How to Read Moby-Dick

jamesfantbooks:

This post is worthy of reblogging because it’s words made me run to purchase the novel “Moby Dick” and simultaneously shamed me for having never read it.

Originally posted on The Stake:

mobydickwoodcut

by Bethany Taylor

While out walking my dog very early one morning I ran into a frantic woman, beseeching directions to Starbucks.

My reflexive internal response was, “I’m sorry to tell you this, ma’am, but he went down aboard the Pequod,” but I kept the joke to myself, stifled my giggles, and directed the woman towards the coffee shop.

For the most part, everything I’ve ever read about Moby-Dick has been either beautiful and solemn like a dull sermon, or dismissive of it as a baggy boring relic of bygone days. The book invites comparisons to the whale itself: the sheer size and density, a brick of over 600 page, as though its treasures must be gleaned from crosshatched ink scars carved in white slabbed pages.

For many, it is A Book To Be Read, almost a Jonahian duty that cannot be shirked lest the gods be angered, an…

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Excerpt from my upcoming novel “SIMON’S SPLINTER”

SimonsSplinterEbookCoverFORWEBA haunting darkness hovered above the streets of London. Bleak shadows crept over damp cobblestones and Graham could hear slow and menacing footfalls off in the distance. Where in the world had Aisha sent him? And why in the world did he agree to go?

He walked the streets alone. Lost and unsure how he ended up in that dreary neighborhood where rats roamed free and beggars with rotting teeth huddled next to piles of burning trash. The beggars hissed at him as he passed by.

“You’re in the wrong place now, then, ain’t ya?” an old hag asked as she clawed at him with unusually long fingernails caked with dirt.

“Aye there, pre’y boy. I’ll be a good shag for ya!” another hag exclaimed. She was sprawled out on a stained mattress that reeked of rotten fish and urine. She patted the mattress and gray dust spread into the black air. She smiled to reveal one chipped, yellow tooth that was clinging to her purple gums for dear life.

“I feel be’er than I look, I assure ya!” she cried. “Come gimme a rump. It’ll only cost you a life time.”

Then she released a harsh shriek of laughter into the musty air and the rats scurried away into the shadows. Graham jumped as he heard a crash from out of the darkness.

“That be the backstabber for sure!” the mattress hag howled. “The backstabber’s comin’ for ya, now boyyo!”

“What?” Graham asked. “Who is the backstabber?”

And then he felt the wind separate right next to his face and he heard a whistle. Someone had thrown something at him from within the shadows. He walked quickly to where the object landed and saw that it was a twelve-inch blade with a diamond encrusted handle. The blade stuck halfway out of the cobblestone; it was still whipping back and forth, displaying the sheer force from which it was thrown.

“Backstabber’s toyin’ with ya, she is! Be’er make a run for it!”

Another blade flew out of the darkness and drilled deep into the back of Graham’s thigh. He screamed as the hags bounced up and down with glee. Then he jetted down a dark alley away from the shrieking hags and hopefully away from the deadly blades. He couldn’t see them, but he knew that they were still flying past his head. He moved his legs as fast as he could but the cobblestones turned to mire around his feet. It seemed as if the alley had no outlet and no end. It was an infinite tube of darkness that swallowed him.

Exhausted, he collapsed into a pit of sludge. His leg throbbed. His heart pounded. He tried to crawl out of the muck but then he felt a presence behind him, cold and sinister. It called out his name.

“Graham.”

It called out his name again softly.

“Graham.”

He was confused because the cold and sinister presence sounded just like his fiancée.

James Fant is an author of inspirational romance and suspense. He lives in South Carolina, where the mountains and the beaches have befriended him. His books include:

Fourteen Pages
An Ode for Orchids
Close the Door
The Secret Branch
The Mended Fence

http://jamesfantbooks.com

 

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Excerpt from Book 2 of my upcoming Stephen Stone Trilogy

Clive reached inside his satchel. Stuffed among legal papers, there was a .38 caliber pistol he wasn’t going to use and a pack of Winstons. He retrieved a cigarette and slid the filter between his lips. He lit it, savored the drag because it would be his last.

Broken glass betrayed his footfalls. Good, he thought. He gave the smoke a long pull. Let the nicotine tickle his nostrils. He regarded his tossed living room furniture, the floor covered by a sea of scattered papers, and he wondered how this would feel if he still felt fear, if the finality of death still concerned him. An infant’s shrill petition was the best way to describe his thoughts on fretfulness. As a baby, he cried for milk; he was sure of this. But he didn’t remember it. And he didn’t remember the last time he was afraid. Now, he was sure that a large man was in his house, waiting to harm him, and he chuckled because he couldn’t care less.

