books

So my idea I've been playing with for months--if not nearly a year by now--is a sort of book club. Where I live, they're pretty common (or at least, as an English grad student working in a bookstore, they seem common). They make for a good reason for people to come together and socialize, with a bit more of a fallback focus than tavern smalltalk.

Some of the ideas I've had for it so far:

Books, books, and more books. Honestly, who would have thought there would be so many books on this subject matter?

Togy sighed, rubbing his temples.

"So BBOORREEDD" he groaned standing up. And yes, he really was bored, but he was actually trying to do something. Something rather important, but that didn't like, rather, he HATED being stuck in a library.

smuurf.... smurrrf.... *Thump*

Ian seemed happy for the first time tonight, since someone was paying attention to him finally. 

It was rather obvious earlier tonight at the club he’s got it bad for Adalynn. Not that she noticed or seemed to care; nope she just danced the night away performing for others. 

Ian was just left standing there and a bit tongue tied it seemed. Until my suggestion for him to return to my quarters to inspect the crates of books Maliandras had gotten his hands on, that broke the foul mood brewing there inside the poor man. 

So after a few bottles of some of Shryn’s finer wines and sitting next to him while he described the craftsmanship the stolen books he started to relax a little. 

Now and again I'd toss out a few questions about what I should look for in books, things which would catch the interest of collectors so they’d pay top gold for them.   This brought a smile to his face. 

As dawn broke above the waters of Stormwind Harbor, a young page entered his officer's room and discovered the blue haired elf sleeping in her desk chair.  Her tabard tossed over the back of the chair she sat in, the PT clothes she slept in, the same ones the page had seen her in the night before.  He quietly stepped in and glanced at the desk, thinking that maybe a message or two laid within his reach for delievery.  Her head laying amongst scattered papers, the remains of a lemon, and the various pens and inks that littered the surface.  An ink stained hand was tangled in her hair, an unconcious effort to keep it out of her face.

The page debated on cleaning up the desk, but knew better then to touch the papers without the Elf's permission.  Instead he reached out and gently shook the Liuetenant's shoulder with no effect.  He knew better then to try again or to shake the Kaldorei harder, he didn't want to end up tossed across the room on reflex, or out into the Hall.  Instead he gently backed out and quietly shut the door, not seeing a single softly glowing eye open as the door latched closed.

    I immediately regretted taking the job for this ‘message’… my shoes, after all, had just been polished. For that matter, they’d just been purchased, due to my generous benefactor. Now, the salty sea air and the layer of dust that surrounds this shaky excuse for a port town is going to ruin them.

    Why in the three hells this fellow chose to put up his so-called ‘shop’ here of all places is still beyond me. I withdrew my new pocket watch from my pocket… (another generous gift.. I might add… vest AND watch…) and checked the time. Half-past the hour, good good… Why the old bean had gone on and on about finding Sterrenvolk before noon was beyond me, but… well, to say my client’s eccentric is like saying water is wet.

Talenn twirled into her small home, snapping the door closed behind her with a flick of her wrist as she spun about happily. Her short blue hair waving through the air until Talenn stopped, still bearing a grin, coins within her purse jingling the sound making the Highborne even happier hearing each coin click against another. She ran a blue hand down one side while holding the other above her head in a celebratory motion.

“All hail, Talenn Firewhisper! Master Sorceress! Savior of Stormwind! Destroyer of Twilight Cultists!” Her voice trying to mimic as if someone else was announcing her deeds, ending with a small giggle. She gave a small bow to the plain room, “Thank you! Thank you! You are too kind really, it was nothing.”

Searching her library for dark tomes on the dead.  

Today the lady of the house gave birth to her son. 

Mairead avoided fel magics while the child was in her womb. 

Nothing to taint the child. 

I can afford to delay my research into foul magics. 

Let the child's first day be full of life.

The invitation came in the afternoon post. I had written the Marchioness that morning, thanking her for her visit and letting her know that I was well and home from hospital. If there was one thing you could count on, it was the Post Office.

I regarded myself in the mirror one last time. The Marchioness knew who I was, there was no point in hiding behind Miss Curran’s drab facade. At the same time, I wanted to look serious, the female equivalent of a banker’s clerk, perhaps. Fashionable, I hoped, but not too fashionable; prosperous, but not flashy like a Haymarket streetwalker.

