Motivational Posters

I have stumbled upon, quite possibly, the coolest posters ever. Ever. Cooler than these I had when I was fifteen:

Postertext.com offers posters that celebrate classic works of literature. Each graphic represents an idea or scene from the book. Look closer and you'll discover the graphic is comprised of the entire novel's text. Of course, I'll steer you to H.G. Well's The Time Machine, but there is truly something here for every classic lover. If I were Oprah, it would be on my favorite things list. Posters for everyone! LOOOOOVE it!

If that wasn't cool enough for you, how about this sneak-peek photo of John Cusack in The Raven, a psychological thriller in production. The film is fiction, but based largely on rumors that Poe spent his mysterious last days chasing a serial killer inspired by his tales.

What's the latest poster you owned?

Nay, Meme Away

I don't run across too many memes that center on books. When I do, I have to play even though no one tagged me, which could be breaking some kind of blogosphere rule. Since I am Ringmaster of this Vortex, I say, "Nay, meme away." Mercy dictates I edit out the one about Twilight lest my blog visitors break out into fits of narcissistic angst and a sickly pallor, though the rest have a decidedly teen vibe to them. Let's channel that from our past, shall we?

1. What are you dying to read this summer?

Mostly, I'm dying to read my name on Publisher's Lunch. Or that Hugh Jackman is requesting permission to follow me on Twitter. For now, I'll settle on The Seance by John Harwood, a gothic, Victorian thriller. All over that.

2. Where do you hang to read a book?

I hang in the car while the baby-on-board, Toyota-lovin' mama in front of me at the ATM itemizes her wallet before and after her transaction. I hang at breakfast, always better than a dose of Meredith Viera. I hang on my favorite over-sized chair when Sir Cat allows me.

3. What was your favorite book when you were little?

Hands down, The Giving Tree. I had two copies: One with apple juice and Cheetos stains and another with the inscription 'Laura, may you always be like the tree.' Most days, I am.

4. What's the last book that made you all emo?

Angel Girl by Laurie Friedman. I know Herman Rosenblat's story is not true, but somehow it doesn't matter. A thousand other stories like it come from tragedy because love transcends all.

5. What's the scariest book you've ever read?

Stephen King's Gerald's Game. Out of all his books, this one really creeps me out.

6. What's the funniest book you've ever read?

I had a cartoon book when I was in high school, something like 101 Funniest Ways to Die. I never sit beneath a ceiling fan that I don't think about that book.

7. If you lend a book to your bff, how soon do you expect to get it back?

If ever, great. Books should be shared.

8. Snacking while reading-guilty?

Aside from the breakfast thing, which somehow falls outside this personal rule, I don't ever snack while reading. Too distracting and messy.

9. Name a book that needs more zombies.

Wellsey's The Time Machine. And yes, I'm on a quest to use this graphic as much as possible.

10. What's the most random thing you've ever used as a bookmark?

A dry spaghetti noodle

If you're here, I tag you. Answer one or all in the comments so we can pretend we knew you when angst was your predominant vibe.

Good Causes, Britney, and Randy Time-Traveling Buggers

First, a few housekeeping odds and ends...then onto the meat of the post:

Our first line contest still has no winner, so I've cleared the votes and put up the two finalists. Please vote again so someone can be subjected to the awesomely bad torture that is my quirky giveaway. I promise, it'll be a fantastic way to spend an evening if drunk. Or nostalgic. Or both.

Todd Wheeler, faithful Vortex visitor, began his annual summer reading program this week. I've participated for two years now, and his personal quest to support literacy in his area has turned into quite the event. All readers need to do is visit his blog and fill out an ultra-speedy form when they finish reading a novel. For every 25 people who participate, Bear Pond Books will donate a book to the Children's Literacy Foundation. Prizes and surprises are lurking, too, so head over and participate as you're blowing through your to-be-read pile this summer.

Also, because I know you're chomping at the bit for more time-travel-in-the-media news, Britney Spears is in talks to play the lead role in The Yellow Star of Sophia and Eton, a time travel film in which Sophia creates a time machine and heads back to World War II, where she starts a romance. I know, right? Ass chaps and glitter gloss abound. H.G. Wells would be rolling in his grave at the horror.

Or would he?

All kidding aside...well, mostly...H.G. Wells is the meat of today's post.

