Restless Insomniac

Hi, my name is Sophie and I am an insomniac.

We've all been there. Those moments when you lie in bed, trying to will yourself to sleep when thoughts take over. The moment you try hard to fall asleep is the moment you realize that it's already dawn and that you've lost the whole night to restless thinking. Although, if you're anything like me, you find way to  fill in those hours and keep thoughts away from your mind.

There are times when I can't stand the looming darkness of my small bedroom. The creeks of walls in the suburban home begin to get to me. So I climb out of bed and turn on every light available in my room. Usually, these are the nights where I sit down at my desk and begin to draw. I save my graphite drawing for these nights. For the nights where I want to escape in the details of an intricate portrait. Drawing calms my frayed nerves. It chases the darkness away and awakens a peace inside of me. Usually, after a couple hours of this, I will end up feeling tired, yet still unable to get to sleep. Frustratingly, I might go downstairs to do some laundry, or pick up some things around my room or, most likely, put on some music and take hold of a good book.

At this hour, generally around 3 am, my eyes get smaller and I begin to feel drowsy. I have to pick a novel that I have read previously and that is not too engaging. This, is merely for precautions. If I were to take hold of an exiting tale, whether it be fresh or reread several times, I would find myself awake and absorbed in the story of someone else's life. Making sure that I am comfortable, should I fall asleep, I crack open that spine and indulge in one of my most favorite pass-times.

If all of this fails to get to to bed. I open up the laptop, set it on the side of my bed and play a movie. On low volume, as I strain to hear the voice and their words, I usually begin to drift off. If I am lucky if I get about 2-3 hours of slumber before my alarm clock goes off at 6 am for my daily bike ride. A new day begins, and I know that in less then 24 hours, I will be doing these tasks all over again, facing the same problems.

Nonetheless, I always seem to begin my day on a good note I am very much a morning person when I force myself to wake. I get my best ideas at night and wake up early to accomplish everything else my life has to offer. However, if you've ever caught me on a Saturday morning, you know mine does not begin until 12:00pm. This is a much needed moment of rare sleep.

Even so, I find myself spending the weekends with my boyfriend, the only time when I can actually sleep without worry. By my side, I know he will be there when I wake up and the sound of his heart is the best lullaby to my sleepy soul. Then and only then, do I truly get a good night's sleep.

For anyone who has ever asked me what I do with all the free time from the moon's perspective, here is your answer: I spend mot of it trying to fall asleep.

Letter to Juliet

Juliet's balcony, Verona, Italie. May 2011

Somewhere in Europe is a piece of paper with these words written on it. 

Dear whoever you are,

I write to you in the hopes that the myths I've heard are true; that these old stones, as cold as they may seem on dreary days, have some magic and hold a promise of eternal love to those who write to them.

Some say that love is but a word, and I should agree. Love is just a word... until it happens to you. There is nothing more powerful in the mortal world that has the supremacy to change an individual. From the day I saw his shining smile, looked into his endlessly deep eyes and heard that bubbling laugh, there was no turning back. I has started to fall in love with Nick. He says he owes me everything, but I can’t help but feel that it’s the other way around. He’s pulled me out of the small pool that used to be my reality and made me see the oceans of possibilities that lay just beyond, he’s shown me what true happiness is and he’s taught me how to love without fear. And for that, I owe him so much more then I can possibly give. Though some might say that I am young and naive, they cannot see what I see, cannot feel what I feel. A quick glimpse of his figure leaves my heart racing, his smell intoxicates my senses and can send my mind reeling into a thousand unfinished thoughts; a tender gaze into the depths of his cold eyes makes my muscles melt and just a gentle touch from his warm fingertips can take my breath away. Every moment I spend with him swells my heart and it seems as though the world throws a bubble around us, where every star shines twice as bright streaking across the midnight sky. Our lips lock and the clocks stop as people seem to stop and stare as we carry on without a care.

His eyes are only one of his features that never cease to amaze me. When I take the time to look at them, they remind me of a warm summer day as I curl up into the twisted branches of an old willow tree.  The tints of green remind me of tall grasses, each blade moving with the next, making a single unit, turning into waves crashing through the fields. Forgive me for the cliché but the brilliant blues of those eyes; they take me to the sky, cloudless and blue, stretching on for miles and miles into an unending abyss. Putting it all together, they take me back to one of my favourite memories; a moment of blissful peace standing on the high dunes of Prince Edward Island. Early in the morning as the sun rose, I stood against the dawning gusts of fresh air, the high grass and cattails bending to the wind on one side, and to my other, an endless horizon of rainbowed sky with blue seas decorated my world. In that moment, I stood alone; however, when I look deeply into the doors to his soul, I've never felt more elated and he seems to be staring back at me with an unexplainable awe filling his features.  In the smallest of details, one can find an unthinkable amount of beauty that most seem to miss. All of these; petty comparisons to the real feelings that the gestures create, and there is no true way for me to explain them. I could write a novel of details about him that travel through my mind daily. But there is only so much paper in the world.

