Tyrannosaur Canyon by Douglass Preston

Every reader out there has their "guilty pleasures", the books that they read just for fun, for me those are mystery/thrillers. For sure I read sci-fi/fantasy far, far more, but that's because I enjoy it more, it occupies more of my mind, but with mysteries I can just kinda kick back with a nice easy read and let go. They aren't particularly difficult and a lot of the time the twists are rather predictable, but it's fun! Back in my junior year my physics teacher--who also happens to be my across the street neighbor--introduced me to a great pair of authors: Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child. They both are distinguished solo authors, but they teamed up to write an absolutely fantastic series of mystery/thrillers. They also have a couple of novels that aren't part of the series that are amazing as well. I've read all but Riptide and after reading their latest Cemetery Dance I just had to get another one. It had also been a little while since I picked up a mystery and I needed a little break from the usual stuff. Unfortunately Page One, the local used book store here, was out of Riptide so I decided to get Tyrannosaur Canyon which is one of Preston's solo novels.

I don't know what it is about these guys, but even this solo novel had me hooked from page one! Generally I try and stay away from books set here in New Mexico, or even the Southwest, because I don't particularly like the culture that is overloaded in books about it. Not everyone here is a cowboy or an Indian, nor do we all love turquoise and silver jewelry. And no, I don't own any Indian pottery or rugs. So I was a bit hesitant to read it, but it turned out okay. For one the novel was set in Abiquiu, New Mexico, which is a small uber rural town up north. The characters were the usual innocent who witnesses a murder, the ex-con who's being used by a rich mastermind, and an ex CIA agent trying to redeem himself. One thing I think I should mention is that both Preston and Child are very into academia, in other words, they know their shit. One worked at the New York Natural History Museum, the other various other scientific places, so even though the story is fiction, a lot of the science is real. Which really helps when you have authors like Dan Brown out there fucking up their facts. This also helps with the fact that the majority of mystery books out there are kinda cookie cutter, different character names, different places, but overall the same plot. Although Tyrannosaur Canyon is similar to those others, it is also unique in its presentation.

The story follows the innocent cowboy who catches the ex-con killing a lone prospector in a remote canyon, the cowboy manages to revive the prospector long enough for him to hand over a notebook full of numbers and asks for that to be given to his daughter. Seeing as cowboys are very morally sound, he calls the police, but refuses to hand over the notebook and instead goes off on his own to try and figure out what happened. This leads him to the ex-CIA agent who, like most mystery supporting characters, is trying to hide from his past, this time by becoming a monk in a secluded dessert monastery. And so the hunt is on to unravel just what this notebook is for, why it's important enough to kill for, and all at the same time run from the ex-con who is trying to kill them. During the course of the book a side story emerges about the rich mastermind in which we are given more clues as to just what is going on. Since it is a mystery I won't bother with any more plot stuff, but instead I'm going to say that anyone in need of a good mystery that will throw you on it's masterful twists and turns, should pick up Tyrannosaur Canyon.

That's the other thing, unlike a lot of other mysteries, the actual mystery remains so until the very last minute, and even then your jaw will drop with the authors ingenuity. It had me staying up later than usual wanting to find out just what happened and thankfully it wasn't a let down at all! I don't know why, but I've found that when reading Preston and Child, and now just Preston, I always want to do the various careers featured in the book. After reading their first two books I was convinced I wanted to work in a museum, and then I wanted to work for the FBI, then the NYPD, then a journalist, the list goes on and on, but it always amazes me how they can make a rather dry, boring job seem really interesting. The same goes for this book, after reading it I really wanted to major in GEOLOGY and work for a lab analyzing rocks.. seriously. Geology is neat and all, but it is not a subject I particularly enjoyed in high school, nor in the various classes it's come up. For him to actually make me want to get a PhD in Geology is really something. I might just be easily swayed, but thankfully it doesn't last long, especially given the fact I look into the various fields and realize it's not that great. Major, major props to both Preston and Child though, because it takes a very good author to portray a boring-ish job in such a way to make the reader want to do that. It's one of the reasons I've read all of their books and now that I know Preston can write on his own, probably all his books. Next up I'll probably pick up a Child book and see how it stacks up. It was fascinating to see Preston's own style; it's easy to see where his own stuff comes through in their co-author books, but I must say, by himself he is not as good as with Child. I'm going to guess it's the same with the other one and that their own styles mate in such a way to make a fantastic book! If you don't do anything more than just go look at their books my mission has been accomplished. I yearn to introduce people to authors I like and hope that they will like them too, because really reading is magical and everyone should do it!

