The Pen and Book Files

drop five liters of blood in the ocean  dump out my heart to you my emotions dissolve, and not a trace remains. scream in a dark cave my ears burst from the pain do you hear me now? an endless abyss which hears not the cries of its worshippers, refusal to see your own jagged edges continuing onward and not hearing the starving nor the blood which is left behind.

 Every day is made of 86,400 seconds.  86,400 battles with my brain, no backup troops or a new plan. It is just me, fighting a war against myself. Often, I lose, tripping over the dirt as the words barrel out undeterred. Sometimes I try to catch them on the way out, the way that my classmates would lurk and scare me as I exited with books in hand. I would usually scream. The classroom was underground because the school was built on a hill, so the only natural light was a good ten feet high and filtered through windows. The shadows were elongated by the angles, and I could practice ballet in the empty room. Lifting my chin up and making shapes with my arms until I don’t seem like one of those dolls. The wooden ones, that artists use to practice anatomy and poses. Brandeis blue  I shake myself out of the dream, so lucid that it could become a memory if I’m not careful enough. The lines between days have long since blurred out from specific moments to cloudy hours, with the ...

 About I love books. In all of their glory, from the copyright statement to the acknowledgements at the very end. These words, printed on a page in some readable font, provide to me the comfort provided to others through a warm blanket and ice cream. Books can build bridges where there had previously been none, those stories forming connections while bringing laughter and solace. In writing these reviews and highlighting the works featured within them, I aim to introduce readers to a spark of the magic which exists inside books for me. 

  This book contains mentions of the following: loss of loved ones, illness.      Even in a casual conversation, we are telling stories. Memories constantly shift, becoming their own tales with a beginning and an end. Those stories bring back feelings of a happier time and can even drive away the despair of the present. That is the lesson that Janet Skeslien Charles aims to teach with this novel, about Jessie Carson (whom she researched for a decade) and one woman's aim to have Carson's work given its rightful recognition.      There's a large table at my local BJ's Wholesale Club dedicated to, you guessed it, books. I discovered Miss Morgan's Book Brigade there and picked it up immediately. Regardless of the actual content, any work which talks about the inherent magic of books themselves deserve is an immediate 10/10 in my book. Add in my second great love of history, and we're in business!      Jessie Carson was one of many women...

       What's your favorite book?      A simple question with a complicated answer. If you were to ask me, I would simply direct you to my bookshelves; any book still sitting there is most likely on the list. My favorite book is always changing, as the tides change with the sun's crossing across the horizon far beyond our reach. Any list that I could make of my favorites would include most, if not all, of the selections which I have perused. Some are so worn that their spines bear the marks of many a thumb-urning, while others have only been read once and then kept in their place of honor amidst the shelves. (My special edition of Fangirl is, admittedly, in the latter category.) That doesn't mean I love them any less, however, and eventually I will circle back to a book that I haven't read just to remember the cozy feeling it lights within my heart.      Books are more than an escape. They are a miracle, a world built entirely of ink pla...

  Cross-posting from my Instagram. From left to right, top row: The Full Moon Coffee Shop by Mai Mochizuki, Don't Want You Like a Best Friend by Emma R. Alban, Carry On by Rainbow Rowell. Bottom row: Cinderella is Dead by Kalynn Bayron;  Pumpkinheads (a graphic novel) by Rainbow Rowell and Faith Erin Hicks; The Admirals by Walter R. Borneman; and Clockwork Angel by Cassandra Clare.

 a review of Cinderella is Dead. Featuring the second cover, because I am a stan. "Cinderella reiterations are a dime a dozen. Cinderella is Dead flips them all 180 degrees, giving a kick-butt QPOC story and an inspiration to readers everywhere." Trigger warning: this review contains mentions of homophobia, domestic abuse, and totalitarianism. Introduction     Pride Month might be something of a corporate event in the bookstore sphere, but I have to admit there's one good thing about it. LGBTQIA+ books are put front and center, and that is exactly how I discovered Cinderella is Dead. I'm always looking for new books to read, so discovering this LGBTQIA+ fairy tale retelling completely by chance? It seemed to scratch the itch in all the right ways. Hearing that it was a fairy tale retelling didn't intrigue me that much. Those were a dime a dozen (quick shoutout to the Twisted Tales series here), but a QPOC fairy tale retelling?      Cinderella has been dead ...