There are always boxes.

They're more varied than the books they hold; stamped from travels, large enough for a homeless goblin to call home, some small enough to hold only the most delicate of tomes.

But they're mine. The things of value that I hold most dear. Like treasured friends, I could recognize them each by sight, by smell, by /feel/ as I run my hands over the spines, past the gilded lettering, or the worn stitching.

The only things that are mine.

After discussion in another thread (and often outside of Haven) I thought it might be neat to have a thread here listing some of our favorite authors and inspirations.  I know myself, I had never heard about a lot of great contemporary writing out there until some friends started sending me books.  Share old stuff, new stuff, whatever has entertained and inspired you.  Be sure to include a little description so we know what might interest us, too!

(( I started this story about the Book after receiving it in an IC interaction with Rockhewer back in November. It first appeared in blogs then and in a few since.  Finally I get back to that tale, and I don't blame you guys a bit if nobody remembers or cares what's going on  ;) ))

Tick

Lady Howell frowned, not for the first time, and considered the letter that lay on her desk.  She reflected how interesting it was that a simple piece of paper and such a seemingly innocuous request could hold such peril.  The Fallowtide woman had written her some days earlier requesting; politely, oh so politely, access to the late Countess Cheraville's books.  Such a simple request, and one that raised the most interesting questions.

How had she known of the bequest?  It was generally assumed that the Countess' library had been destroyed in the fire which had consumed her estate following her death.  The books had been conveyed to her some months later through a chain of intermediaries.

((Three letters and two packages travel through the mail))

 Week One Homework:

Read Volume III, Series V, Year VII “So You Think You Can Cast Magazine” and summarize one article by Tuesday for Professor Cannon

Danby, the poor corrugated bastard, refuses to return to the Undercity. He spoke to me yester-day, his distress apparent. "Doctor!" he says to me, pus oozing from his slacking jaw, "I cannot return! I must evacuate my lib'ry! Them dirty dead is poking in where they'd best keep away! If I do not save the books, who shall ever appreciate them as I myself do? Where?; Doctor, I haven't any other place to go! Please come to my aid!" Greasy, yellow tears flowed from his swollen couliflower eyes.

I was wondering a few things about the book function:

1. How do I add old posts into a newly made book?
2. Is there a part of the site that will allow me to look at my book as a whole?
2a. Would there be a way to rearrange book pages other than going to each post and changing the page number?
3. Is the top-level more like a coverpage or book binding, the outside or intro to the book?

I really really would like the editting information the most, seeing as I would like to convert all my IC journals into one large book.

(( 55 words AND haiku! ;) ))

Taneel entered the house, smiling slightly when he saw the door to Asilia’s laboratory door open wider than usual. He stepped to it, starting to say hello, then saw that the room was unoccupied. He looked around curiously and noted the bookshelves where he kept the various tomes of necromancy he’d acquired were fairly bare. He stepped over and knelt down, scanning the books. A lot of books were gone, and they were certainly not ones he saw good use coming out of.

He quickly examined the room, the window was closed and latched, no one had come in or out that way. He gave a quick check over the rest of the house. The window of his room was likewise latched, and the door showed no sign of having the lock picked. Not that there often were.

Taneel looked about, no sign whatsoever of forced entry anywhere. Perhaps Asilia had needed the books for something?

A letter arrives at the Dalaran apartment of Artisania

To:  Acting Dean Artisania Stillwater-Ell'Karan, Librarian, University of Kalimdor
From:  Tywyll Soladore, Library Assistant, University of Kalimdor

Whomever had observed that knowledge was power, Belmilia Carrington-Howell mused, was only half right.  It was the application of the knowledge that brought power.  She permitted herself a smile as she leaned back and surveyed the library - her library now.  A love of books had been the one and only thing she had shared with her late husband.  It had, in fact, been the lever she had used to convince him to marry her.

((Took place on Tuesday, Aug. 21))

Grumbling in disgust and frustration, blowing loose strands of hair from her eyes, Venibeth plopped down on the bed with yet another book. Light how she hated these things. She shook her head when she thought back on all the times Alex had been buried nose deep in them. “Not everyone is as gifted as you are Veni. Some of us have to work at our craft.” Alexiia’s words echoed in her head as Venibeth dropped the book onto the floor, looking at her hands with narrowed eyes.