On Keeping a Journal

I began my summer school at cnm not knowing what was ahead of me. Would my teachers be nice? Would they be worth the time, the effort, the money? Or would it be just another semester of uninspired professors and equally uninspired students. English 102 is one of those core classes that everyone must take. This often leads to a certain amount of blah, a lack luster class full of busy work on things you already know or things you don't really want to know. Even still it is also one of those classes that needs to be taken by everyone, like math, English is one of those subject you build up on, and until you have the basics down, you're nothing more than mediocre. Indeed, even after taking the class you are more than likely going to still be mediocre, but the things you learn in such a class are valuable. A review of grammar, spelling, and most importantly a higher level or writing. Higher expectations. A higher degree of analysis. Deeper, more complex stories and plots. Unfortunately this is something you need to be guided on. You need a good teacher in order to get the most out of a class, especially one like English. My 101 professor, for example, was pretty bored with the whole thing. He was being forced to teach the intro class because there weren't more than a few high level poetry classes available to teach. And it showed. I went through that class with a minimal amount of effort, I don't even remember the essays I wrote, much less the stories from them. Essentially the teacher didn't want to be there any more than the students.

This summer however I was put into a situation where the professor cared a lot about his class and his subject. He had a PhD in English, was a journalist for the majority of his career, and genuinely cared about his students. In other words, I actually had to put effort into the class. The very first day he did something unexpected, one of our major assignments was to keep a journal throughout the summer. In order to make sure that we were keeping it we would have to turn it in every time we did a rough draft of an essay in class. This surprised me because I hadn't ever encountered a professor that gave us an assignment not just for busy work, but for our own, 100%, improvement. I started this blog because I believe the more you write, the better you become at writing. It's been iffy, but I do feel like I've improved somewhat. I can express myself better than when I started, I think anyway, I can put my thoughts down onto paper--so to speak--with more ease, and if nothing else my brain isn't as cluttered as before. This ideal was his as well, but instead of a blog, it was a journal. There was no page requirement, no topics given, it was completely up to us to put whatever we wanted down. Now I've had my fair share of experiences with journals, none of them have lasted, so I was somewhat skeptical of the whole thing. This is because I have always had in my mind that a journal was a daily log of what you did, I'm sorry, but that is horribly boring to me. My life is nothing special, I don't do anything fascinating enough day-to-day to put down, nor am I introspective enough to be able to analyze my day-to-day existence in any sort of self improvement way. So I thought about it, and thought about it, and finally shrugged, I would write what I would write. I wasn't going to put the date, I wasn't going to put what I did, I was just going to write. It essentially became another blog, but with no standards. Even though I knew he was going to read it, I didn't feel the need to make it as polished and complete or even as coherent as my blog is. In fact, it was rather strange, but the reason I didn't keep up with my journals previously is because I find the idea of reading my own stuff boring, I need an audience, I am and always will be an attention whore. What is this blog? It is of no importance, I have few readers, but those that do read drive me to keep writing. It may be a sad reason to write, but it's true, I'm an attention whore. I need people to read my writing even if they don't agree, I need them to validate me and make it so I'm "worth" something, even when I know I am not. That is exactly what happened with this school journal. I wrote and wrote and wrote, not because I had any real interest in it, not because I believe I will ever go back and read it, but because deep down I knew that this professor was going to read it.