  "Writing a prequel is hard. Writing one that can stand alone is even harder. Tessa and company are invaluable for fans and new readers alike. It keeps you glued until the last page."      A special thanks to Jane Austen for pushing me to write this review from beyond the grave. This piece is especially written due to my own (many failed) attempts to finish Pride and Prejudice.       The number of times that I have opened Pride and Prejudice, only to scarcely get through more than a page or two, is likely to be alarming to any reader of Austin’s work. The historical record it provided was complete, but I don’t know if I understood much of it. Turning back to my shelves, I discovered an old friend of mine: The Infernal Devices, telling the story of the people who would become the ancestors of the first Shadowhunters I was introduced to.      Tessa Gray, Will Herondale, and Jem Carstairs. Tessa was the only one who had been introduce...

"Blake's final work of the Bright Falls series is strong and satisfying, both as a standalone novel and as an end to a trilogy. Full of heart and well-rounded characters that you'll love even from their shortest appearance."  Now, this is how you write a fake romance. Not even this is how you write a fake romance- this is how you write forced proximity that involves mutual sexual attraction, which then leads to a romance. Yes, there is sexual tension from the beginning, but the characters don't hate each other and then turn around to begin having sex. They're both completely developed, fleshed out, with one having a sassy streak and a confidence to match it. Gosh, this is so much better than Icebreaker. Yes, Iris is a little uptight from the expectations put on her- both self-imposed and those put on her by her family- but the frustrations are dealt with in a healthier manner. Stevie, despite her uncomfortableness at being placed into close proximity with Iris...

It's been a while since Fourth Wing took BookTok by storm, catapulting itself to the top of people's TBR lists with promises of dragons, and sass, and sassy dragons. The avid chatter caught my attention, but I held off on reading the book for precisely that reason. With opinions clamoring for your focus, skewing your independent perspective with their own, it was impossible to tell if the book deserved the praise that it was being handed. So, I waited... and waited... and waited some more. I readily admit that, upon buying the book from a wholesale club, I finished Fourth Wing in two or three days. With that being said, there were a few fairly large snags in the plot which disrupted my sense of disbelief. When a character is written specifically for a trope, they can be difficult.  Xaden knows that he is unlikeable- not just from Violet's perspective, but by the quadrant as a whole- and uses it to his advantage when his life becomes entwined with the daughter of his father...

 Here’s a silly little post about the cat that’s been wandering around my neighborhood lately. He’s pretty friendly! One of my friends commented that my messages read like poetry, so I turned the text into a poem. [originally posted on Instagram.] 💞 There was cat yesterday. The cat likes me. He was following me back to my house. This is not my cat. It is my neighbor’s cat. I cannot catnap a cat.  I still don’t know the cat’s name, so I’m calling him Kitty Cat. His ears twitch when he hears me talking. The cat distribution system cannot be denied. 

I love this book. That's the entire review. (Just kidding.)  I found out about Albertalli after the hype surrounding Love, Simon . While at a local street fair, I wandered into a nearby bookstore and randomly found it. To my surprise, I loved it from the first page. Not simply because of Imogen's confident little sister, or the many animals that she has in her home. (Is there a way to magic up some of those cats into real life? No?)  What pulled me in from the first page was Imogen herself, introduced with anxiety. Imogen was disproportionately nervous. More than that, she was anxious. Anxious about this social situation that she had procrastinated over for so long that it actually started to create a rift in her relationship with one of her best friends, Lili. This first introduction to Imogen's character caught me like a fish in a net, but without the existential crisis attached. Imogen is a sweet, aesthetically oriented people-pleaser with a large helping of social anxie...

  “The lucid picture that this book paints of those with disabilities asks, who knows our limits better than ourselves?” “Verónica’s story is raw and relatable. Her limitations are defined by other people since she was young, and the moments she stands up for her own capabilities will stick with me for a long time. In its authentic telling of a disabled body, Sylvester peels back the layers to reveal the life which exists in full bloom underneath.” Much like my adventure in discovering Late Bloomer, picking up this future love happened by accident. It was May, the gateway to summer and known to lovers of fantasy as Mermay. Sometimes MerMay, and sometimes #Mermay, this annual competition and art challenge is hosted on Instagram and TikTok to celebrate "creativity, community, and above all... MERMAIDS." (mermay.com) After this celebration ends, it leaves me in a drought. It is in these moments that I search for books about mermaids, seeking to lose myself in their fantasy.  On ...

 I wrote this piece as a journal entry, but it’s fitting enough for its own piece. I hope that you enjoy. image from Adobe Stock. The package, delivered at ground level, travels up five feet. Wrapped in its container, its contents are covered with bubble wrap so they appear smaller than a microorganism. At the top floor, it swells, expanding from the inside until there’s nowhere left to go. The invisible seams stretch with the strain of containing such a multiplication, until it can’t hold itself together. The interwoven fabric tears itself apart. Infinite invaders spill out, all dressed in identical salmon pink. The color of my brain. They latch onto every surface they can reach and begin to drill through my mind. My body fights to pull them apart, to cease the pain, but victory requires a buildup of power. Until then, the soldiers will pray.