Surprisingly, I just finished The Time Machine for the first time, and I have a confession to make. I skipped. Like a six year old in pig-tails, I did, over long, self-flagellating passages where Mr. Wells simply liked the sound of his own voice. I know I'm coming from a modern literary perspective and there were amazing attributes to his yarn, but at one time one of his many mistresses must have exclaimed, "Wellsey, your exposition on setting details proves your scientific, detailed genius. More, more!"

Britney would say, "Dear God, if I have to read about the fabric the future race is wearing one more time, I shall have to exterminate myself on my own perfume!"

Actually, what sparked the most interest to me was the short biography of H.G. Wells at the beginning of the Penguin Classics edition. It very politely alludes to his lifelong pursuit of love that was never fully realized. Of course, I wanted to dig deeper. Was it unrequited? Was he unable to balance his prophesies with love's enduring nature? Was inbreeding the one common ground he shared with Britney?

Penguin Classics left out a choice nugget. Apparently, H.G. Wells was the Hugh Heffner of Victorian England, engaging in wild, passionate, scandalous love affairs only to move on to the next woman. His sexual prowess revolved around a stable of women, with his first cousin-wife as matriarch, who would continue to intermingle, care for each other when ill, and support his forward-thinking, globally-acting need to spread his philosophies and seed in his time. So much for romantic notions. I did arrive at one conclusion, though: if my heroine ever returns via time travel to Victorian England, she should run into the hero distinguishable by his glorious bat-wing eyebrows. It worked for H.G. Wells, didn't it?


This is his Hair Club for Men pose. He doesn't look like a randy bugger, does he?

The chic magnet

The Curious Case of Time Travel

First today, a new bookmark put out by the Texas State Library and Archives Commission encouraging teens to time travel via a book. Time travel is everywhere, all I'm sayin'...

As you may guess, time travel is all over my Netflix account, too. Today on the writerly chopping block: The Curious Case of Benjamin Button.

Not a time travel, perse, but close enough to my warped sense of holy-Batman-something's-up-with-time and in complete alignment to my appreciation of the Adonis-form that is Brad Pitt to warrant a post. Sadly, I haven't read F. Scott Fitzgerald's original short (very sparse) story as I'd intended to. My Time Twistin' bookmark is parked in H.G. Well's The Time Machine. One classic at a time, people. That said, any of my issues with the movie may be rectified by reading the original. As it is, I love an author who pays homage to his most classic character (Daisy) by revisiting the name in another work. This is either a self-gratifying stroke of Fitzgerald's ego or the boy had issues with an unrequited love named Daisy during his lifetime.

The film's tag line is simple, even borrowed from some phrase Crazy Aunt Edna of Disney-wanted-me-to-draw-for-them-fame used to spout, but wholly inspiring: Life isn't measured in minutes, but in moments.

So true. For Benjamin Button, portrayed with a certain nostalgic, Gump-esque quality by Brad Pitt, life is lived in reverse. He is born in post WWI New Orleans, a defenseless, grotesque infant of advanced age. Abandoned by his father, he is raised in the nurturing cocoon of an old folks home, loved and cherished. Where his body progresses to a more youthful state with each passing year, his restless spirit follows until he ventures out into the world to experience the same firsts and lasts we all do. He experiences love, some would say a more difficult state than aging backward, in all its complex forms: maternal, unconditional, romantic, friendship and reminds us of its fragility and transient nature in our own lives. The movie is of Titanic proportions, both in running time and its inevitable end in the viewer's mind. Cradle to grave. Strangely, in reverse, not all that different. But we're willing to make the journey to spotlight the guideposts of our own lives.

My issue with the movie was not what some viewed as an unsympathetic, cold protagonist, nor in the nagging question that plagues almost every scene: Why do the people surrounding him accept this so unflinchingly? but in that oft-used writer's tool: the bookend.

The movie opens with a blind clockmaker constructing a clock for Grand Central Terminal in 1918 New York. The movie closes with said clock. That the timepiece runs backwards is a hit-the-audience-over-the-head metaphor of epic proportions, but nowhere in the film is the thread of this bookend ever connected to Benjamin's story. Any assumption of reincarnation is a continental reach. Connect it for us, Mr. Screenwriter Eric Roth, and I'll be a forever fan of this quiet tale.

For now, I shall fortify my bleak attention-span of late to trudge through H.G. Well's opening line:

The Time Traveller (for so it will be convenient to speak of him) was expounding a recondite matter to us.

Wow, right? It's like a twelve-grain power bar on a mental liquid diet.

What did you think of The Curious Case of Benjamin Button?