The sentences spilled out, the paragraphs formed, the entries added up, and the pages flew by and you know what? I enjoy it. I think that it has even become something of a habit, albeit a rather random one. I don't write in it every day, I never planned to, but about once a week I'll sit down with it and just write. I don't feel restrained by the idea that someone is going to read it, because really even if they do they can't really comment, even if they do it's just a note here or there, whereas here every word and entry is criticized and analyzed by people. I think its a good thing for someone's writing to be torn apart, it helps improve it, and gives the author an idea of what they need to do to become better. But I have found that with a journal I can write merely to write. I've said here in the past that I write only to write and I don't care what people think, and that's true, to an extent. With a journal I've found that I can put anything down, no matter how absurd, incomplete, or random. It's rather refreshing to be honest. An essay is written to be torn apart by your professor, just as this blog is written to express my opinion and let others respond, but a journal is just for me. It's a place I can write about the stupidest or most profound things, and it has actually inspired some of these blog entries. It's like a rough draft for here, and if it doesn't make the cut, what the hell I still got it on paper; I still got the experience from the very act of writing. It doesn't all have to make it here, indeed, a lot of it is just getting my thoughts straight about my ideas, and I think it may actually help my writing not be so jumpy. I tend to figure things out as I write and that makes it difficult to follow from a readers point of view, but with my journal, if I have an idea or thought about something I can write it, expand it, change it all I want and then when I come here to actually express my thoughts they're more thought out.

As you can probably tell this isn't one of those that came from my journal, but hell writing by hand is also really, really hard. I find that with my sloppy handwriting two pages is maybe a page typed up. It's a slow, tedious process, but it's actually enjoyable. I also have the selfish idea in my head that, like some great authors, in the distant future my journal may even be published. It's silly, I know that, but I also feel that this blog may even be published! We'll see what happens! Besides you never know, something like this may actually be popular, I don't know why, but people are strange creatures.

Failure

I began this summer as a bright eyed optimist, having so many plans, so many goals, so much to do! Alas procrastination kicked in, followed by degradation brought on by my failures both physically and emotionally. Why is it that it is so easy for us to make these goals, have these plans, and aspirations if we know without a shadow of a doubt that we'll only fail? Why are we so enthralled by the idea of becoming better, but never actually following through? Is it just the idea of making something of yourself that gives your ego that extra boost to get you through whatever slump you're in? Or is it simply our nature to want to be better, promise ourselves to be better, and by doing so enable ourselves to put it off with idiotic excuses? "I want to get in shape, but school and work has just taken too much; it's too hot; I don't feel good." "I want to be a better student, but my teacher is an idiot and doesn't know what they're talking about; I have better things to do than stupid homework; oh I'll just do it tomorrow."

The worst part about the whole thing is how easy it is for us to say one thing and do nothing. In everything. Whether it is life, love, or anything in between. Not only that, but then it hits you and you actually realize that you're wasting your life. You're not doing what you want to do; you're avoiding situations that might actually make you a better person. That hurts. Waking up every day knowing that you're just another worker bee with hollow goals and moronic dreams. Is it possible to be too ambitious, but without the talent to make anything of those ambitions? For me this idea has struck home, hard, over the past few weeks. Although I'm doing well in my English class, I am once again confronted by my pure lack of math abilities. Perhaps I just have a mental block when it comes to math; psychologically it's proven that if you believe something long enough it becomes your reality, but do I want to put it off as easily as that? Am I really so controlled by my unconscious that I am mentally and physically at a standstill? I go off on how life isn't fair and how I hate this or that, but what am I really doing with my life? Nothing. At least that's how it feels to me. I have all these dreams, I have all these needs of being amazing, of doing something important, to be recognized, but yet I refuse to put any effort into my own life. How is it that someone can be so ambitious yet so unmotivated? It just doesn't work. The whole situations leads to failure and disappointment, common themes in my life, and yet, even with this knowledge I still do nothing. I don't pursue my dreams, I don't work at my classes, I don't try and better myself mentally much less physically, and top of that I'm a bitter wreck. I criticize people better than me, I'm surrounded by them. All of my friends are talented, smart, and actually making something of themselves. This should motivate me, this should make me strive to better myself, but I'm so bitter and jealous I find myself thinking it's not worth it. Why should I pursue this or that when my friends can all do it far better than I can? But this isn't a healthy way of thinking, I know that, I realize it, but how do I stop it?

