MFM: Polaris

I cross my yard in the early morning air, pausing to wiggle my toes amidst sharp blades of grass and grainy clumps of dirt. I look up—instinctively, reflexively—searching or stories and magic twinkling against their dark backdrop, just barely out of reach. Polaris shines brighter than them all: the night’s lighthouse, guiding people home for eons.

The moon shines down in spotlights, tracking me as I spin in the grass below. I nearly slip from the dew on my makeshift dancefloor. Still, I spin faster, until the stars are streaks of silver above. Faster, until the swirling air feels like it could lift me off the ground. Faster, until I’m stumbling over my giggles and laughter and can’t spin any longer.

I close my eyes and imagine the big dipper tipping and showering me with stardust. I dance with fragments of the universe until they fade in the glowing embers of the sun. The warmth of dawn melts the cosmos to my skin, and I am one with the universe.

Micro Fiction Monday: Shooting Star

It flashes by in a single streak against black—the world’s only evidence of magic. Over in half a second, and the sky turns back to darkness.

Most people miss it. They’re too blinded by the city lights, or too caught up in dream world to notice the spark of wonder above their heads. Those who are lucky enough to catch that glimpse don’t even see the stardust in their hands; they brush it off like dirt. They carry on with their lives, oblivious to what they gave up.

But some people know. These people are few in numbers, dwindling down as time goes on, but they still exist. They see the light for what it is. They catch the stardust, cradle it in their hands, and don’t dare to let it go. They bottle it up, seal it tight, and wear it around their necks--not as a trophy, but a symbol.

They kiss that bottle and make a wish. Because the people who believe, who see the possibility in a small vial of glitter...

Those people conquer the world.

How do book ratings even work?

I've been doing (almost) weekly reviews on this blog for around a year now, and I've come to the realization that my rating system is extremely inefficient. Basically, I rate a book on a scale of 1-5 stars, in two different ways. Either:

1) Based off of how strong my emotions are reacting to the story,

OR

2) How well written it is IN SPITE OF how strong my emotions are reacting to the story.

Let me explain. We're going to compare three different examples: November 9 by Colleen Hoover (which I reviewed on Wednesday), Pinch Me by Adena Halpern, and Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone by J.K. Rowling. Let's start with the most recent.

I just read November 9. At the time of writing this, I just finished it last night (instead of doing homework lol whoops). If you haven't read my review, I'll summarize it for you: I LOVED IT A CRAPTON. It started out fluffy and cutesy and turned into a soap opera halfway through and I ain't even mad because I loved every second of it! So, obviously, I immediately went on to Goodreads and rated it five stars, because I was on an emotional high that I never wanted to come down from.

Now, despite how much I loved this book, I recognize that it's not perfect. It's got some issues. (And I identify those issues in my review, if you wanted to know what they are.) But I made the conscious decision to forego all that in favour of a five star rating, because that's what I do when I adore a book--I give it an immediate five star rating.

Now, I'm going to hit you with an extremely unpopular opinion that's going to get me kicked off the internet--I don't like Harry Potter. I'm sorry! I tried! I forced myself to read the first book a couple years ago, and I had little to no emotional attachment and/or reaction to the story. Even watching the movies, I'm indifferent. I just don't give a crap about wizards, I guess.

Anyway, my initial reaction (or lack thereof) made me want to give the book a pretty low rating. Like, a two. Or maybe even a one. (Which is unheard of--a one-star book is one that I don't finish, which means that I don't rate it because I feel bad reviewing an unfinished book.) But still, on Goodreads, I gave it a solid three. I question this, given my passionate indifference to it.

But here's the thing--it's actually really well written.

Even though I couldn't bring myself to care about the characters, even if I felt that the plot advanced too slowly in parts and I have 0 intention of ever picking up the second book, I can still acknowledge the fact that it has some great bits. The description is really well written, and the world is one full of imagination and wonder. Even though I, personally, dislike the book, I can see how so many people fall in love with it.

And then there's Pinch Me, an adult fiction book that I read shortly after Harry Potter, and gave it the same rating. HOWEVER. I enjoyed this book a hell of a lot more. I liked the premise better, I liked the writing style better, I liked the characters better. I rated it lower on my scale due to smaller things, like absurdity of some of the plot points, or the overall goofiness of it that just can't be taken too seriously.

Still, though, the more I think about it, the more I'd like to bump it up to four stars.

Actually, I think I'll do that now.

That basically proves my point right there: I have no consistency. Zero! I make it up as I go! I have no system, no protocol to figuring out what I should rate a book. It's just "Eh...sure, we'll go with this." I almost feel like five stars isn't enough--because how can I rate two books that I enjoyed differently the same number of stars? More importantly--do my ratings really mean anything if I just go back and change them later? (Which I do. A lot.)

