Literature Inspired Gifts

After the awesome mug I received for my birthday I decided to post a blog of some inspiring writing, reader, or author items. Some awesome literary themed things are from my own wish list. You may even find these great items can be gifts to that writer or reader friend/spouse/lova in your life.

Book Nerds may love this brass bracelet form etsy store, accessoreads. It’s the image of a vintage book shelf. No matter where you go you’ll have a library helping your style.

accessoreads Book Stack Cuff Bracelet

Next is a cover for an e-reader or table from GeekifyInc. It is leather, suede, wood, and metal. What I love about this cover is the title on the cover. The Neverending Story was not only an intriguing story but the cover doesn’t lie. All those stored reads on your table or e-reader really hold the neverending story supply.

The Neverending Story Cover from GeekifyInc.

Another favorite is the I Write canvas tote bag from BookFiend. Even though I’m not one to advertise that I like to write the vintage typewriter on the tote sells me on this bag.

I write. Canvas tote bag.

I know a lot of readers of my blog were loving my Write Drunk mug. I figured to add another little favorite of mine to this list. If you are a Harry Potter fan, this “Don’t Let The Muggles Get You Down” from AfternoonCoffee is the perfect mug. I see it for long days grinding away at a desk.

Don’t Let the Muggles Get you down.

Last but not least (I only say that because I can do a dozen of these blogs with literature themed fun stuff I don’t really need.) is this lithograph of The Last Unicorn by Peter S Beagle. A favorite book and movie has now become a favorite tote bag. Rachelle Meyer designed for Litograph this “The Last Unicorn” bag with the entire text and Unicorn design.  I’m in love.

The Last Unicorn Tote bag

Remembering a Dream

March 23, 2012

I had a dream last night I cut my hair. I was in the shower and I was just tired with how long it was, how I can’t seem to do anything to it and I wanted a change, something different. So I turned off the shower, step out, and the scissors were right there on the bathroom vanity. I picked them up grabbed a piece of my hair decided on a length and cut. I remember hearing the static of blade cutting through a chunk of hair. I held the hair in my hand. It hung down on either side of my clenched fist. I wondered what I would do with this piece of hair. I looked in the mirror, still holding the cut hair and thought, to short? but, really, I was satisfied. Satisfied I did it and nothing stopped me. It will grow back, I thought. Then my mom was behind me and I asked her if she could finish the job and “make sure the rest comes out somewhat even.” She said, “You could have just made an appointment to get it cut.” I remember thinking, then it would never happen. I woke up.

Funny how this silly GIF of Mulan cutting her hair made me remember that dream.

It’s In His Kiss

March 18, 2012

Our lips opened and our tongues played. My teeth gently pulled. He paused, “kiss me.” A small smile curled my mouth as we met again. This time as my teeth released his lip, “just kiss me without the teeth. A normal kiss.” We kissed again. When we separated again, “wasn’t that nice.” I nodded only thinking later, “He would try and change me.”


March 9, 2012

Just pack up and leave. Never to return. Travel the world through road-trips and flights. See history, concerts, and art in architecture. Let natures colors change with the location of latitude and longitude. Find a little apartment in another town or city and take some random job that pays the bills and leaves a little left over for savings and fun stuff. Forget all the people from the past. Meet new people for the future or just right now.


February 20, 2012
My mouth is thick. My cheeks grow with every scratchy word. I am dishonest for pretty words. I trip over myself and secrets bruise memories. A fuzzy mess of desire. Not just flesh but mind. Both pink and ripe. An easy target. Dying for a time before. But everything is blue, purple, and black dripping with nothings. Hunt me. Find me. Destroy me.


February 10, 2012

I saw you but I don’t think you saw me. You were maybe a half a block away with your black windbreaker and red scarf hung loose around your neck. I had a feeling you would be out walking.
I didn’t call out to you. You were just out of range. I figured we would keep walking towards each other but then you turned the corner. Did you see me? I had my phone. I could have contacted you in someway but I just walked on.

Sunday, Dull Day

January 15, 2012

Sunday is such a slow day. If you want to do something, you are forced to do nothing.

Drive till it is Monday. The roads filled with few cars. Just speed along looking at the death around you left brown and bare. There is a smell of snow with warm air under the cold breeze. The sound of scurry could be an animal moving the lifeless leaves looking for a green of food or just the wind tricking you. You could be the only life left in this bitter air.  Trees have cut off leaves of nutrient and confiscated for themselves.  You are cut off from people. You put behind you people and people forget about you.

Running Through My Head

December 6, 2011
I feel like I’m missing something in order to sit down and write. I don’t know if it’s the place, time or person.

I think this place is stale with distractions. Internet, cable, and me. I think about places I could go and not plug into the world but just my head. But I wonder if place or distractions are the problem. The disappointment when I find out it isn’t any of that. It is me.

Is it time? I have no set schedule. I don’t write in the morning with sleep still in my eye. I don’t let my hands search my inner subconscious. I have been writing almost everyday but there is not set day. No set time. Most of the time it is just for work. Does that make me less of a writer?

I have no person to go to with my writing. Criticism is the hardest thing to take but the thing needed most. I don’t want a writing group I want a literary companion who will tell me my silly grammar mistakes aren’t stupid but easy to fix. Someone I can return the favor to with conversion. I can do that myself. I have fears. I don’t need to be told everyone has the same fears but do I need to hear it. Maybe I could read my stories out loud tripping and stumbling. Listening to someone read their stories worried I may miss something because it is not visual. I can read my stories to myself with the written word in front of me. Not be forced to read my work out loud to someone who will grin and nod but really daydream away. Worst believe someone believes in my writing but shows no interest in what I write.

It isn’t inspiration. Inspiration does visit me. Sometimes it is at the worst moment. Just as I’m laying down to sleep. Dark. The bed is finally warm where I can stretch out of the radiation of heat ball. Words and phrases and sentences start to talk in my head and there is always that moment I think, “I should write this down,” but I think about turning on the light and being closer to awake than asleep and I abandon inspiration. The worst is when the muse tricks me. She makes me believe what I am hearing from my head is genius then I write it all down in a clique mess of words.

I am missing something when I sit down to write. Me.