I say old euphemism "acceptance is the first step to recovery" more often than not in an ironic almost sarcastic sort of way, but is it true? It may be relative, works for some people, but not for everyone perhaps. I find that knowing I'm a failure and even accepting it doesn't do jack for me. In fact, more often than not it just depresses me and forces me to seek comfort in another or in one of my books. I then forget my failures for hours, days, maybe a week, but sooner or later it hits me again and I'm just as depressed and bitter as I ever. Am I just masochistic? Do I need to cause myself heartache and pain in order to live? Maybe I'm just punishing myself for not doing what I hope to do. For not being the person I know I could be. I don't commit to the philosophical ideal of determinism. I do not believe that we're set for life the minute we're born, that some so called "God" has a plan for each and every one of us, I believe that if you work for it you can do anything you want. It is somewhat naive here in America where the rich can do whatever they want regardless of talent, skill, or work. But I really do believe that you can be whoever you want to be if you put your mind to it. So what do I want to be? I don't even know. I'm currently aiming for medical school for Psychiatry, but who am I kidding? Just like my idiotic ideas of being an astrophysicist that I stuck to throughout high school, I don't believe I have the talent to become the kind of psychiatrist I want to be. Perhaps I need to learn to settle on being mediocre, but in a country that spouts free will and stories of rags to riches how can anyone honestly be happy just being? I want to be something, I want to be someone.

Even still I know that I am not. I will never live up to the goals I have set for myself. I will never be a Martin Luther King Jr., a John F. Kennedy, a Ghandi, or even looking at it the other way a Hitler, Stalin, Pol Pot, or any other hero or villain throughout history. Why am I so obsessed with being a one in a million, why do I have to be special in anyway? Why can't I just accept and be happy with who I am? I have my talents, sort of, I read a lot and have an amazing comprehension, I mean there are millions of people in the world that don't even know how to read. That should be something I can be proud of, yet I can't. It's not good enough. I'm not good enough. The saying "The grass is always greener on the other side" is so god damn true, and it's awful. I can juggle, I can navigate a computer and other such technology some people aren't comfortable with, I have great friends, an absolutely amazing girlfriend, but yet I want more. I want to be acknowledged for something. All of my "talents" are nothing more than slightly above average, all of my friends can rape me at juggling, I know several people that are better readers than I am, my writing is ghastly compared to my friends, and every other thing I might pride myself on I know someone who does it that much better than me. Even if I were to be better than my friends at something, anything, there is going to be someone out there who's even better at it than I am. Whether it is due to talent or unimaginable devotion it doesn't matter, they're out there. Sure I can become a psychiatrist, but I'll never be a Freud. I can become a physicist, but never an Einstein. A politician even, but never a JFK. Hell even my half assed attempts at being a radical are failures when it comes right down to it, I mean really, picketing for prairie dogs? No wonder no one gave a shit. All of my passions, chess, writing, juggling, reading, psychology, all of them are going to be utter disappointments because of my inability to settle for what I have. It's not fair. It just isn't! Why are some people gifted with the ability to be amazing authors or world class chess players? Why are some people just naturally better than others at things, but I'm not naturally good at ANYTHING. You would think that with almost 7 billion people on this earth that I would have a chance to be decent at something. I would be able to handle decent at something, to have a talent for something. But there isn't one thing in this world that I'm even remotely talented at. I have to work at everything, I have to work at my job to make the a living when people are born into shitloads of money; I have to work at school when plenty of people just coast through without a care and still pull all A's; I have to work at everything I do and even still I come up short of the average. I'm subpar on everything: math, English, writing, chess, athletics, even my god damn people skills suck. I alienate my friends, push away my family, and fight with my girlfriend all for ridiculous reasons. Just because I suck at life doesn't mean I should take it out on everyone else who'd actually succeeding, but I'm jealous. It's not fair, none of it.