“If all else perished, and he remains, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained and he were annihilated, the universe would turn into a mighty stranger; I should not seem a part of it.” –Emily Bronte. Although I've heard these words many times before, I've only recently understood their true meaning. There is no real way for me to express the extent of which I feel for him. He is my prince charming and my idiot in tin foil wrapped into one. He is not perfect, but that exactly what I love about him, those little imperfections that make him who he is. I love him because, he is simply, himself. I and surely many others have a notion of something beyond us, a true meaning to our true beings. Nick is as much part of me and I am of him. Without each other, we are not complete, and I would see the world in grays rather than the vast vibrant jewels it truly is. If I can’t hear his heartbeat, he is too far away and my heart yearns for his presence. Our deranged love grows every day and all that I truly ask is for his life to become all that he wants it to, that his worries stay small and that he never needs to carry more than he can hold. My only wish is for him to be happy, no matter where that leaves me.

Sincerely yours,

Sophie Fortier

Last year, I went to Verona, Italy. I had just begun to fall for my boyfriend and could not resist the urge to write a letter to Juliet. It may be floating in the wind, or it may still be hidden in the many cracks of the old bricks from the broken wall. Either way, I want to thank whoever it is who made my wishes come true. The stars have aligned, he has made my world more amazing than it ever could be. I cannot fathom my life without him. I love you honey. 

The Unorganized Artist... Story of my Life

This is what you get when you give me
paint and inspiration. 

There is only so much organization an artist's mind can take. Creativity is allowing yourself to make mistakes. Art is knowing which ones to keep. In so many ways, I believe this to be very true. Countless times I have created (drawn, captured or painted) a piece that has been very creative. The thing is, there was always something missing; it didn't quite make the impact that I wanted, so I never considered it art and so started from scratch all over again. Jumbling concepts, colors, lines and textures can be a confusing process. Half the time I just want to get my ideas out onto the blank canvas. It becomes very frustrating when there is a constant flow of ideas, a tingling in my hands wanting me to pick something up an create; but the inspiration does not come. I can't get what is in my head to flow through my hands properly.

What I will honestly tell you is that my soulmate is my muse. He is the reason for which I dream and create everything I do. If I don't feel as though I could give him my latest piece... it isn't good enough. Inspiration, however can come from everything. I do think that beauty reigns anywhere. Looking hard enough, we can find it in anything. Inspiration is easy enough, its the muse you have to find. the reason for everything you do. It shapes your paintings, creates the first lines from that drawing and forces you to push that shutter at just the right moment. Without a muse, an artist is lost.

An artist's mind is never neat. There isn't any form of organization to a true masterpiece. You start at one side, keep going at the other and come back to the middle. You paint several layers and erase multiple lines. You scream, cry and talk to yourself. Your friends and family knock on the door to make sure you're alright. Throwing your tools to the ground is no uncommon for most of us.

The one thing you can never do is give up. To give up on anything you create is to give up on yourself. You may not like the concept as much as you thought you would, but you cannot leave the piece unfinished. FINISH IT! It may no longer be considered art, you may not like it; but what finishing that piece will do is leave room for another, more amazing one. You'll feel free, even accomplished and worst comes to worst, start another and come back to it in a couple weeks. Fix it, tweak it and make it yours.

After a photo-shoot or finishing a sketch, I often find myself covered in graphite or mud. There is nothing I won't do for the perfect capture. Nothing else matters in the moment but what you're working on. Perfection, I am well aware, is unattainable. But there is nothing more I strive for when creating. Many call me a perfectionist, I prefer to say that I pay attention to the details. It's a state of mind, not a sickness. The blatant unorganized state of an artist's mind is boggling to most people. We go on rants, lose track of our point and we mix our stories together. If you are close to an artist, you know what I mean. If you are not, take the time to know one. We are a fascinating bunch. You  might just fall for our charm. But to all those bidding artistics, remember, creativity is allowing yourself to make mistakes. Art is knowing which ones to keep.

