The Literary Hit List of Libby Brown: Entry 2

Target: Mr. William Collins

Location: Rectory at Rosings Park
Source of Origin: Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

Object: eliminate the target without alerting family

Stats: 5’5”, brown hair, brown eyes, slight build

Crime(s): brown-nosing, pompousness, disturbing the peace, pontificating, cruel and unusual punishment by way of Fordyce’s sermons, general annoyingness

Potential Hazards: Lady Catherine De Burgh, Mrs. Charlotte Lucas

Deadline: 20:00 Blooklandia Standard Time

            This message flashed across my computer screen one minute before I felt myself being pulled out of my world and into Booklandia. Merlin, in all his wisdom, insured that I was dressed to fit into the Austenite Province. The Pen shrunk so it could be tucked up my sleeve. I hiked out of the thick forest I had landed in.

           

How the hell was I supposed to kill this guy? I knew all about him from having read Pride and Prejudice a million times. He was an annoying, self-important prat who I wouldn’t mind seeing the end of. I couldn’t fathom living with him every day for 200 years. But how to get close enough to do it?

In a stroke of genius, I scooped up some mud and rubbed it on my cheeks and my dress. With my clean hand, I mussed my hair until it was thoroughly tumbled. There. I should look pitiful enough for the minister and his wife to take me in. Hiding behind a tree, I watched the house for a little while to make sure the coast was clear.

Once I had confirmed that Mr. and Mrs. Collins were in their respective parlors, I crept up to the door. Calling on my inner Scarlett O’Hara, I knocked on the door and promptly pretended to faint. I lay there for a few minutes before I heard voices on the other side of the door.

“Did you hear Lady Catherine’s carriage?” an anxious man’s voice asked that grated on my every nerve.

“No, husband,” a long-suffering woman’s voice replied. “We do have other visitors besides Her Ladyship.”

“But none so important, so influential. Especially since we are perpetually stuck here in this rectory. We must do our best to not anger her in any way. Oh dear, we’re already keeping her waiting!”

“Not every knock on the door is the right, high and honorable Lady Catherine,” Mrs. Collins groused.

The door swung open.

“Oh, you poor dear.” Mrs. Collins knelt down beside me, chaffing my wrist and patting my cheek. “Husband, go and fetch some water.”

A second before I planned to open my eyes, a wave of water splashed me. Spluttering, I jerked into a sitting position.

“What on earth made you do that, Mr. Collins?” His wife put her hands on her hips, looking thoroughly disgusted with her inept husband.

“Well, um, it seemed the most effective manner of reviving the young lady from her state of incapacitation. And you did ask me to bring you some water, my dear.”

“I don’t think she meant for you to try to drown me,” I muttered.

“I’m terribly sorry. I do think we should move inside. It would be most unseemly for Lady Catherine to come and see such a…lowly creature sprawled in our front yard. Really, my dear, you must take her into the house immediately.” Mr. Collins looked like a junky looking for his next fix, all jumpy and nervous and constantly glancing at the road from Rosings. You would think he was expecting the King to descend upon us and banish him for allowing a poor girl to faint on his doorstep.

“Can you stand up? I’ll take you into the parlor while I send the maid to summon the doctor.” Mrs. Collins gave me a kindly, apologetic smile, clearly embarrassed by her husband’s outright rudeness.

“Oh, yes indeed. Our physician also services the great Lady Catherine de Burgh, whom I’m sure you’ve heard of. This rectory abuts her estate and we are great favorites at Rosings.”

“Really, there’s no need to send for a doctor. I just need a place to rest and a bit of food. I’ve been walking so long.” I tried to play it up the best I could. I’ve never been completely brilliant at the whole acting thing, but I did pretty darn good at pretending to be the weak, fading female. I let Mrs. Collins help me up and lead me into the downstairs parlor.

“You rest here, dear, while I go and fix you a plate of food. I’ll only be a moment.”

“How do you stand him?” I burst out.

“Who? My husband? Oh, I don’t know. I suppose he’s just sort of a habit for me now. We’ve lived together for so long I don’t really remember how not to. I suppose he’s my cross to bear.”

 Once she was gone, I took the opportunity to scan the room for something that might help me get rid of that annoying man. One of the only indications that the room was lived in at all was the copy of Fordyce’s sermons that rested on the table beside the chaise I was sitting on. I immediately remembered Mr. Collins's fondness for the ridiculous sermons from P&P.

