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Are books REALLY better than movies?

Are books REALLY better than movies?


I had an interesting thought the other day, which doesn’t happen often, so I made note of this one. Are movies and TV really a lower art form than novels? I’m not sure about whoever may be reading this, but I grew up hearing that books benefited the consumer in a way that movies did not. Books made you think harder because you had to imagine what was happening, as opposed to having images spoonfed to you. Now that I’ve grown a little since then (and have started reading less), I wonder if this assessment is correct. It’s true that movies can be made lazily, just as they can be watched lazily. But can’t the same be said for books? We’ve all read stories that look like they’ve been assembled by a robot in marketing, and we’ve all read books with our eyes half-open.

teh most boring book EVEEEERRRR
I don’t remember much of this book.

Yes, it’s probably not a good idea to grow up on nothing but summer action flicks, but it’s probably not a good idea to grow up on nothing but Nancy Drew (or at least the Nancy Drew I remember reading. Blech), either. Sure, I used to be an elitist snob and believe that cinema was SO LOWBROW ZOMG (and that attitude was heavily reinforced; see above), but lately I’ve become fascinated by movies and TV and how they convey story and emotion. They also interest me because they require the collaboration and expertise of a huge group of people. And if one of them screws up so much as a single stitch on a character’s clothes, someone is bound to notice it and complain on an obscure IMDB board.

The writer works alone. Or rather, the writer collaborates with the entire world, but without the world’s knowledge–there’s not a single book that came into being without the influence of others.

Is one method of creating art inherently more valuable than the other? Even now, I’m not so sure. Maybe we need both equally. Movies to prove that there’s more to life than words and books to prove that there’s more to life than images.


I Am…


(Now that the new semester has started… I think I might as well post something new. And after dramatically contemplating too much about life, particularly mine, and about my identity, I came up with this.)

I am the wind blowing under the ocean

I am the sand piled up on top of an iceberg

I am an eroded rock at a river’s turn

I am the mud on a pit’s bottom

I sing the song of the forest’s delinquent

I fly low under the frozen water

I may or may have not brought a curse

I listen to endless miracles

I pack my bag with dirt

I will never understand this world

I am not different, but my path has never been out of the darkness

I will stand outside of the perimeter, invisible and twisted

We all know, that life doesn’t have a manual, and everything has its partner

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#WW I Lost My Publisher

The lovely author Shannon A. Thompson’s publishing company has been shut down, which means her books are being pulled. Make sure to snap them up before January 31st. Shannon currently has no car or job, so she would greatly appreciate donations or requests for services (editing, marketing, etc.)

Shannon A Thompson

I Lost My Publisher 

There are no words, and there are too many words, so I am attempting to fall somewhere in between. If I stray into convoluted or chaotic mazes of explanation, I apologize from what is left of my writer’s heart.

Due to the vast Internet we find ourselves gathered on today, you might have already heard. You might not have. Either way, you will now (and finally) hear it from me.

AEC Stellar Publishing, Inc. – my publisher and employer for two years – has closed the doors.

If I could explain, I would, but I cannot. We did not go bankrupt. We had wonderfully talented authors (whom I still believe in fully) and a humble team I admired. We simply lost an essential piece, and without our piece, we would’ve broken, so AEC came to end – as all great novels do.

I am currently seeking…

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Some sad news

Teddy, the kitten I sort of named myself after, died recently (my dog killed him. I’m still mad). We live on a farm, so all but the smartest cats generally get picked off by wild animals (or, occasionally, the wild animals in my backyard), so I’m sort of used to it, but I still really miss him.

Rest in peace, you little diva, you. May this blog be a memorial.