Peace

There is a place where the sea always roars, where a salty breeze is ever-present in the cool air. In the peaceful life of Prince-Edward-Island, stress drips away; rolls off your skin in rivulets. As the famous red sand collects under your feet, a hush falls over the world. For once, time slows down, an overwhelming abundance leeks into your grasp. The search for those slipping seconds is no longer existent. You can slow down… and for once, take the luxury to think for and of your own self.

It was the summer of 2009, our yearly summer trip to P-E-I was taking place. There was nothing out of the ordinary about it all; the long drive, the pit stops and the usual sibling rivalries. Once there, the peaceful lifestyle had us wrapped up in its grasp. My parents, on the other hand, had been on tight strings with each other for a while. One evening, a light banter took place between them, nothing too serious. Then a bomb went off. The trigger is still unknown to me, but the explosion is a constant presence in my mind. Threats were made, divorce papers suggested. The whole night went up in flames and the star-filled sky clouded over in black smoke. Sleep did not come easily; my world was getting torn apart. Thoughts of broken families darkened my mind for hours. As the veil of unconsciousness finally pulled over me, nightmares took over. Grotesque monsters filled the room, the sound of ripping flesh echoed in the walls. I woke up drenched in sweat and close to tears. No longer able to seek comfort in sleep, I pulled on my flip-flops and set out for the beach.

Darkness still loomed outside as the dawn began peeking through the stretched clouds.  The air was cool against my skin and the smell of salt calmed my frayed nerves. Taking a deep breath, I fell into a steady pace, my feet pattering against the red dirt. Rows of cozy cottages fell away behind me and marshlands took their place as the sea breeze made waves in the tall grasses.  Life began to appear in the new day; small frogs croaking and wild birds singing gently. Halfway to the beach, a gorgeous blue heron stood in the middle of a small pond. Poised, ready to catch his morning breakfast, he stood majestically, waiting for the right moment.  Further in the horizon rose a tall sand dune; it’s green façade proudly standing against the cool wind.

Finally reaching the white sand, I took off my sandals and let my toes sink into the chilled shore. The ocean roared in the distance as small waves crashed over my feet, trying to pull me in. I stretched my legs, got onto my toes and let my whole body coil at once. Every muscle popped as I rolled my shoulders and I filled my lungs with the fresh, dawning air. Then I obeyed the sea’s call. Falling down, I let my body sink into the shallow water. It wrapped around my skin, soaked my clothes and ran through my hair, taking every thought away with it. Lying there, I watched the sky turn pink and the rays lengthen the golden clouds.

Getting up, I let the water drip off my skin and onto the ground. I looked to either side of me; sand stretched for miles in either direction.  To my right, the tall sand dune ascended into the sky, defiant against my peace. Walking towards the looming beast, it grew in front of me, its steep angle increasing with every step. At the large base, I stared up, looking for the mountain`s peak. Far and high, it stood in the horizon against the sky. I began to climb. For every step that led me higher, the sand shifted under my feet and I fell two paces back. Signing in frustration I quickly determined that it was going to be an ambitiously long climb. I kept going.

 After many long minutes of strain, I reached the top. Standing against the now strong wind, I let my thoughts disappear. The pure beauty of the land took my breath away, all stress fell to the bottom of that great dune and every breath was fresh; new. Blue ocean pushed against the smooth shore as the clouds began to disappear. A rainbow sky illuminated the world, basking everything in a warm, golden glow. Despite the chilly air, I felt the pleasant sun kissing my skin. The salty water made my hair stick to my face, my eyes, no longer filled with the tears of remorse for my parents, shone with the renewal of a dawning day. It had been a long time since I was able to be alone with my thoughts. More than that, in fact, I almost feared it. I’d always been independent and preferred to work alone, however I had never let myself be truly solitary. Pressure leaked out of every pore from my skin as I stared for fear of forgetting the scenery before me.  A small smile played at the corner of my mouth and I started to make my way back down.  I jumped down, landing every ten feet or so in the cool, soft sand. Laughing as a child, I let my body tumble, part by part down the small façade. Carefree, I let sand spill into my clothes and hair.

Once at the base, I walked further from the cottage. Looking back at the dune, I shook my head with an amused smile; everything seemed so trivial. The fight long forgotten; words dissipated into thin air. I kept up a steady pace, heading for the skyline forever ahead of me. Watching the sun’s ray pulls and stretch across the morning sky, I decided never to look back and to let myself breathe when everything seemed to be crashing around me. Nothing was more important than taking the time to think for myself.

