Top 10 quotes from Rainbow Rowell's Fangirl!

In Honor of Rainbow's Nanowrimo Pep talk I posted a few days ago I decided to stick to my Rainbow Rowell theme and choose my top 10 favorite quotes from Fangirl, the novel she started during Nanowrimo. This was so much harder then I thought it would be, because well turns out Rainbow is even more BOSS then I already thought she was (which is insane honestly!haha). So I cheated a little and added a few extras to the list since I couldn't make up my darn mind! But hey, more awesomeness for you:)

This book made me laugh out loud and ugly cry in more then one sitting.It is honestly one of my favorite books and after you finished reading these, you will know why...Enjoy!

(PS. Spoilers included)

“Don't expect me to tell you apart," Reagan said when this became a routine.

"I have short hair," Wren said. "and she wears glasses."

"Stop," Reagan groaned, "don't make me look at you. It's like The Shiningin here.”

“Just... isn't giving up allowed sometimes? Isn't it okay to say, ‘This really hurts, so I’m going to stop trying’?”
“It sets a dangerous precedent.”
“For avoiding pain?”
“For avoiding life.”

“Happily ever after, or even just together ever after, is not cheesy,” Wren said. “It’s the noblest, like, the most courageous thing two people can shoot for.”

“You’ve read the books?”
“I’ve seen the movies.”
Cath rolled her eyes so hard, it hurt. (Actually.) (Maybe because she was still on the edge of tears. On the edge, period.) “So you haven’t read the books.”
“I’m not really a book person.”
“That might be the most idiotic thing you’ve ever said to me”

“Reagan was sitting up at Cath's desk when Cath woke up. 
"Are you awake?"
"Have you been watching me sleep?"
"Yes, Bella. Are you awake?"
"No.” 

“No," Cath said, "Seriously. Look at you. You’ve got your shit together, you’re not scared of anything. I’m scared of everything. And I’m crazy. Like maybe you think I’m a little crazy, but I only ever let people see the tip of my crazy iceberg. Underneath this veneer of slightly crazy and socially inept, I’m a complete disaster.” 

“You look ridiculous,” Wren said.
“What?”
“That shirt.” It was a Hello Kitty shirt from eighth or ninth grade. Hello Kitty dressed as a superhero. It said SUPER CAT on the back, and Wren had added an H with fabric paint. The shirt was cropped too short to begin with, and it didn’t really fit anymore. Cath pulled it down self-consciously.
“Cath!” her dad shouted from downstairs. “Phone.”
Cath picked up her cell phone and looked at it
“He must mean the house phone,” Wren said.
“Who calls the house phone?”
“Probably 2005. I think it wants its shirt back.” 

“No, I know,” Levi said. “But it’s not you. You don’t push through every moment. You pay attention. You take everything in. I like that about you—I like that better.”

Cath closed her eyes and felt tears catch on her cheeks.

“I like your glasses,” he said. “I like your Simon Snow T-shirts. I like that you don’t smile at everyone, because then, when you smile at me.… Cather.” He kissed her mouth. “Look at me.”

She did.

“I choose you over everyone.”

“What's that thing you wrote about Simon once, that his eyes followed Baz 'like he was the brightest thing in the room, like he cast everything else into shadow'? That's you. You can't look away from him.”

“Why do we write fiction?" Professor Piper asked.
Cath looked down at her notebook.
To disappear.”

“I feel sorry for you, and I'm going to be your friend."

"I don't want to be your friend," Cath said as sternly as she could. "I likethat we're not friends."

"Me, too. I'm sorry you ruined it by being so pathetic.”

“How do you not like the Internet? That's like saying, 'I don't like things that are convenient. And easy. I don't like having access to all of mankind's recorded discoveries at my fingertips. I don't like light. And knowledge.”

“There are other people on the Internet. It's awesome. You get all the benefits of 'other people' without the body odor and the eye contact.”

“Reagan scowled at Cath. "Are you Zack, or are you Cody?”