So I sit here and instead of trying to do something with myself, anything at all, I complain. Just like I complain about everything else. Granted my complaints about religion, politics, and utter stupidity I think are actually justified, this is just plain and simple venting. I apologize to those that might actually read this, though they are few. I make myself out to be a strong willed, morally sound person in my posts, and if I let you down then I did. It's no big deal; I disappoint everyone I care about and most of all myself. Still I know I won't do anything, I won't actually pursue my random interests, but what does it matter? Once I become decent at whatever it is I get into in the future, I'll just find someone out there that's far superior than I am. Until I become something I don't know how to cope with myself. Maybe that's the reason I read so much, I'm living vicariously through the characters, and somewhat through the author. While I read the world disappears and I'm actually someone, I'm actually doing something with my life. I strongly believe that if I hadn't met Kimberley I would be a complete and utter recluse at this point. I more than likely would have dropped out, spent all my money on books, food, and other such material things, but luckily I found her. And amazingly she loves me as I love her! She's the most important thing in my life and I can't imagine a world without her at this point. When I read I may lose myself, but she's always the lighthouse guiding me home when I'm lost in the fog of my mind. She pulls me out of my slumps, makes me believe in myself, and I do believe that someday, with her help, I will become something. I no doubt will have to settle, because even statistically those one of a kind people are the rarest of rare: products of their time, their environment, their genes, and their genius. Slowly I'm trying to be a better person, I haven't missed one class this summer, I plan on doing the same this coming fall, and hopefully even with my poor math skills I will pull my ass outta this funk and pass, not only that understand. For now, thank you for bearing with me. I have no reason to post this, I should probably put it in my journal where only she and I can read, but I am an attention whore, and although I have no doubt some people will be mean about it. Whatever. I can handle a lot of criticism; I do actually, from everyone for everything, and myself. And honestly no matter what anyone thinks or says it's not as bad as my own inner voice.

The Edge of Reason by Melinda Snodgrass

Since my "to read" bookshelf has 16 titles I don't honestly know why I keep buying books. It's an addiction, it has to be! In any case even though I knew I had all those titles on my shelf I still wondered into Page One with a couple bucks in cash. It's to the point that I know what I want to read, but don't want to start it because it's a series. I have all sorts of series to read already so I really don't want to start another one, well that's not true, I do want to start them all of them, but the fact is I don't have time to read them! So I go in, meander about for 20 minutes before heading to the little counter for help--I know me a worker at my own bookstore needing help. So I ask the guy there who was the person that knew the most about sci-fi/fantasy--it turns out it was him--and ask him the most difficult question I get asked: "I need a great fantasy or sci-fi that is a single novel, not a series, not stand alone in a universe, but a single fully contained novel." Trust me on this, this question is a whore and loaded to all hell because everyone knows the best aspects of sci-fi/fantasy are their epic series, see Tolkien, Goodkind, Herbert, and Feist just to name a few. His face betrays exactly what I said above in a grimace, I can't blame him, but then I added the fact that I've read a whole hell of a lot already so it might be tougher than usual. We headed over to the section and as we walked he tossed a couple no brainers at me: Crichton, Bradbury, Heinlein, and Dick. All the ones he mentioned I had read save for a Phillip K. Dick whom I was not in the mood for. Then he asked a question that threw me off "how do you feel about religion?" Whew that was one thing I didn't expect at all! I shrug and give him the most non-offensive answer I could while still being true with myself "Eh I'm not a fan, it's all kinda a joke to me." Again this guy throws me off and he laughs and says "I've got a book you have to read!" Here I was thinking he was gonna set me up with a religious themed fantasy--gag--instead he shows me a local author named Melinda Snodgrass who just came out with a new book called The Edge of Reason.