Poetic Beauty

There is a certain sense of tranwuility that often reigns from reading poetry. Personally, I adore Frost and Shakespeare. Frost because of his use of nature in it's most naked form and Shakespeare for his emotion. There aren't many poems that are able to truly move me, however, I do find that these two writers are able to do so almost every time. I have also taken my turn to writing. As I have said in an older post, I adore to read; and so, it is only natural to love to write. I have attempted to write a couple novels but never really got around to finish them. I also found my plots weak and badly shaped, although I have found that I am a good writer, both from colleagues and teachers. Here are a couple of, what I find, are my best work:

Leviathan

He rises up into the sky,

And all must stand by.

Scales of black upon his back

And with every breath, he seems to hack,

An oily sinew oozes out.

His maws are holes of burning doubt.

All thy people seem to cry

 Since within every single eye,

Lays a pit of writhing souls.

They reach out into the cold,

And feel nothing but burning coals

Fire burns from the jaws,

As lighting booms in applause.

Gray smoke billows from his nose,

And darkness slinks between his toes.

False rainbows doth he show,

As all his minions start to go

Reflections are lost in the fusing skin,

The battle can now begin.

A clash of swords echoes through,

As many fight with all their might,

But the beast only grew and grew

He feeds off of fright,

As he smiles in delight.

Every soldier, a captive to death

He absorbs every breath

Heaven’s fire lashes down

As warriors lay face-down

Leviathan caws in contentment

But there is one last ascendant

He has no fear, facing the beast

A sword in hand, warrior ‘till the end

Gabriel’s wings will be released

A combat of white and black

Neither will ever fall back

As lightning and thunder start to blunder

One gains advantage over the other

He has no fear, facing the beast

A sword in hand, warrior ‘till the end

Gabriel’s wings will be released

And Leviathan will be deceased.

The last goodbye

The dreary air wraps around her;

An abandoned girl drowned in liqueur.

Surrounded by forgotten souls,

The looming clouds swirl into dark art,

Leaking despair into her heart.

Gently tracing the caving letters,

A crack in the sombre stone; a hidden treasure.

While locks of curls stir in the wind,

Her porcelain skin seems to freeze

As her breath chokes on the memories.

She’ll close her pinpricked eyes,

And whisper to the skies;

Every word she hadn’t spoken,

Uttered through needles of anguish,        

As every melody seems to vanish. 

Once a thousand images clash together

Tender laughter bubbles over,

And a faithful smile shapes her lips.

She gets lost in forest of dreams left behind;

The unfinished hopes of a young mind.

The smell of rain breathing in her ears,

Droplets screaming in her tears.

Forgotten floers crumble between her fingers,

The goodbye she’d never wanted

Always leaving  her haunted.

With nothing left to say,

She’ll leave the blossoms astray,

With the inked eyes of a mournful child,

And fierce resolve to end what started

She wandered into the uncharted.

The Last Owl

Walking along the undergrowth,

I’ll look back and remember our oath.

The scent of moss breathing through the trees

as shadows loom like beasts in the seas.

All I search for is your guidance

when the night air screams in silence.

Darkness crawling through my path;

all the gremlins grin and laugh.

Torn moments seeping through;

ripped ribbons bleeding drops of dew.

The flicker of an old memory:

the image of the child drenched in treachery

As curls spill over her shoulders,

flames writhe like fallen soldier. .

Her empty eyes leaking catastrophe,

a mischievous smirk snaking naturally.

A blush of red, the only color

apples in her candied whisper.

Like choking vines tightening with lies;

her words as sharp as knives.

Sorrow crystallized on my cheeks

as charmed thickets twine among creeks.

Nightmares of my forgotten path;

they draggle through the aftermath.

All the beauty behind the efflorescence

oozing out from the pure brilliance

Iridescent blooms tangle through the fog;

glowing blossoms of an epilogue

Now falling to the forest’s bed,

taken down by the words she said

A lonely sound echoing in the night;

the coo from an owl cried in fright.

Untitled

A tender touch;

A light blush.

A brush of lips;

Smouldering fingertips.

Tracing every line...

Memorizing.

Your breath

before death.

Your warmth

before a labyrinth.

Your essence

for coalescence .

Details to fathom...

Imprints.

A curved grin;

fluttered beats within,

moments drenched in sin.

Rings of green

truly unforeseen;

glimpsed simply by the keen.