“When I’m writing my own stuff, it’s like swimming upstream. Or … falling down a cliff and grabbing at branches, trying to invent the branches as I fall.”

The best right??Definitely! haha. Comment down below guys what did you think about Reagen, Cath and Levi? What was your favorite quote? Let me know and we can gush about it together:)

Taylor Swift 1989: So is it any good?

                       

                       

So T. Swift's album 1989 is available from today and since I've had an amazing sneak peak of her latest body of work I just thought that I'd take some time out of my day to share my first reactions and over all impression of this album:)

First things first (don't say 'I'm the realest' fight it! haha) I need to discuss the freaking amazing cover art! I know what you're thinking!' It's just a Polaroid picture Zoe, whats so special about it? Well the fact that T. Swift is reminding us once again that less is more and doing it in style I might add is wonderful! I love how Taylor has always stuck to her guns about using her music in order to sell her music and not her body like some people...(Cough, Cough) 

 

Don't get me wrong despite the provocative album covers I know that these women are wonderfully talented and that they could sell their music without baring it all but I don't think they realize this. Living in a dominantly patriarchal society images like these have become so normalized that people have been desensitized towards them. I't like how images of people dying on the news every night has just become apart of our daily routine, there is a lack of empathy and understanding in us while viewing these images that is very problematic.

I understand that these women claim to be taking control of their bodies by flaunting it and not being ashamed of the way they look, but we should remember that there is a fine line between taking control of one's body in a sense that leaves you exposed and vulnerable and  using it as a product to 'up your sales' or to 'get more exposure'. The thing both being naked on your own terms in a public space and being naked on other people's terms have in common is a lack of respect and self worth. Women are better then this and we deserve better. Not just from others but from ourselves as well.

But I digress.Anyway... back to 1989

As I said earlier before I went on yet another one of my rants (I'm sorry). The cover art of 1989 is artistically done and it definitely reflects the whole 80's vibe of the album. I give it a big thumbs up:)

However, to the album as a whole? Well to that I give an even BIGGER thumbs up!And now you're probably like but Zoe...

 'No. No i'ts not absurd'! I'm telling you people this is Tay-Tay's best album yet! From the moment I pressed play at the beginning of the weekend until now, 72 hours later, I have been obsessed with each and every one of the songs on this album! Their catchy, up-beat but at times deep, super fun but most importantly they are very much 80's baby and you will love every second of it! It's the perfect combination of feel good music and Tay's typical sorrow filled ballads. 1989 is also her first official Pop album even though her previous country albums had their fare share of Pop this is a very new territory for the songstress and I must say she nailed it! Claps for T. Swift, a genuine artist and role model.

I obviously have a few favorites from 1989 which include the following:

'So... 7 songs huh? That's basically the whole album Zoe'

Don't judge me! haha You know what? I dare you to go out, buy this album and find less then 7 favorite songs! Prepare to fail miserably:D Mwuahahahah (evil laugh)

I hope you liked this blow by blow because I liked sharing my feels!Comment down below or tick the reaction boxes:) Have you heard the album?what are your thoughts and feels?

*Disclaimer*

(I'm buying the album as soon as I can. Taylor spent 2 years working on this album and I think she deserves every single album sale there is)

Quote the lyrics:

'Band aids don't fix bullet holes, you say sorry just for show. You live like that, you'll live with ghosts'

'We found wonderland, you and I got lost in it. Life was never worse but never better'

'You can hear it in the silence, you can feel it on the way home, you can see it with the lights out. You're in love, true love'

I almost forgot! Here's a snippet of one of my faves, Style along with a awesome montage of T.Swift:

Thank you for reading! Don't forget to subscribe to my blog and to like on Facebook

Taxi Madness by Anonymous

Unfortunately my plans of turning this blog into a platform for writers didn't go as well as I hoped. There simply wasn't enough people who showed interest in writing and sending their stories to this blog for some healthy constructive criticism and well deserved time in the spotlight. Oh well, I did get this story from someone who wanted to remain anonymous and I decided to post it anyway!Minus the criticism:) This is simply for your entertainment.