Suddenly, the Pen began to vibrate in my sleeve. When I pulled it out, it grew to its normal size. Taking the hint, I grabbed the book and pierced one of the pages with the Pen. It flashed a sickly green for a moment before returning to its original state. Shrugging, I sat the book down and quickly snuck out of the house.

Hiding underneath the parlor window, I glanced up over the sill. Just as I hoped, Mr. Collins was totally unconcerned with my disappearance. In his obliviousness, he sat down and instinctively picked up the book. Less than a minute after he opened it, he began to twitch. His eyes rolled around and around in his head and his skin turned an otherworldly green. Clutching at his throat, he tried to stand up, but ended up falling to his knees instead.

Within a few moments, he collapsed on the floor. Just as I started to formulate a plan for disposing of his corpse so poor Charlotte didn’t have to look at it, the body of Mr. Collins began to disintegrate in a cloud of green smoke.

When his wife came into the room barely a minute later, there was no sign that either of us had been there.

I know it’s wrong to be ok with killing a man. But he was a fictional man who had been tormenting that poor woman for 200 years. It felt right. I almost enjoyed watching him die.

But would I enjoy all of my hits this much? Time would tell. Was I a monster for enjoying this? Only my soul will tell.

IMO: The Last Song By Nicholas Sparks

I just have to get this out. Ordinarily, I love a good Nicholas Sparks book from time to time. Sometimes I just need a good overdose of sappy love, even if 75% of them have horribly sad endings.

I just started reading Mr. Sparks's latest novel and it's fairly standard fare for him. Except for one thing. Every chapter has to tell you who's POV it is set in. I understand that most of the reading public isn't comprised of geniuses, but I think if you start a paragraph off saying "Will ran down the beach" or something to that effect, they get the picture that it is from Will's point of view. Why do we need to be told? None of his other books have done this and it's very annoying and making it hard for me to get settled into the story fully because I'm so annoyed.

Just thought I'd put that out there. If I can get past this, I'll post a full review once I've finished.

Random List 1: Favorite Jane Austen Heroines and Heroes

My brain is trying to process stuff right now, so I decided to make a random list. This one is in keeping with the epic paper about Jane Austen I'm currently working on.

Favorite Jane Austen Heroine: (In order from favorite to least favorite)
1. Elizabeth Bennett
2. Anne Elliot
3. Fanny Price
4. Elinor Dashwood
5. Emma Woodhouse
6. Catherine Moreland

Favorite Jane Austen Hero
1. Mr. Darcy and Captain Wentworth (I can't choose between them)
2. Mr. Knightley
3. Edmund Bertram
4. Henry Tilney
5. Edward Ferrars

In the Big Inning

When was baseball first mentioned in the Bible? Genesis 1:1 In the BIG-inning!

          I've read a lot lately about the strength or importance of first paragraphs. In the spirit of this and because I'm too lazy to do an extensive blog entry this week, I'm going to post the first few paragraphs of both of my novels and see what everybody thinks. Any feedback is heartily welcomed!

A Steady Wish (my first novel)

             It is a truth generally acknowledged that a young woman is going to have a romantic ideal from an early age. We’re bombarded with movies filled with images of Prince Charming rescuing the damsel-in-distress and carrying her off to the castle to live happily ever after- although we never really know what that means. Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve been fascinated with romances. Part of me has always thought that romance was in my blood; I am descended from at least four generations of high school sweethearts. Even when I was too young to form coherent sentences, I would sit for hours watching these movies where the beautiful girl fell in love with the beautiful boy and they went on to (supposedly) lead the perfect life together.

I just realized: I’ve done a lot of talking, but you don’t know who I am. Well, my name is Margaret McGregor, but I go by Maggie.

In college, I was an English major and I absolutely love reading and analyzing and examining stories. However, as much as I enjoyed my world of books, I decided something during the summer between my first and second year in college: I needed to get a social life. Well, technically, I had somewhat of a social life, so more to the point, a romantic life. That’s right. I was 19 years old and had never even been on a real date.                                                                                                                    


For The Rest Of Our Lives (my second novel)

A stack of books was attacking her the day he first walked into her store. As usual, she was trying to carry too many books over to the fiction section to shelve. Just as the bell jingled to alert her of a new arrival in the store, she lost her grip on the precariously balanced books and they went flying.