Bounded by a bridge:

a peak and ridge,

Cascading to the edge.

Memories lasting forever...

Our moments spent together.

Dancing Angels

Honesty reigns through his eyes

from jewelled greens to the blue of skies.

An enchantment pours out of every string;

Open doors of silver rings.

Righteous gateways to his soul,

a gentle nature of burning coals

The darkened day whirls into despair,

but in his faith I discover a brilliant flare

A simple smile clings to my thoughts,

my mind bewildered by stopped clocks.

Warmth radiating from his touch,

fingertips brushing a sweet blush.

Honesty reigns through his eyes

from jewelled greens to the blue of skies.

A safe haven; a place to hide,

as worship and weakness seamlessly collide.

The soothing sound of foaming waves;

an endless sea of mindless days

The morning glory breaking through

senseless moments blazing true.

Glowing rays kissing skin

as inspiration swirls within

An enchantment pours out of every string;

Open doors of silver rings.

A million angels dancing in the breeze;

golden apples decorating leaves.

Every breath seemingly undefined

delicate lines fusing and twined

Forsaken gazes through a window,

vines bending from a willow.

Melodies encircle his embrace

Droplets glowing in his grace

Honesty reigns through his eyes

from jewelled greens to the blue of skies.

An enchantment pours out of every string;

Open doors of silver rings.

Terrible Beauty

Trees bleeding scarlet drops;

Crying out in golden tears.

Snow rains down on mountaintops;

Stripped dew of a swan in atmospheres.

She lays broken in a fairyland,

Unable to peice back memories

Crushed into oblivion by fate’s right hand.

As her soul floats through the breeze.

Golden rays leak from harmony,

Pouring down over broken hearts.

Lost blossoms scream in agony

As colors burst forth in swirls of art.

His heart reaches out in the wilderness,

And takes a shattered soul .

A safe heaven far from the darkness;

Where love binds two into a whole.

Wilted Orchids

Shadowed pools of moss and scented raindrops,

Winds creaks and lost horses take into gallops.

The crescents of liquid silver morphing into fear

As nightmare dreams hover in the atmosphere.

Leaves and vines twist into a lattice of dark nights.

When the broken feathers of a dove take flight.

Candied apples drip into blood as knives spill from words,

As cried echoes in a forsaken forest reign, unheard.

Torrentous waterfalls and terrified beauty slink from darkness,

When flightless birds roam without solace.

Sundrops rain down transforming into swelters.

As the essence of orchids melts into terror,

The wilted petals dance in a forgotten pond.

Sweet blossoms fading from every diamond.

Untold Fairytale

Where open glances awe upright,

The curve of lips defines dark skies

As stars shine through the celestial midnight;

And beauty reflects tenfold in your eyes.

Floating islands riddled with waterfalls

Where souls and bodies seamlessly entwine,

As doves set flight; dusk’s last call,

A single silver drop hangs from the divine.

Simple bliss stretched to infinite tides,

A fine fabric cradling the untold;

A gentle brush as fairytales collide,

Where bounded hearts truly unfold.

Bare flesh tickled by heaven’s breath,

As tangled locks sway between fingers.

Dawn crawls near; darkness’ death,

And every gentle moment carelessly lingers. 

These, presented from oldest to most recent are my most emotional pieces. I believe that a lot of people may not like them at all and, honestly, I don't really mind. My poetry is a way for me to express myself. It's a way for me to get away from the world, just like reading. As it is for many others, poetry is a release of emotions; it is one of the most personal forms of literature. Do not judge or think, just read. 

Four Letter Word

As mysterious and enchanting the word "love" can be, there is nothing better than the feeling. Over the course of one's life, we strive to find the one person who can give us that affection. There is a craving that reins in our souls. It's like graduating from High School; a gain, an accomplishment, a new life. It's unstoppable, a force to be reckoned with. The moment you fall in love, you will remember it for the rest of your life. Love; however, is temperamental. Go looking for it and it will run away. But take the time to relax and enjoy life and everything will fall into your lap. It will all hit you so fast that you won't know what's happening. There is a sense of fairytale happiness that kicks in, it's the magical enchantment that is LOVE.

