We are sad to inform you that Jess is no longer with our team. Her husband recently graduated from the Police Academy and we are so happy for them. They have now moved and she is spending time focusing on her 3 kiddos, husband, and her new MaryKay business. Weâ€™re very excited to see her thrive.
However, we are excited to announce that we have a new team member! Welcome to Corinne Prost â€“ our new Freelance writer. Her responsibilities will include writing fabulous articles about writing, reading, reviewing, and blogging. Sheâ€™ll be putting together some great tips for all book lovers, and helping up as we build our blogger/review team.
To celebrate her joining us, we are doing a giveaway and showing her some support at the same time! In order to see some of her fantastic articles, sign up for our monthly newsletter.
Also, our other team member, Katie, is opening up her own Facebook page. This will allow us a better reach with our events, and better access for you to join our events. Come support her by befriending her new page below.
And, of course, just helping spread word about our services will also give you entries into our fabulous giveaway!
We love you all and we are grateful for your support!
Introducing our new team member
Corinne is a BA at Hillsdale College, and her declared major is American Studies with a projected minor in Journalism. Although these choices sound informed and thoughtful on Corinne’s part, what really happened is that a really cool, successful senior did the same major and minor and went on to do really cool, successful things. So even though Corinne doesn’t know what she will do with these life choices, she does know one thing: her dream is to become as great as the classical authors.
While growing up, Corinne battled a severe condition that afflicted her for many years: she could not see because her eyes were glued permanently to books. This caused her to be the girl at recess who hid in the shade to read from her pile of library books, and her occasional companion was the library lady. One day, Corinne finally found she could look up, and after the initial shock she realized that her college applications would need to say more than “loves to read”. Her solution: to become involved in as many things as possible.
As a result, Corinne came to the realization that she also enjoys creative writing, drawing or painting, traveling, playing tennis, and spending inappropriate amounts of time thinking about the money it would take to adopt all the unclaimed dogs at the animal shelter. In the near future, she hopes to spend less time thinking about those dogs and more time writing.
Come get to know a bit more about Corinne with an
Interview (Part 2)
6. Now that we’ve gotten to know each other, tell me a story. It can be long or short. From your childhood or last week. Funny, sad, or somewhere in between. Just make sure it’s yours. What’s your story?
Letâ€™s talk about a dinner I had with my professor, Dr. Hart. The first week of finals, my friendâ€™s boyfriend had stopped me after an exam and asked me if Iâ€™d like to come along to an auction dinner heâ€™d won. In addition to my friend and her boyfriend, another fraternity brother would be coming along for a homecooked meal at our professorâ€™s house. I accepted, all grins despite nearly two hours of exam-induced cold sweats. I would be able to have a regular conversation with the professor that gave students a hell worth enduring. Without fail, his lectures were peppered with student answers and explanations to the readings, most of which we never fully understand–and it showed. By mid-semester, those of us who hadnâ€™t had the pleasure of being in his class knew the routine. Dr. Hart would pose the tail end of an insanely convoluted statement as a question, usually one bridging political philosophy with history. The two students in charge of discussing for the day would stare past him at the whiteboard or pretend to flip through their book, waiting until the other would answer. Dr. Hart never broke these silences. Eventually, one blurted out half of a sentence, paused. Every student trained their eyes on Dr. Hart from behind the podium. His face would twist and coil in shows of discontent, confusion, or thought. He would stare up at his victim from a tilted head, one fingerless glove on the reader, the other adjusting his glasses. Once his mouth opened, all other students would put down their pencils. If the student was lucky, he would get a simple, â€œNo, thatâ€™s wrongâ€ or â€œYes, but thereâ€™s moreâ€. Most of the time, Dr. Hart would dismantle an answer–while the valiant but clueless student squirmed and chewed at his mouth–before he redirected the question. As a victim of several of these encounters, this invite should have induced anxiety rather than excitement. And yet, there was something about Dr. Hart in his complex and paradox personality that made his presence slightly more intriguing than anything else. Each class, without fail, he dressed the part of a senile retiree who appeared to believe he was both a competitive biker (hence the fingerless gloves) and a gentlemen in the roaring 20s. His appearance played as a heavy distraction from his manner, but his ability to command a room incited respect and awe. What was the explanation for the large discrepancy between the outer shell of this man and his inner wealth of knowledge?
I must tell you, it is the disturbing result of a man who has amassed great knowledge on top of his lack of empathy and caring. His wife, the woman who set the table, took our coats, and waited on us while dinner finished cooking, was the first and ongoing victim of the evening. While she shared the story of how she met her husband, Dr. Hart chewed on in grimaced silence. His ashen face with eyes peeking over lowered glasses was no different than the look he gave to students as they spoke. And just as in class, he interrupted her to trump or correct her details about just how long they spent at a place or why they met. â€œIt felt like we were there forever!â€ She would gleam in a false-show of a tough time passed in her youth, cut short by his â€œWe only spent two weeks there, at most.â€ Each time, she would smile wider with his answers. When she had finished, Dr. Hart gave a smile. It didnâ€™t quite reach all of his eyes, only the corners, and he showed no teeth. â€œThe only reason we started dating is because your friend turned me down,â€ he began. All four of us emitted short, abrupt laughs, and I snuck a look to my friend seated next to me. I didnâ€™t want to appear rude and turn my head, so I only glanced for a second. Her eyes had widened, too. Dr. Hart went on to explain that while his wifeâ€™s old college friend was much more attractive, she didnâ€™t reciprocate his advances. So, he settled for talking to his wife. He did not end the story with a sweeter tone. Just as with his students, he left his response cutting and incomplete.
He offered us wine. All four of us shifted uncomfortably, not sure if accepting the gesture would be appropriate since we were underaged. â€œDo your parents normally let you have a glass with dinner?â€ He posed a question, and when none of us spoke he made several comments about how we shouldnâ€™t be so modest, us being college students. Three of us obliged, but my friend insisted that she was driving and shouldnâ€™t anyways. â€œOh, so good.â€ He purred, almost sarcastically. Everything he said, no matter what it was, had some trace of sarcasm to it. He even asked what the dinner was for, anyways, and my friendâ€™s boyfriend reminded him it was a part of the auction. Dr. Hart gave no other response than a shrug; he would sip his wine when he didnâ€™t want to continue the subject.
When my friend notified Dr. Hart that her and her boyfriend were dating because of his class, he didnâ€™t bother looking up at her from cutting his steak until she finished. All he said was, â€œAre you boyfriend and girlfriend too?â€ He chuckled to himself, brandishing his steak knife at the fraternity brother and I. The brother beat me to a response: Â â€œActually, no weâ€™re just friends,â€ and I gave a nervous, close-lipped smile. My friend folded her hands in her lap and tore at the edges of her napkin. On the car ride over, sheâ€™d told me how her boyfriend had talked with Dr. Hart about her before theyâ€™d even had a conversation. It seemed as if he didnâ€™t remember.
The wine loosened the boys up a bit, and they engaged in politics with Dr. Hart. Most of the conversation went along like this: the professor posed a statement and questions, and the boys would answer and debate. Half an hour after that, both dessert and the topics were finished up. Before the silence passed too long, Dr. Hartâ€™s wife wrapped the dinner up with a pleasant remark on how nice it was to have us over. We shuffled out, half turned to the couple and to the door. With our coats in hand, we gave quick waves at the two and thanked them until we stepped outside. When we reached the car across the street I turned to look at them one last time, but the door was already closed.
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