Enjoy guys!

   

I can't begin to tell you just how much I hate traveling. I hate it from the bottom of its hooves to the top of its pitchfork, yes, I think of it as the dark 
prince itself, satan. I could probably go on all day calling it names and comparing it to having your achilles heel slashed but that too can't compare to how much I hate traveling in a taxi. Here's why. 

Taxis, since the dawn of time has been my kryptonite, my sugar in a salt-shaker, the mosquito buzzing in my ear and the cross-eyed water snake ripping the flesh from my bones. It's sad really, because even with that detailed description of how irked I am by traveling in taxis, I'm still at times forced to do the latter. I was on my way to a work meeting and stupidly believed a taxi, as convenient as it might be, because it helps us escape the dreaded downtown traffic when it needs to, along with their very accomplished operators, could usher me all the way to my meeting and back, in one piece, I was wrong. Because they're such reckless drivers, en route, we drove right into the back of a 95 station wagon trying to dodge the pangs of traffic by going into the lane with the oncoming missiles. A swerve to the left had us out of harm's way and into the rust bucket in front of us, ironic much? I should think so. What happened next was so terrifying, I had to wash down the clot in my throat with the first available liquid, which happened to be the bottle of water on the dashboard. Right in the middle of the busy intersection, out of his trusted jalopy, climbed what haunts me to this day, a 5foot, beady eyed, jet-black-haired, hunch backed, check-shirt, slacks and flip-flop wearing, horribly angry looking Chinese man with a toothpick in the side of his mouth. The look in that man's eyes almost instantly struck terror into the eyes of a taxi full of unsuspecting, innocent civilians. As he came strolling, with the look of pure, unadulterated fury in his eyes, I could tell that the driver of the taxi was afraid, he was very afraid. The Chinese man, who, amidst the confusion and raging tempers, as he approached the taxi, yelled out something that sounded a lot like "Chin don't dlink and dlive, this isn't my fault, you pay! You pay!" And as he repeatedly yelled out his evidently brand new mantra, I could see the spit missiles flying from his mouth and onto the windshield of the taxi. The salivating old Chink clearly wasn't intent on taking this laying down, he was bent on making the driver, who I later learned went by the name of "Shakes" pay. Shakes, as described by many, had an undying love for swimming against the stream, meaning, he loved doing everything he wasn't meant to do, and he too felt hard done by the Asian. How that notion came about still remains a mystique to me, because he clearly caused the crash. They went into a heated exchange of words in both their respective languages which caused even more confusion because these two lemmings didn't understand each other and this all added fire to the burning flame of contempt I have for traveling, taxis, the drivers and the roads. The argument gradually made its way from bad to ten times worse, because now, people from all walks of life started giving their opinions on what really went down, even the shady guy selling chiclets and newspapers at the robot gave us his statement, which hardly aided the situation because we were all crammed together in this box-shaped taxi and all he really managed to do was stink up the place with the essence of his armpits and the incense of the chiclets along with the very distinct smell of smoke. He later realized how futile his attempts were and that no amount of ranting about the accident would land him any sales, so he nonchalantly strolled off back to headquarters which happened to be his side of the robot, rivaling the other side that sells not only chiclets and newspapers, but the lower extremities of the chicken(its feet) too. As I sat there, almost having reached boiling point, I decided it'd be best if I just kept to myself, but it seemed near impossible because I was definitely going to be late and I would then have to face the scourge of my boss who loved the saying "explain to me why you're late or I'll beat you where you stand" and then follow it up with a loud burst of raucous guffaw because he thinks he's that funny.

