Belletrinsic

I’ve decided to embark on a new adventure, and it comes after years of semi-pondering the idea. I’m opening a bookstore.

Not just any bookstore, but one catering to children and teens. We’ll sell books, yes, but we’ll also sell community, support, and education. My plan is to create a place where conversations happen, whether through book clubs, story time, or a chat upon the couch. There will be classes on to show adults how to write for teens and children—but more importantly, classes where teens and children learn how to write.

I’m posting a widget here that will show how the worldwide reading and writing communities are supporting the idea financially. If you haven’t heard of Kickstarter.com before, I recommend visiting their website to see the incredible things people are doing to improve their corner of the world, and then support them as well.

If you’d like to receive updates on the project’s progress, I’ll be posting to the updates page on Kickstarter as well as the Fire Petal Books blog (http://www.firepetalbooks.com/blog), twitter account (@firepetalbooks), and Facebook page.

Save the Prince (sure, easy) from an enemy kingdom (no problem) without them knowing (of course) and before the planned execution (obviously). Oh, and don’t forget, your guards will betray you (that’ll make things more exciting), then lead the foreign army in its hunt for you (time to dodge and roll).

Yes, and the Prince will try to claim you as his next conquest (Wait, what? We said nothing about romantic entanglements. I’ll get in and out, do my job, but there’s no way I’ll let some prick of a prince put his moves on me.)

If you could finish this by next month, it’d be appreciated, as we’ve a war to plan. (Sigh . . . )

books, books, books

friends, both near and far

airplanes, so I can visit those friends all over the world

the love I have for my family

my Mac

supportive bosses

Twitter

my perfect eyesight

family willing to take me in when I have nowhere else to live

Glee

music from Glee

the innocence of childhood—and keeping it that way for the kids I know

warm blankets

hot chocolate—especially at a cafe or coffeehouse

clothes warm from the dryer

cute boots (with stiletto heels, of course)

cuddling puppies and kitties

getting cards or packages in the mail

Christmas lights at Temple Square

laughing and crying over good memories

getting older and maybe a little bit wiser

gorging on a huge turkey dinner—with pie, lots of pie

and for my nephew (pictured here with his sister), who was born exactly one year ago, our own Thanksgiving gift.

And for the part you’re all more interested in . . . the winner of the journal!

Jessica Capelle

Jessica, email your address to me me at michelle dot witte at belletrinsic dot com, and I’ll mail you your prize.

I’m obsessed. Whether this is a healthy thing, I’m not sure. All I know is that every time I hear about a new book, my toes tingle. Then when I see it sitting elegantly upon the shelf, I want to run my fingers across the silkiness of its spot gloss lamination. I’m really in trouble when I slowly slip off the jacket to reveal the stark beauty of the case. The endsheets are like icing on an elaborate three-tiered cake. By that point I know—I’ve fallen in love with another book.

I try not to be promiscuous with my reading, but there are so many exquisite books to choose from. I dabble a bit in self-help then take a nibble on some cookbooks, though my ultimate passion lies with fiction. I’ve had many a love affair with Mr. Darcys and Mr. Rochesters, though I could never deny the distinct attraction of a Heathcliffe.

Working for a publisher, it’s like book porn day in and day out. I get to help choose the lovely wrapping that will encase all those words. Words I have labored over, adjusting and polishing until each syllable cries out, “Read me!”

You probably wouldn’t understand, not unless you’re a fellow book person. Only those of us who savor each word on the page like chocolate, tasting and sampling one morsel at a time, can truly understand the ecstasy of diving into the untold pleasures of reading a book for the first time.

But maybe you do. Maybe you’re like me, always after a new fix of the heroin called reading. So the next time you’re at the bookstore, peek at the tongue-tingling delights surrounding you. Bask in the glory of all those words. And maybe—just maybe—those books will love you back.

The Unfinished Angel

There are so few books that have touched me deeply enough that I couldn’t imagine my life without having read them: The Alchemist, The Little Prince, The Graveyard Book. And now, I add to that list The Unfinished Angel by Sharon Creech.

The story is simple. It goes like this: an angel lives in a tower in a small village in the Swiss Alps. This angel, he isn’t sure what his purpose is. “Me, I am an angel. I am supposed to be having all the words in all the languages, but I am not. Many are missing. I am also not having a special assignment. I think I did not get all the training. . . . Do the other angels know what they are doing? Am I the only confused one? Maybe I am unfinished, an unfinished angel.”

This angel watches over the people of this little village, and then one day, an American family comes to live in the house attached to his tower. Zola, a young girl vibrant with life and colors—she wears three different colored skirts and numerous bright ribbons at the same time—meets angel and actually sees him. Thus begins an unlikely friendship between a vivacious girl and a grumpy angel.

