Now reading: The Fantastic Art of Frank Fazetta
I am so proud to now be the owner of this paintings showcase book.
Frank Frazetta has reigned as the undisputed king of fantasy art for 50 years, his fame only growing in the 12 years since his death. With his paintings now breaking auction records (Egyptian Queen sold for $ 5.4 million in 2019) he’s long overdue for this ultimate monograph.
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Looks to be a fun and a quick read. That takes the idea that NPC’s are not just simply cannon fodder/background dressing/ect, but have thoughts and lives of their own.
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The Havamal for about the dozenth time.
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Am a little more than half way through NPC’s. It is a quick read. It is a fun romp of the most ill matched and seemingly clueless band you would ever encounter in any setting. For such a simple and quick read as it is turning out to be. But the world building and character development is great. The story keeps you wanting to turn the next page.
There is most definitely a larger mystery story arc. Looking on amazon there is at least 4 or 5 books in this series. Yes, I have already downloaded the next book.
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A place I would get lost in and security would have to drag me out kicking and screaming when found. LOL
Bibliothèque nationale de France, Paris, France
Trinity College Library, Dublin, Ireland
There are a few others as well that I would willingly get lost in. And no I would not want a search party to find me either… lol
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I don’t blame you. I was always the last kid out of the school library for the day and then I would go to the city library for a few more hours because they closed late. I felt I was swimming in a sea of knowledge among those books and the quiet atmosphere helped with inspiration and imagination.
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Love reading in a great library. Will even bring my own damn book. 
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I often did my homework at the library. Home was not a great environment for it.
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Sorry to read that.
Coming from an era that didn’t have anything more than a transistor radio, I read a lot. FM just coming into vogue.
I read literally all the history books in the local libraires. Not a great accomplishment, just nothing else to do if you want to learn.
I miss reading because it makes you use your own imagination. And not just someone’s idea from the line you read. You can stop and saver a line, think about it and can picture the idea and moment in your own mind. I’ll never fully be able to explain it…
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Thank you.
My dad ruined my mom’s life and my childhood. I spent half my life in fear and in foster care because he was mean, dangerous and totally out of his mind. I didn’t go to his funeral and I don’t regret it.
I escaped in the worlds that books provided for me. I lost myself in art, comics, fantasy, sci-fi stories and history books just to feel normal while my mom suffered his mental excesses and violence. I will be hating him for a long time before I even think about forgiveness.
I can only imagine that world when technology was in its infancy. It must have been so much more peaceful for the average citizen, less stressful and maybe happier?
I love history. I think that knowing what happened in the pasts helps us understand the present and, in some way, foresee the future. I had the best history teacher in school. She didn’t want to stress on the years that major events happened, only that we got the names and events correctly. She was like a second mom to me.
Some scientists say that we have a cellular memory passed down from generation to generation. I think that as we read about events and characters, those memories surface in that part of the brain where imagination is active and maybe some of what we imagine touch on those generational memories… just a theory of mine. I still have a whole lot to learn and I always hesitate to be sure about anything. Life is too strange to bet one’s life on theories, especially when Science isn’t a finished discipline but is till evolving.
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I can relate. 4 younger siblings. None of whom wanted to crack a book if their lives counted on it. Sitting in the school library until I had to leave was always a moment of calm.
Though the nearest public library was a good 8 miles down the road. It was where I went on most weekends if I could convince someone to drive me there in the winter. Or in the summer rode my bike. About 18 years ago went back to the area where I grew up and went back to that library.
To this day when I move into a new area. One of the first things I get is a library card. Where I am living now has a great library. Sometimes when i need a break from everything. I go down and simply get lost there. Turn off phone, which makes my granddaughter mad. LOL and find a book sit and find a quiet place and read.
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The library where I live now is in the next small town and isn’t well stocked up with books. It’s basically a library for school children. If I want to go to a real library I have to take a train because I cannot drive anymore due to my accident.
Sometimes one of my friends has business in a big city so he drops me off and I can have 3 or 4 hours in a real library but at least I can buy books and am slowly building my own library at home.
I am grateful to have a few good friends who come by to see if I need help with anything. I feel bad that I cannot reciprocate even though they get offended if I offer money or something else. At least I can cook for them and they seem to appreciate that.
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I sympathise with you.
My childhood was a fearful one for both myself and my younger siblings, it wasn’t uncommon for me to turn up at school with bruised ribs or a blackeye 
I didn’t go to his funeral either, none of us did or have ever visited his grave..
My eventual escape from being embarrassed to go to school was to simply not go, instead I’d sit in the local library reading.
Some of the first books I read gave me a love of nature and opened my eyes to what was out there in the world instead of just the small mining town we lived in.
I’m 66 in a few weeks and today I have been sat in my rocking chair with my Parrotlets in a large cage at the backdoor getting some sunshine, I was sat with a beer and my kindle, still reading after all these years, and enjoying every minute of it 
.
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So sorry to know what you and your siblings went through. People like our parents don’t deserve children. I had bruises where the teachers couldn’t see, on my back, my rear and thighs. I don’t even know where mine is buried and I don’t care.
My mom is buried in the country’s capital but I didn’t go to her funeral either. I’d rather remember her when she was living and don’t want a memory of her like a funeral. I believe she can see me and knows what my life is like, even if my reason tells me it isn’t so.
I can’t imagine what my father would have done to me if I dared not show up for school. I was terrified of him. He was tall, broad-shouldered and tough, like a mad bull.
I dreamed of leaving far away all the time. Books gave me the opportunity to escape my reality.
I can see you there being at peace and in control of your life. Say hello to your parrots for me 
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Being Aware of Being Aware-Rupert Spira
I, too, have a confession to make about books. Back in elementary I was the librarian of my class. Since nobody read any books, I’d often use the class library to my pleasure. Booklifting the ones I’d like, taking them back home to read. When I grew up I gave away some of the most enjoyable books to impoverished children.
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I feel for you. The southern town we lived in. Had a very small library. that was more of a room that had some books on a few shelves. It was not even part of the local or state library network. For that I had to drive about 8 or 10 miles down the road to the next town. That was a fairly good one.
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Growing up the abuse was psychological. Books and the library were my refuge. My mother’s second husband never hit any of us. He had suffered physical abuse when he was a kid. He was emotionally shut down. He never sought out any therapy or was even willing to go to a therapist. It ultimately cost him his marriage to my mother.
As bad as it was for my brothers and I. My sister, the only child he ever fathered, Had it worse. At 13 when unceremoniously dumped her off on my mother. She was an emotional wreck. when she went to see him and introduce him to one of his grandsons. He told her point blank in front of her and grown son, to never contact or darken his door ever again.
He taught my brothers and I to be very angry young men. To this day I can hear the anger rumbling under all of of our speech. I am almost 63 a grandfather and by wifes first marriage a great grandfather. That anger is still there. Though I have worked on getting it out of my speech.
My real success is that my son was never an angry young man. I broke the cycle as did my youngest brother and sister. Psychological abuse may not leave a bruise, but it leaves a scar where no one can see it.
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