Morning turned into midday and we were still at the point of impact, only now the place is crawling with police, and every proverbial clown car full of people stopped to witness the events as they were unfolding. People rarely allow an accident to go by without making a complete spectacle of it, because before we knew it, hawkers were there hoping to make a killing with their sales, even the shoe makers dropped by to lend a helping hand and it seemed to me like they were God sent because the Asian really could have done with an entire remake of his flip flops who were no longer flipping or flopping. Poor guy really let himself go. Out of sheer boredom, I started talking to the Zimbabwean guy next to me, at that point, I realized that today just really wasn't going to be my day because when that dude opened up his mouth, it smelled like something crawled down his throat and died, it also appeared to be the case with his pits. We talked about power to the people, why this topic came up is as much a mystery to me as I know it would be to the reader because any normal conversing pair would talk about the accident. I guess I just absorbed way too much of it that another conversation about it would be the death of me. He said the most outlandish, convoluted things, such as "white people don't belong here, they belong in Australia". First of all, you scut monkey, you don't belong here and Australia? When did Australia become the only country to house white people? And another thing, when did it become the number one resort for evicted white people? I thought as I aimlessly stared into the opposite direction of the person I'm having this one-sided conversation with. He then whipped out this tupperware container which I'm assuming was his lunch because he's a construction worker, an assumption derived from the clay and mortar soiled construction boots and overalls he had on. He opened up the container and held it in my direction so as to say, "can I interest you in some boiled egg and beans?" As delighted as I was at his subtle, kind gesture, I was forced to decline because I just couldn't imagine myself smelling like a henhouse when I entered a meeting I knew I was going to miss. The day was long, it was hot and I was stuck in a taxi full of hungry, tired and very much so, annoyed passengers, this annoyed me twice as much because I was beginning to sweat. All we really needed to do was request our moneys and we'd be on our merry ways to wherever we were headed, but along came another taxi which could only, at that point, have meant one thing. We'd have to move.
  
It seemed like a bright idea at the time because, essentially, we would now be moving forward, and we did, we moved forward in a taxi without any air conditioning and a lot left to be desired, like music and just plain old simple headrests. Again, I was trapped, this time between two really big boned hotel cleaners who clearly enjoyed basking or baking in the heat of a taxi that had all of its windows up. I look to the left, I see seven deadly chins, I look to the right, I see seven deadly chins, suddenly I remember, "little Asian guy" and he was almost as big as those chins. An eventful day indeed, only thing missing now is the rain to top off the worst day of my life. Thankfully though, it remained scorching hot for the rest of the day. I finally got to work and sure enough missed the meeting and there, at the entrance of my cubicle, stands the radioactive waste and contamination that is Bill Venter, my boss, with his arms folded under his manboobs, his sweaty forehead housing the worst frown you'll ever see, heavily breathing as he leans against the three centimeter thick cardboard walls of my cubicle, staring me dead in the eyes with the look of death in his eyes. I knew he was miff because he didn't use his revered idle threat on me, all he really could do was look at me without moving any part of his bulbous frame, I could honestly tell that I was about to get my nipples grated so I gracefully intercepted this stare down with a question. "Happy to see me sir?" And gradually proceeded to hand him an Oreo. That proved to be the most potentially fatal mistake I've made all day, strongly rivals the conversation I had with the dude from Zimbabwe. He broke out and said "I don't want any peace offering, especially not from you, don't try and do me any favors, there's NOTHING for you gain from it, trust me, because even if you went on a cruise to the most remote regions of the ocean to save my drowning salt-soaked body in time to pump the sea water out of my lungs and bring me back from the very cusp of death, I would STILL be upset that the first face I saw when I woke up was yours" and stormed off in a rage of fit. "Penè" I whispered to myself as he waddled off with his duckfeet and uptight rump. 

Working in a bank definitely has its perks, air conditioning topping them all, now if that tops my list of "perks" then you can only imagine the countless hours I spend everyday, inside the walls of that germbox, slovenly slaving away that all I want to do after the day's labors is lay down on the couch with my hand in my sweat pants, watching sportcenter, but that just isn't my wife's idea of pulling my weight. After all the drama, I finally got home only to find that Elenore's satanic brood has taken over the entire place, a place that used to smell like nothing, now has the feint musk of baby vomit because she has just given birth and her "girlfriends" aka the satanic brood has flown in to help take care of her and the baby. All pretty much to my dismay because now, my study became the baby 's room and the closet then became my study. After the eventfulness of my day, what mattered to me wasn't the fuming Asian, the reckless taxi driver, the potholed streets, the unhygienic Zimbabwean, or the melanoma suffering, sweaty forheaded boss, it was my family and for the short 5 hour window I get with them actually makes me, you know, happy. Now doesn't that just make you sick!?

