night I realized why I was burning through all of those books. I yearned for a story that did not exist.

I opened a notebook and started writing. No preamble. Just one word after another. It was shocking. It was also dreadful.
I made a few edits, and unearthed a love story. In an hour the romance evolved into a love triangle.
I went to sleep at 3 a.m.

The whole experience reminds me of something Hemingway said:
“I learned never to empty the well of my writing, but always to stop when there was still something there in the deep part of the well, and let it refill at night from the springs that fed it.”

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Tell a Story

I found some Wednesday morning inspiration on FFFFOUND!.com:


I stumbled upon a very good book last night. Ernest Hemingway’s The Snows of Kilimanjaro and Other Stories. There was a particular passage that I feel in love with:

“He had destroyed his talent himself. Why should he blame this woman because she kept him well? He had destroyed his talent by not using it, by betrayals of himself and what he believed in, by drinking so much that he blunted the edge of his perceptions, by laziness, by sloth, and by snobbery, by pride and by prejudice, by hook and by crook. What was this? A catalogue of old books? What was his talent anyway? It was a talent all right but instead of using it, he had traded on it. It was never what he had done, but always what he could do. And he had chosen to make his living with something else instead of a pen or a pencil.”

It made me think about how I sabotage myself. How could I possibly know that reading Hemingway would inspire me to finish what I start. Breaks over — back to work.

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