“Fudge monkey!” She immediately bent down gather up the scattered volumes.

“Are you alright?” He noticed that she didn’t look up at him as he knelt to help her. A becoming blush stained her cheeks as she reassembled the stack into a more sturdy structure. She was short, barely reaching his shoulder and of a moderately slender build. Her curly, red-brown hair fell into her Irish green eyes, obstructing his view of her face.

“I’m fine,” she said breathlessly. “Just clumsy, is all.”

“You’re not hurt?”

“Oh, I’ve taken worse tumbles than that. You’d think working in a book store would be safe, but it has its perils.” She took the last book from him and stood up, resuming her route to the fiction section. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Um, no, not really.” As her embarrassment died down, she began to notice him. His voice was lyrical, a mix of the Old South and a British accent. When she turned around, she was struck by how tall he was, at least in comparison to her petite stature. Standing at maybe 6’4”, he had close-cropped dark, honey blonde hair. His sea blue eyes were set in a strikingly well sculpted face with a firm looking mouth that had the smallest hint of dimples around the edges. “I’m new in town and I always like to familiarize myself with the local bookstores. I’m a great reader and I like to support the local economy.”

“Well, I am Charlie Anders, one of the proprietors of The Kentington Korner. Welcome to Kentington, Mr…”

“Just call me Jack.” He smiled down at her and her knees went a little weak. “Well, it looks like you have a lovely establishment here, Ms. Anders. I hope to see you again.”

Just as quickly as he entered the shop, he left it. Charlie couldn’t help but stare after him, puzzled.

Just A Bit Of Silliness, Part 1

Oh, where has all the imagination gone?

Last night, I was watching Finding Neverland and I was struck by how much fun it looked like the boys were having with their imaginations. Most of the kids I know would very rarely improvise pirate costumes and create these elaborate stories bout their adventures. The most I’ve seen of modern imaginations is manifested in very realistically based games such as “school” or “house.” And these manifestations are not regular occurrences.

As much as I love television and movies, they have greatly stunted the growth of many imaginations. Video games are even worse. They allow the player to enter the world of someone else’s imagination and play there for a while, but totally eliminate the need for the player to develop their own imagination. A majority of children today prefer to have other worlds presented to them on the screen of a TV rather than cultivating new worlds in their heads. This summer I worked as a nanny and when I tried to get the girls to stretch their imaginations, they were at a loss. I had to lay out what they were doing and what they were supposed to imagine. They had no clue how to make up a game outside the realm of the familiar.

I was not one of these children. Growing up, I, along with my friends, created a world full of original imaginations as well as our favorite fictional characters. Rather than just being entertained by our favorite characters from books, TV, and movies, we interacted with them. They were our friends and family, our playmates and confidants.

Even the books that encourage imagination have fallen by the wayside until very recently. I was very sad to learn that many of the elementary schoolers in my acquaintance have not read Where The Wild Things Are. The advent of the cinematic version of this book is both a blessing and a curse. Allegedly, this movie will help sell more copies of the book, but at the same time they kind of ruin the mystique and imagination surrounding the stories.

As a child, I wanted to be Max and go out to where these odd creatures roamed. I wanted to take part in the “Wild Rumpus.” I had no tangible visualization of what this would be beyond the illustrations, I just knew that is would be great fun (at least it was in my imagination). Now, children can turn to one person’s interpretation on film and not have to try to imagine what the Wild Rumpus would be like.

It makes me pity the current generation, because they are being robbed of these opportunities to imagine books into their won reality. While I really do enjoy books being turned to movies, I still go back to my own versions in my imagination. I still see my own versions of Bella and Edward when I read Twilight. I walk through my Cair Paravel when I read The Chronicles of Narnia. Even after seeing the movie, I will still see my own Wild Rumpus when I read Where The Wild Things Are.

Imagination is a wonderful gift that is becoming stunted and suffocated in American Society. When kids complain of boredom, parents should hand them a book or give them a destination to pretend to visit instead of sitting them in front of the TV or video game. TV is all well and good, but imagination is something that is with you forever.

So, Let imaginations grow! Let the Wild Rumpus BEGIN!