Show this person some love by commenting down below and ticking the reaction boxes:)

Nanowrimo: What one of my favorite authors had to say about her experience

Pep Talk from Rainbow Rowell

Dear Writer,

I was very skeptical about NaNoWriMo at first.

It seemed like something that amateur writers would do. Or young writers. People who needed to be tricked into finishing their books. I’d already written two books by October 2011, and sold them to publishers, and I couldn’t imagine writing either of them—or anything good—in a month.

That’s not writing, I thought, that’s just piling up words.

But then I thought about how wonderful it would be to have a pile of 50,000 words…

Maybe some writers enjoy the first draft—the part of the writing process when anything is possible, and you’re out there forging your own path. I hate that part. All I can think about when I’m starting a book are all the words I haven’t written yet. I actually feel them, hanging around my neck, tugging at me. First drafts always make me feel anxious and a little desperate—like, “Oh God, I just need to get all of this out and on paper, so that I have something to work with.”

I like having something to work with.

That’s why I eventually decided to try NaNoWriMo—to fast-forward through that desperate, blank-page phase and get to the good stuff. I told myself that it didn’t matter if my first draft was bad. All my books have required major revisions, anyway. And even if NaNoWriMo was a complete waste of time—if I ended up with a chaotic mess—a month isn’t much time to waste. (Not compared to the five years I worked on my first novel before showing it to anyone.)

Maybe because my expectations were low, I didn’t have a detailed strategy for the month: I took a few days off work, and warned my husband and kids that I was going to be gone a lot until Thanksgiving. And I set three goals:

• To write every day.
• To write at least 2,000 words every day.
• And—this was crucial for me—to keep moving forward.

 
Normally I start each writing session by rewriting whatever I wrote in my last session. WithFangirl, my NaNoWriMo project, I picked up wherever I’d left off and kept moving. I never looked back.

What I noticed right away was how easy it was for me to pick up. One of my challenges as an author is staying inside the fictional world I’m creating. I have to write in blocks (at least four hours at a time, at least four days in a row) to make any progress. During NaNoWriMo, I never left the world of the book long enough to lose momentum.

I stayed immersed in the story all month long, and that made everything come so much smoother than usual. I got a much quicker grasp on the main characters and their voices. The plotlines shot forward…

I mean, I still didn’t know whether what I’d written was any good. (I hadn’t even read it all in one piece!) But I was so excited about the novel, I wanted to write every day. And even when I wasn’t writing, my brain was still working on the story.

That 50,000-word pile I made wasn’t a mess at all. It’s some of the bravest writing I’ve ever done, and it includes my all-time favorite character, a guy I think I would’ve second-guessed to death under normal circumstances. NaNoWriMo helped me push past so many of my doubts and insecurities and bad habits. And I think that’s partly why I love Fangirl so much now—because I remember how swept away I felt when I was writing it.

So… I didn’t actually finish my book that November. I met the word goal, but was only about halfway done with Fangirl. I continued working on it through January, then did a pretty heavy rewrite the next spring. Here’s something that really shocked me during my revisions: I kept almost every word I wrote during NaNoWriMo.

Pretty neat trick.

Rainbow

Rainbow’s Website

About the author:

Rainbow Rowell writes books. Sometimes she writes about adults (ATTACHMENTS and LANDLINE). Sometimes she writes about teenagers (ELEANOR & PARK and FANGIRL). But she always writes about people who talk a lot. And people who feel like they're screwing up. And people who fall in love.

When she's not writing, Rainbow is reading comic books, planning Disney World trips and arguing about things that don't really matter in the big scheme of things.

She lives in Nebraska with her husband and two sons.

(From Goodreads)