— a little sample of this morning’s writing. ‪#‎StephenStoneBook2‬ ‪#‎Heathen‬

James Fant is an author of inspirational romance and suspense. He lives in South Carolina, where the mountains and the beaches have befriended him. His books include:

Fourteen Pages
An Ode for Orchids
Close the Door
The Secret Branch
The Mended Fence

http://jamesfantbooks.com

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Another Masterpiece

image

http://www.amazon.com/gp/aw/d/0785119566?qid=1406065241&sr=8-1&vs=1

Of course I loved this book. It was written by EJD. Whether in a steamy romance or a comic novel, Eric Jerome Dickey does his thing. His narration is unmistakable. He adds a higher level to the story of Storm, one of an orphan trying to become a young woman. Dying to become a warrior.

Storm loses her parents and is rescued by Teacher, named for teaching children to be pickpockets and safe crackers. But there’s something different about Ororo. Her white hair. Her blue eyes. Her mastery of the wind and rain, mysteriously tied to her emotions. This part of the story blossoms when she meets Tchalla, the Black Panther. A warrior prince who wants to usher her from the realm of street urchin to womanhood. Of course there’s danger and EJD keeps you on the edge of your seat. The illustration tells ten thousand words and draws the reader into the jungle. Into the war.

EJD is one of my favorite authors and I was glad to find a hard copy of STORM on Amazon. Now, on to the next masterpiece.

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Let’s

let'sLet’s love
Let’s let the noon sun bake our skin
Bathe in the warmth of its amour
Let’s lay on fescue drenched in dew
And be imbibed in life’s liqueur
Let’s love
Let’s shower in the waterfall
For towels use the winds of dusk
Let’s dine within a field of maize
And eat sweet corn straight from the husk
Let’s love
Let’s slumber under a canopy
Of countless candles in the sky
Where willows weep and tulips touch
My pillows be your supple thighs
Let’s love

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James Fant is an author of inspirational romance and suspense. He lives in South Carolina, where the mountains and the beaches have befriended him. His books include:

Fourteen Pages
An Ode for Orchids
Close the Door
The Secret Branch
The Mended Fence

http://jamesfantbooks.com

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Happiness or Satisfaction (Classic Chicken and the Egg Question)

chickeneggThis meme is mad funny. Along the same line as the classic question of which came first–the chicken or the egg–I asked a group of friends the following recently: Would you rather be happy or satisfied? Which comes first? It’s just so hard to define happiness. But satisfaction, having everything you need, you can check things off the list on the way to fullness. My cousin Tiya hit me off with this reply, which I thought was so brilliant I decided to share it here.

Satisfaction is a catalyst and measurement to our happiness. They both are temporary states of mind, rather than permanent states of being. Both rely heavily on our current perception and acceptance of ‘where we are in life’ at the time… which in turn for Christians of faith, means our happiness and satiation correlate to our faith and spiritual state, at the time.

I enjoyed Tiya’s reply and it gave my mind much to chew on. In the end, maybe it’s best to be happily satisfied. (Laugh Out Loud). Or more seriously, maybe it’s best to maintain the best possible faith and spiritual state. “And now, dear brothers and sisters, one final thing. Fix your thoughts on what is true, and honorable, and right, and pure, and lovely, and admirable. Think about things that are excellent and worthy of praise. Keep putting into practice all you learned and received from me—everything you heard from me and saw me doing. Then the God of peace will be with you” (Phillipians 4:8-9).

What do you think?

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James Fant is an author of inspirational romance and suspense. He lives in South Carolina, where the mountains and the beaches have befriended him. His books include:

Fourteen Pages
An Ode for Orchids
Close the Door
The Secret Branch
The Mended Fence

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Maybe Raindrops are Tears from the Sky

Where the green blades kiss the pond
There’s a fawn sipping the wine
Soon her eyes will see the spawn
Of the hunter’s cruel design
Then her coat will make one warm
And a hunger she’ll deny
Maybe raindrops are tears from the sky

Nothing’s blacker than the hole
From when a star decides to die
Ball of flame give up the ghost
Host of Heaven shield their eyes
But at least that sun can boast
Of how it once made day from night
Maybe raindrops are tears from the sky

When it wakes in its cocoon
Does the caterpillar cry?
Do his little legs complain?
Do they strain against the sides?
Little worm just wants to walk
But with wings it soon will fly
Maybe raindrops are tears from the sky
Yeah, maybe raindrops are tears from the sky
I do believe the sky cries
Maybe raindrops are tears from the sky

fly

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