  I don’t run fifty miles an hour. it’s not within the limits of my machinery. drop straining my limbs to your pace before I break again. the replacement parts weren’t an instant fit, but they were made with joy and love. I can tell myself the truth that I can live. Formed of words, the ghosts shake and fall apart.

  “In smooth, methodical prose, Broad tells the story of self-discovery across the ocean and finding your voice. Unique and alluring.” A small store in Barcelona, smaller than an apartment yet crowded in among countless other buildings. With the intention of showcasing authentic Japanese culture in a space 10 thousand kilometers from Tokyo, Satori is a store which makes the most of its limited space. Books about Japanese culture lined one wall, most in Spanish but with a few Catalan books in between. As appealing as those bound works appeared to be, for an American tourist who didn’t speak much Spanish, they were far out of my reach.  On the opposite wall, stacked upon each other with all the organization of mismatched brick, was a small pile of English books. From the stack, I picked out Abroad in Japan, intrigued by the words written across the top. That classic phrase, which had accomplished its intended purpose by luring me in by promising the text within its pages was wor...

  "An enemies-to-lovers romance with neurodivergent characters that voices the struggles of opening oneself up to love. A vivid depiction of living as both queer and neurodivergent, and a triumph. I'll be re-reading it forever." It's rare that I pick up a book and know from that instant, this is meant for me. This is meant to be in my hands. Wandering through Barnes & Noble for airport reading material at the close of Pride Month, I spotted Late Bloomer on a small display surrounded by other LGBTQ+ works. I was a late bloomer growing up, so the novel's title incurred thoughts of periods despite the flowers liberally placed throughout the cover. (This is a normal association for my neurodivergent brain.)  After reading the summary, I was even more intrigued. The comic-style cover, combined with the opening line and something that I couldn't quite place, had wrapped a rope around my middle and was pulling me inward. A subtle siren's call, without the lif...

 Hi everyone, it’s been a while since I’ve made a post like this. Some of you may have noticed that I recently cleaned out my neurodivergent-focused Instagram, colorsofadhd. After receiving some advice, I decided to revamp both the account and this blog. What will happen to Pen and Book? This blog won’t be going anywhere. I’ve put a lot of work into Pen and Book since creating it in 2020, and have no intentions to erase any of that. Instead of just focusing on my own writing, I’ll aim to also cover the books I’m currently reading. The older work will remain up if you want to view the pandemic-era narratives, or any of my other work! When will the first review be released? Currently, there's no exact release date for the first review, which will be written on Late Bloomer  by Mazey Eddings. I'm soon leaving for an international trip for just over two weeks, and aim to enjoy every second of it. I aim to resume normal posting when I return. Four years of work, both visible and un...

  One thing about living in the middle of nowhere is that the people who come to see you are from far away. They show up in droves when the air turns just cold enough for laughter to break out, instead of wilting in the summer heat. They stand by the apple trees with plastic bags in their hands, lifting up children on their backs to get the best apples from high branches.  Ruby ducks under one of the Pink Lady trees, cupping a dropped apple in her small hands. It has a bruise from the fall. Rubbing it against the patch on her jeans to get the shine just right, she climbs out from under the tree. A family of four stands a few trees down, laughing as the younger child grasps an apple in his hand before turning to show off his prize.  A lot of the people who come to the farm are like this. They bring their families, making more people than she’s seen all year. Ruby watches some of these children before she keeps running diagonally along the ground scented with apples, arrivi...

       She didn't get into fights with every person who pissed her off, Miyoko thought as she slumped a little lower in the chair. Just most of them. She pressed the ice pack a little harder to her forhead, ignoring the numbing of her fingers. Besides, that jerk deserved it, chasing around first-years like they were a pack of rambunctious puppies.      Her violet eyes drifted from one corner of the disciplinarian's cubicle to the other. Someone had put out a bowl of candy; Miyoko picked a red one out and twirled it in her fingers like a paintbrush. The bully she had beaten up side-eyed her, one hand still holding their nose. She raised her eyebrows, daring him to continue. "Can I help you with something?" Miyoko said semi-angrily, her temper already kicking up a notch.  A woman with short dark-green hair entered the room, walking over and sitting in the chair. "So," Bella-sensei said without preamble. "Hatano-san, your file has a history of violen...