Genre: Science Fiction
Themes: Virtual Reality, Utopias, Puzzles & Video Games
What was once required reading at Oculus VR is now primed for Hollywood, scheduled for release on the big screen in 2018 by Steven Spielberg.
Ernest Cline’s 2011 science fiction epic, Ready Player One, is a delightful journey down memory lane—that is, if you were lucky enough to be kicking around during the 80s.
There are stories in the clouds. My mother used to tell me that.
“That one there,” she’d say, pointing to the sky, “is a spaceship, come to land in the Nevada desert and colonize the Earth.”
We’d lie there for hours, stretched out on a blanket and looking up at the bright blue sky. Her words fascinated me, and I believed every one of them.
Post by Kelly Greenwood
Putting words on a page can be a daunting task. Sometimes the words flow like a spring river, other times they trickle in like teenagers arriving reluctantly to class. The worst, as all writers know, is when they refuse to come at all.
Book Report by Kelly Greenwood
Themes: Pacific Northwest, History, Anthropology, Politics
This book came to me as all good books should—with a friend pressing it into my hands and saying, “You have got to read this one.”
First night, second night, third—nights piling upon nights, hours upon hours, a mountain of lost time. Each hour of lost sleep is compounded by the hour before it, a perpetual wheel of spinning time.
My mind attaches to it like a leech, this notion that “I must get some sleep.” Worry builds upon anxiety, builds upon helplessness, builds upon the minutes ticking by. I don’t want to look at the clock, don’t want to know what time it is, how little time I have until I have to get up, have to give up this struggle for the night.
Write about a time when you were too hot or too cold.
It is a rare occasion that I am too cold. I’ve always been “cold-blooded.” Born with the desert in my blood, I guess. Warm sun, hot showers, cozy socks and slippers, a burning hot fire, fleece blankets—these all put me in my happy place.
Genre: Fiction | Themes: Preschool, Parental Rivalry, Murder
A cross between Desperate Housewives and Bad Moms, Liane Moriarty’s Big Little Lies is a delectable tale of moms (and dads—but mostly moms) behaving badly.
With a plot twist à la The Hangover (the beginning of the book starts at the end of the story), readers are uniquely introduced to characters through multiple perspectives—we get to know their personalities through their own words, but their appearances and looks are described by other characters, often painting a very different picture from how the characters perceive themselves.
There are two people someone might refer to as “hipsters” posted up directly in front of me. I saw them at the coffee shop earlier, her in a pair of baggy, split-legged pants, a black top with plunging neckline, long, un-blowdried hair twisted up into a loose bun on top of her head. And he in a fedora, a bird’s feather tucked into one side, baggy, cloth pants, and deeply sun-tanned skin. They both sat and typed away on their shiny laptops, no doubt working away at freelance or remote jobs, their only connection to the real world.
Genre: Memoir | Themes: Adventure, Skiing, World Records, Travel
Why do we have to wait for life to break us before we reinvent ourselves? What if we’re the ones holding the hammer, and all we have to do is take a swing?
These are the questions that Steph Jagger asked herself when she set out to accomplish something extraordinary—something absurd. Steph was doing quite well at the time: she had a loving family, a successful career, and an apartment that she’d purchased with her own money. She wasn’t going through a terrible break-up, or grieving for a lost loved one, or trying to pick up the pieces of her life. Life had not forced change on her; nevertheless, she wanted a change. She wanted more. She wanted gusto.
Hot, so hot. The sun was like a member of the family, unyielding and exacting. We planned our days by its moods.
Whether or not the temperature was below 100 degrees determined if we left the house or not. The heat was a presence, a heavy blanket that sat upon our skin, sucking the moisture out. The taste of it seared my lungs as I breathed it in, boiling my insides.