The funny thing is, I can confidently call myself the happiest woman in the world. I have found my second half. Or maybe he found me I'm really unsure, but there's just something about him that I can't describe. I can't put it into words. It's the way he smiles at me, the way his eyes shine under the night sky and the reflections of a burning sunset in their glass beauty. The way his hands touch my skin, leaving trails of fire licking at my flesh. The way his kiss makes me loose every train of thought. Soft, dirty blond hair, big green blue eyes ; honestly the most amazing things I have ever witnessed, full colored lips with a smile that could stop traffic.  With a voice that could captivate the world... no wonder I was a gonner the moment I met him. The truth, when I get right down to it is that he is the better part of me. When I get lost in this big world, he is the one who brings me back to the ground. And when it feels like the world is crashing down around me, when I break into a million pieces, he's there. He is the one who picks me back up. The one person who can follow me into anything I want to do. He supports my dreams and I know he will do anything to make them happen. The way he smiles makes me heart skip and brightens my universe. The funny thing is, he just wants me to be happy and he doesn't even realize that what makes me happy is just being able to call him mine. I love waking up in the morning and remembering all those moments: the first time we kissed. The whispered words in the middle if the night, watching the sunset on the beach, stealing a kiss in a midnight swim, the reflected stars in his eyes. Every moment I have spent with him is a dream come true. People might be looking for a prince charming, but honestly he is my idiot in tinfoil and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Love is the most amazing thing you would ever experience. It's finishing that last coat of paint on your first home. It's holding the diploma you've been working years to obtain. It's standing on top of the biggest mountain you've ever seen. It is soft, hard, sweet, harsh and beautiful for everything that it is. I cannot fathom my life without him. He is I and I, him. True love... It never dies. 

A lost art

When I think about some of the greatest writers, Shakespeare, Charles Dickens, The Bronte Sisters, and even E.E Cummings, I can't help but wonder where the artistic beauty or writing went. I don't really know why, but I've always loved to read, to soak in each word and feel the author in everything they wrote.I guess it was kind of a way for me to escape the real world and dive into someone else's. The heart pounding, mysterious, soul wrenching story of Romeo and Juliet has always been a favourite of mine. Although I have been known to critique the famous play, I have always found myself wrapped up in the tragic love story.

I will walk along the shelves of a bookstore, or a library and the sound of that binding, being cracked open for the first and time, and the smell of freshly printed pages just brings out so much promise and hope for a new story. Each character, every twist of plot and even the most mundane of story lines manages to captivate me. I have no real preference of genre. Romance, Sci-fi, History, fiction and non-fiction. I find myself absorbed in every page and letter. They seem to embed themselves in my heart, in my soul. I can remember quotes from novels I've read years ago. And it is not uncommon for me to read one book more them once. This, of course, drives my friends insane, because I often find myself caught up in a new novel and a new story. It gets confusing to them, the stories get muddled.  My bookshelf is bombarded with all kinds of books. From photography (my passion) books, to novels to poetry books and even some magazines, they are all organised alphabetically. They're just about the only thing in my room that's organised. The mind of the artist is never well organised, in case you were wondering.  In retrospect, I have been reading a great deal lately, and have found myself a new favourite author: Malcom Gladwell. Thanks to my Coop Supervisor, Vanessa Dewson (amazing photographer) I have discovered his work.

Sometimes I wonder how lost we have become in our own world. After reading the book Blink by Malcom Gladwell, I've come to realise that most of the way we think is based in our subconscious. We gather information, countless databases in our brains and we store them, letting them open in snap judgements and life-or-death situations. This, however, has been shown to be a big mistake. In the book, Gladwell goes on to explain that we should put more thought on our small decisions and use our first instinct as a guide for our larger decisions. Quite an interesting read, this novel really makes you think. As a society, we've lost the art of intuition and bombard ourselves with information, thinking it'll help our decisions. This is what has confused us for a very long time, and still, ever since I was fairly young, I have believed that " ignorance is bliss"

On the other hand, writing has become more and more popular and it has become so much easier to get published nowadays. That art of it is dying. The elegance of Frost's use of nature is lost on a lot of people. To me, this is sad. I find countless novels that are poorly written, have bad plots or have almost copied another artist. It bothers me that the respect for this creative process had gone down.  I will admit to reading the Twilight series, and licking them when they first came out ( I was 13). I look back and honestly, I do not believe that Stephanie Meyer is a bad writer. Her novel for "adults" The Host is one of my favourite novels. I simply believe that she was targeting a simpler audience, and she managed to do so very well. The books are now too streamline to be any good. They are talked over too much and far too commercialised. In either case, I do believe that we need to start sifting through the work we buy and the work we leave behind. An artist's mind is very complex and we should never take it for granted. Take the time and read a novel. Get lost in the other world. Be enchanted by the words.