(If you'd like further discussion on rating books, I recommend this video by Ariel Bissett on YouTube.)

How do you normally go about rating books? Or do you just simplify your life and not even bother?

Until later,

- Justyne

Micro Fiction Monday: Stars

She always loved the stars. In the short walk from her parents’ car to the front door of their tiny house, her neck was always tipped back, eyes glued on the little white dots above her. Her mother had to guide her along, gently pushing her from behind, or else the daughter would be hypnotized all night.

When the girl was older, she crossed the town line and entered the vast fields and forests outside the city. It was then that she realized how suppressed her dear stars were—how the harsh neon smothered the gentle magic in the sky. A few dots became a million pecks, brighter and more beautiful than she could have imagined.

When she returned home, she bought some paint. It wasn’t long before the night sky was replicated on her ceiling, the last thing she saw before sleep dragged her away.

~~

Until later,

- Justyne

Micro Fiction Monday: Keepsake

She allowed herself to step back for a moment. She stepped back, leaving her body as an empty shell so she could fly. So she could sleep on a cloud with the moon as her nightlight. So she could ride the waves of the wind and collect the stars as she went.

When she returned, all was as it should be. Her extraordinary life was no longer extraordinary; mundane, as most lives are. Except, of course, for the stars filling her pockets; a keepsake and a reminder of her journey. She would keep them forever, pressed into the pages of her favourite books.

They shined just as brightly as the stories inside them.

~~

Until later,

- Justyne

Micro Fiction Monday: Looking Up

When I was younger, I always stared at the ground. I watched every step I took, every spot of pavement that disappeared beneath the shadow of my foot. I took each step with precision, over and around every crack and imperfection in the cement. One two three, one two three…that’s how many strides I could take, in rhythm, within each individual square on the sidewalk. I counted them carefully. They were always exact.

As I grew older, I began looking up. I found shapes in the clouds during the day—a mermaid here, an angel there, a strange creature that resembled something of a cross between a turtle and a dragon. Come night, my gaze met the brightness of the stars, glimmering and twinkling against the blackness of the sky. My mind looked for no shapes, instead taking the stars for what they were, and dreaming of others, like me, who were looking up at the same ones.

~~

Until later,

- Justyne

Sunrise (Micro Fiction Monday)

The boy was born from the land. His body emerged from the depths of the cold earth, his breath borrowed from the wind, the colour of his eyes as green as the leaves that sprouted up around him. His skin was brown like the bark of the trees that raised him. They spoke to him, and he understood as easily as a son understands his father.

The girl was born from the sky. Her skin was as pale as the moonlight, her hair as black as the darkest night. Her body was formed by the stars—just like the ones who spoke to her, gossiping and giggling over the actions of the humans below.

Humans like the son of the Earth, who often stared up at the stars in awe and amazement, dreaming of a world he would never know. He caught the twinkling eyes of the girl in the sky, and their love came together in an explosion of colours—orange and pink and everything in between. Their love was warm, and it was hopeful. Like the rise of a new day.

~~

Until later,

- Justyne

Skyward Dance (Micro-Fiction Monday)

When you’re ready, meet me above the clouds.

The wind wrapped itself around her body, brushing her hair against her skin and rustling the feathers behind her back. She flexed the muscles protruding from her back, stretching them out as far as they would reach. Her fingers twitched, feeling the wind that embraced her.

She took a breath and ran.

Her bare feet pounded against the dirt beneath her, splashing through puddles and crushing dead leaves. It was dark, but even so she could see the end of the earth fast approaching.

She stretched out her arms, shifted her wings. Her feet pushed off the ground for a final time, the weight of her body working with gravity to push her down, down towards the earth that was now far beneath her.

But gravity had never won against her before.

Within moments she was soaring, flying, swooping with the wind. Her wings carried her up, higher and higher, the wind growing colder and pricking her skin with goose bumps. She felt the moisture of the vapor as she entered the clouds; the things she had once imagined as fluffy cotton balls nothing more than water in disguise.

                

Thousands of stars, stretching out for miles and miles in all directions. The earth was far beneath her now; the air was thin and cold, her short breaths coming out in clouds of her own creation. The moon sparkled and shone in the sky—not as bright as the sun, but easier to look at.

Then there was him.

The moonlight accented his own wings as he circled around, riding the currents of air as he waited for her. He noticed her quickly and paused, allowing gravity to drop him towards her. He took her hands in his and the two shot upward, twirling and dipping and soaring together, as they performed their own skyward dance in the starlight.

~~

Until later,

- Justyne