The Literary Hit List of Libby Brown: Entry 1

As a writing exercise, I've decided to write a sub-blog as a girl who goes into the world where fictional characters live and work as an assassin that takes out the most annoying characters in literature. Any suggestions for future targets are welcome!

This blog will chronicle my adventures in Booklandia.

I made my first trip to Booklandia two weeks ago. I hadn’t meant to go there. It just happened. One minute I was curled up in my grandmother’s old chair and the next I was falling on my butt in the middle of a field. I t could have been a field anywhere, in any country. I didn’t begin to suspect I wasn’t still in my world until I saw what looked like a griffin fly overhead.

“Where the hell am I?” I said this aloud because sometimes talking to yourself is the only way to have an intelligent conversation.

“This is Booklandia.” The voice was that of an older man and it came from directly behind me. I turned around to see a wizened old man in flowing blue robes standing serenely behind me. “The land where the fictional characters of your world live on until we are forgotten.”

“You- You’re not Merlin, are you?” As I was asking this I was running over possible explanations for my presence here. Maybe I had too much to drink and blacked out. Yeah, that was it!

“Well, of course I am, girl. I created this world ages ago to give fictional characters a place to live.”

“Right, sure you did. Then what am I doing here? Last time I checked, I’m not a fictional character. Wait! Am I dead? Please tell me I’m not dead. That would really suck.”

Merlin huffed. “You’re not dead, you silly girl. I brought you here.”

“Why would you bring me here?”

“Well, technically speaking, you brought you here, but I chose you when you were a little girl to be the Cleanser.”

“The Cleanser? What am I, face wash?” Yes, I was being a smart-aleck, but I had an excuse.

Merlin rolled his eyes at me. “Would you mind letting me explain? Is that too difficult for you to manage?” I bit my lips to hold back any response I might have made.

“Thank you.” Merlin conjured up two armchairs and indicated for me to sit down. That’s right, I was sitting in fluffy pink armchairs in the middle of nowhere with freaking Merlin.

“Now, as I was explaining, you are the Cleanser. I have waited over 1,000 years to find the right person to carry the Pen of Balance.”

“The Pen of Balance?” I tried really hard not to laugh, but it sounded so ridiculous that I couldn’t help it. Merlin raised an eyebrow and I eventually got control of myself.

“The Pen of Balance is a pen that I have created with the power to…exterminate fictional characters.”

“Why would you want to kill fictional characters?”

“Well, there are some characters that are social menaces and they only get worse with age. They do nothing but disturb the peace of the other characters and put everyone in a decidedly unhappy frame of mind. I’ve spent the last ten centuries riding herd on them and trying to keep them in check, but I saw that I would have to find someone from your world to solve this problem once and for all. So I chose a voracious young reader and granted her the powers of the Cleanser.”

“Why can’t one of the heroes here take care of them for you?” I finally had a legitimate question!

“Because they are part of the fabric of Booklandia. For the most part, heroes and villains live in peace here and very few people die. Only someone from your world can ultimately kill a Booklandian. Believe me, if these people could have been killed, they would have been.”

I had to stop and consider this for a moment. “So you want me to kill fictional characters for you?”

“In a word, yes. Although, I should warn you that you really don’t have much choice in the matter. The powers I put in you when you were five years old will keep pulling you back here until you embrace your destiny.”

“Do I have to live here?”

“Oh, no, you couldn’t reside here permanently. That would negate your powers completely. You will only be called back here when I have sufficient evidence to justify a hit, for lack of a better term.”

“I don’t have to go through any sort of special training, do I? I mean, don’t most chosen warriors have to go through some training course to use their powers?”

“You’re powers will come more from instinct than anything else. Whatever ability you require Booklandia and the Pen of Balance will provide. But your knowledge of books will be of great use to you along the way.”

“Well, that’s convenient.” I sighed in resignation. Who was I to argue with Merlin? “So, where is this pen?”

“Right here.” A sleek, silver pen the size of a woman’s sword appeared in my lap. The tip looked like an old-fashioned pen-nib.

“So this is what they meant when they said the pen is mightier than the sword.”

“I will contact you through the pen when I have need of you, so it must be with you are all times. It will shrink to normal size in your world to avoid detection. You must tell no one of this.”

Then, he gave a flick of his wrist and I was back home in my chair.

I’ll just say it for all of you- WEIRD!!!!