Though the events of the story are ordinary, there is an uncommon grace and elegance to the prose, even with an angel narrator that cannot speak English properly and often fuses words. (“Zola smills, smuggles, what is the word? What is it, that word for happy teeth??”) But more than that, the beauty of the story outshines any I have read in a long while.

Through often misguided efforts, angel watches over his town and his “peoples.” By the end of the book, angel realizes he has a purpose, and we recognize the goodness that there is in the world and the hearts of the people who populate it.

“I am feeling most hopeful watching these peoples. I don’t know what to say about this feeling. I don’t eat food, but if I did, maybe it is as if I were hungry, so hungry, and I didn’t even know it, and then I found a mountain of food and I ate and ate, and then I sat back contentful and there was still more mountain for the next day and the next day. Maybe it is like that. I don’t know. Since I don’t eat food, it is hard to say.”

After reading this striking story, I am feeling contentful as well.

In conclusion, this mesmerizing story is one that will become a classic, and I would not be too far off in saying I see this as a strong contender for the Newberry. Every child, every adult should become friends with this unfinished angel and let him help you become more of a finished person.

P.S. I have serious issues with the book’s cover design. Had I not read a review of the book previous to buying it, I would most likely have passed it over.

I just read something that upset me enough that I need to rant. I did so in the comments section of the blog on which it was posted, but I thought it important enough to share here as well. The blog post, entitled, What’s Love Got to Do with It? is ripe with the apathetic ignorance so pervasive in the world. I’ll let you read that—and the first comment—that really set me off.

Here is the response I posted. I’d love to hear your thoughts and opinions on this topic. Though the topic has not direct link with writing, it has everything to do with how I write about love.

I have to completely and vehemently disagree. In a world where promises mean little, there is one commitment that should still mean something: that between a husband and wife, a bond that unites them more than “signatures on the dotted lines.” In unison with that, the ability to bring life into this world is a precious gift that most have taken for granted for a few moments of illicit pleasure. The woman who considers herself a “breed mare” has lost the essence of her femininity and, more importantly, the identity essential to who she is.

It is tragic that many hold the opinion that marriage means nothing. If you view it like that, it will mean absolutely nothing. The degeneration of the world is integrally tied to the dissolution of family bonds. Fix the family and you can fix the world.

Call me naive, call me whatever you want, but I fear for children who grow up in a world where marriage means little more than a convenience. People need to take it more seriously if they ever expect to find real love.

I feel sorry for any who are jaded enough to ignore these basic truths. Life loses meaning without them.

Communicating. That’s what happens when we write anything down. We take a piece of information and relay it to another person

After writing Monday’s post on Joss Whedon, I thought a lot about something he said during an interview that I quoted in my post. He said, “What I want to be doing is just using the medium to communicate.”

That thought has stuck with me these past days. Communicating. It’s what I do as a writer, as an editor. I take information and present it in a usable format. With nonfiction, it is essential. But with fiction, is communicating as important?

Without communication between us as writers and those who read our stories, nothing happens. It might be a good story, it might be exciting and fun, but without communication, it means nothing in the larger picture.

And what is that larger picture? It is life. It is meaning. It is hope and trust and love and fear and every powerful emotion humans experience. To take words on a page and make them mean something more than the letters that represent them is extraordinary and an ability not all possess.

A few months ago, I heard an incredible speech about this communicating we do as writers. You can see my whole post about it here, but I want to revisit some of the things I learned.

”

No book lives until it is read. The reader partners in the experience in creating the written word. How that works is that the writer places symbols on a piece of paper, and the reader later comes along and interprets those symbols and make them come to life.

“The meaningful experience in all literature takes place in the white space between the words. Minds connect the dots and fill in the blanks. It is what the reader interprets the words to mean, how they are personal, that creates a meaningful experience.”

That is what I mean by communicating, and I’m pretty sure what Joss meant as well. We create a world in our heads, but it doesn’t become real until someone sees or reads it and gives it life. But more than that, communication happens when the audience has a meaningful experience with those words, that story. It adds meaning to their life and enriches them.

When I really think about it, that is why I write. I want to tell a good story, yes, but more importantly I want my words to add meaning to someone’s life because other writers have done the same for me.

Why do you write?

Je suis écrivaine des belles-lettres.

I am a writer of beautiful letters (or stories), and I hope you enjoy them, because you’ll be finding plenty of them here. Beautiful letters, stories, poems, and essays. Or at least I like to think so.

Actually, the term historically was used to describe books, poetry, and essays that adhered to a more aesthetic value than that of being informative or moral. I like to think that there is something of that quality in my writing. And I do apologize if a moral slips into a tale every once in a while. Sometimes it can’t be helped.

But, overall, I hope to keep this as a forum to discuss des belles lettres in all forms, whether mine or others.

So, again, welcome. Bienvenue.

Belletrist: Someone who writes belles lettres or beautiful letters.

Belles-lettres: Literary works valued more for their aesthetic qualities than for informative or educational content.