Mmmmm... posty.

Happy Thanksgiving, toasties! The time has come to fill up on tasty foods, instead of terrible literature. In this sweet, sweet intermission between bouts of awfulness, I have a few announcements.

First off, I'm now a shiny new art school graduate. I somehow managed to scrape a BFA out of my rather convoluted and erratic college experience, and I'm prepared to bonk heads with it! That means you, Shmeyer-- God forbid you try any funny business with illustrations, because I have an official piece o' fancy paper that says I know things about that!

On a not entirely unrelated note--and you'll find out more about that later--I'm going to be changing the blog around a bit after this horrid long haul through New Moon is over. I'm completely blurding weary of trying to write anything clever after having my poor, shriveled psyche sucked dry by bad, butchered-mythical-creature romance novels. Not to worry though, an-Twi friends (heh, see what I did there)--I'll still be reading and subsequently mocking bad bookage. However, the literary scope is going to be widening a bit to accommodate a variety of debatably overrated literature, such as those classics we keep being told are oh-so-esoteric, and therefore great. It also won't be just commentary anymore... but that's a surprise.

Anyway, more to come on all that toward the end of New Moon. Assuming the damned book ends--there is a physical end, but we don't seem to be getting any closer to it--I'll be posting soon on all the impending changes, along with the possibility of a site move and a re-naming contest.

In the meantime, toast long and prosper!

... oh, and go eat some pie.

Chapters 7-9: The Promise of Change is Just Another Aneurysm for the Reader

As of the end of Chapter 6, Bella was feeling just a touch more reasonable than we've ever seen her, and her life was fraught with the theme of New Beginnings. She was interacting with actual people, and her prospective boy-toy wasn't completely dreadful. Could it be? Is our soggy little sockling finally becoming-- dare I say it-- well-adjusted? Oh, of course not!

Very soon into Chapter 7, Bella goes a bit mental and poorly rationalizes her way over to the Cullen house. She spends several pages expounding on how dark and depressing it looks, and she laments not being able to hear Edward's voice just by looking at his dark, depressing house.

She's quickly back to Jacob, though, calling his company a 'fix' and acknowledging how much healthier she feels around him (wait... is he her personal brand of heroin now?). They spend most of their time together, as Jacob fixes up the bikes and Bella does what she does best (in other words, nothing). In an effort to hide her motorcycle-based reckless intent from her father (and to keep up those good-student appearances Shmeyer keeps telling us about) Bella and Jacob start doing their homework occasionally. Also, now that Bella has remembered yet again that she has school friends, Angela and Mike are being friendly... in Mike's case, very, very friendly.

Despite homework getting in the way, the motorcycles finally get fixed up, and it's time to tease us one again with the sort of mild peril that is certain to only damage Bella a teensy-weensy bit. Jacob takes Bella out toward the sea cliffs for a bike lesson, and on the way they observe some of the locals 'cliff diving'-- that is to say, diving off cliffs. Bella, increasingly eager to damage herself a teensy-weensy bit, insists that Jacob takes her cliff diving sometime. Instead of saying, 'No, Bella, you suck at life and all things related to basic functioning, and you will only get yourself thoroughly splatted,' Jacob launches into a lengthy, somewhat-related exposition about Sam Uley and his 'La Push gang'. It seems Sam and a few of his mates have set themselves up as a sort of 'peacekeeper' group and are even recognized by the reservation council as being stand-up dudes. They're generally respected around La Push, but Jacob thinks they're sketchy as can be.

The bike riding finally happens, and wouldn't you know it, Bella hurts herself. A lot. She doesn't mind a bit, though, because she keeps hearing Ed's voice again, telling her to stop being an idiot and getting herself injured--which, of course, makes her continue to be an idiot and get herself injured.

After several ER visits, the bike riding is put aside for awhile. Bella doesn't want Charlie getting wise to her wanton disregard for her physical limitations (which are, to be sure, extensive), but she mostly wants to hunt for that horrible meadow where so many pages of the first book were frittered away in oozy, author-indulgent bliss. Oh, joy.

In the meantime, Mike continues to be very friendly. Bella finally agrees to go to a movie with him, but quickly makes it a group event and invites several other friends, including Jacob. When movie night rolls around, everyone calls up sick expect Mike and Jacob, so Bella spends a fun-filled evening with the two vying for her affection in strange, cat-fighty ways that most boys outside the Shmeyerverse wouldn't bother with. Mike, however, ends up sick himself, and spends most of the movie in the loo, while Bella and Jacob have a lovely, long-winded conversation about how she likes him, but isn't 'in like' with him (for the record, though, he is SO her BFF, like, for realzies).

Jacob drops Bella off at home (they may or may not have taken care of Mike... I don't remember) and tells her that she can always count on him and a few other, similar things. Later that night they both end up getting sick, but Bella gets over her own little stomach flu fairly quickly and calls to check on Jacob. Billy answers the phone and informs her that Jacob has something other than the stomach flu, and that she absolutely should not come over to visit until they let her know he's all better. It's all very questionable. Now, let's pretend we all live under rocks and have never seen or heard anything that has to do with New Moon. It'll make it more special.

MATTERS OF PROBABLE IMPORTANCE:

1. Jacob mentions that his friend Embry has ditched him for the Sam Uley Bunch. He adds that guys around his age have been missing long periods of school, then upon showing up again are acting strangely and hanging around with Sam and the gang. That couldn't happen to anyone we know, though, right?

2. Jacob takes off his entire shirt to stanch one of Bella's biking boo-boos. As far as we know, he still hasn't put it back on.

BELLA'S TEAM: Jacob.

OUR TEAM: Motorcycles+trees. Honorable mentions go to Team Stomach Flu and Team Shirt. On the other hand, Team Live Under a Rock is sounding better all the time.

Buttered Post

Well toasties, I've taken a short respite from reading a certain accursed book. Instead, I've been thinking (they simply can't be done at the same time, you see).

While writing a blog on someone else's awful writing, I've been having a bit of trouble balancing technically proper writing with smooth, conversational writing-- let's face it, they're often not the same thing. A casual style makes for better blog-reading, but how could I, in good faith, mock Shmeyer's terrible writing if I myself took liberties with the English language? For that matter, even though Shmeyer's writing is an affront to the senses, who am I to judge whether it's acceptable literature based on its improper use of... well, anything literary?

Here's why: I'm not telling you I write well. Sure, I read a whole walloping lot and I have a very firm grasp of correct grammar and spelling, but guess what? I'm not an English professor. I'm not even a Creative Writing minor. I went to art school for two and a half years, and spent most of them at least a bit sauced.

Although Shmeyer's writing is indefensible rubbish, I think I might be able to forgive her her folly--perhaps even pity her-- if she'd just stop bonking me over the head with her English Literature degree.

Maybe one day I'll be rich and mildly insane enough that I'll decide to go back to school for something classy, then I'll spend my time bonking young people over the head with my degree, too. For the moment, though, I'm still trying to remember what a 'past participle' is, and whether it goes well with cheap tequila.

In the meantime, I'm going to keep writing about Shmeyer's wasted efforts as an author, and I'm going to write as poorly as I damn well please.