The quote on the cover from George R.R. Martin reads:
"Will delight thinkers--and outrage true believers--of all stripes"

He tells me, basically, that she bashes every major world religion AND governments. Say no more my friend, say no more! Unfortunately for them it was new so I decided to hold off and pick it up with my discount at my work, but in the meantime another guy overhears us who was on break and brings up L. Ron Hubbards book Battlefield Earth. Yikes, Hubbard, really? Whole load of crazy right there. They both assure me that this one was pre-psycho lets start a religion Hubbard and I also remembered that my uncle read most of his pre-crazy books as well and like them, so for 2 bucks I picked it up. I haven't started it yet, but it should be.. an interesting experience to say the least. Hopefully I can keep my bias out of it and just try and enjoy it as a good piece of sci-fi. I'll let you guys know.

So crazy cult leaders aside, this book was amazingly entertaining! Before I go into the plot and symbolism's of the book I have to get some dumb things out of the way. Now I have no right to criticize anyone on their writing, grammar, or mechanics since I suck horribly at all three, but as a reader I have certain expectations of the authors I read. I expect that, as a professional, you won't have too many silly typos/misspellings, I expect that if this isn't your first book that your plots aren't as see through as a third graders, and I expect that your sentence structure and syntax are much more complex than that of a middle schooler. Ms. Snodgrass does a good job with most of the stuff, but I felt myself getting distracted by a rather way of talking. It wasn't horribly confusing just a couple points needed to be re-read so I was comfortable with what I read, there were some silly mistakes here and there, probably due to her editor being lazy over her, and the biggest down to her book was the fact that she kinda gave everything away within the first 100 pages. The grammar and poor editing aside, seeing an author tell all about a plot and the characters so early in a book is a major turn off. There were a couple surprises in the end, and obviously this one is a start of a series so the end itself was rather eh. By the way I took this book because the rest of the series isn't out so I have time to read my other stuff! Generally though aside from some flattish characters--whom I expect will be developed more further in the series--and a plot given away like a drunk virgin, it was a good book.

Like I've said before I'm not going to write a book report for you guys, if you're intrigued by it go pick it up! The thing that made me the happiest was the fact that she grouped ALL of the religious together, she wasn't picking on one over the other, she came right out and said that the entire idea of religions is stupid. Not only that, she made religion and their "gods" into evil creatures using superstition and stagnation to enslave mankind. Indeed one of the major characters is named Cross and he's guess who? Jesus Christ! But really he's a powerful "old one" whom has been converted to the side of reason and logic. The kickass thing about Cross that Ms. Snodgrass uses to attack religions even more is this: He's a schizophrenic! That's right, he's been here since we evolved and based on the cultural view of wherever he is he becomes either Jesus for Christians, Yehoshua for the Jews, and Allah for the Muslims. So not only are these stupid religious people fighting each other under THE SAME GOD, but they're being controlled and enslaved by every "god" throughout human history. She addresses one of the major things I have a problem with in Christianity which is the fact that in the Old Testament God was an asshole. He killed us, punished us, made us suffer, and overall enjoyed it, this is, she explains, because that's how these creatures thrive ff human suffering. Until one of the other major characters comes in and changes the view of a spiteful angry god into that one of compassion these creatures used holy wars and all those awful things that happened to become stronger. Christians always tend to play off those atrocities as God "testing us", but in reality they were doing it for their own pleasure. Oh man she did it so eloquently and so masterfully that I totally let most of her almost poor writing go and gave her a 7/10 on my list. Another theme that played a smaller role in the book was that of corruption and how if you have enough money you could be the most evil, vile person on the world and get away with anything. It also addressed aspects of homophobia, race, and family.

If you're iffy on religion or hell even if you are religious I think it's a great book to pick up! She's a lot meaner than, say, Christopher Moore's Lamb, but there are things Snodgrass brings up that need to be addressed. Hell it got a good review by the great George R.R. Martin that alone should compel any fantasy fan to pick this up!

Passion: Tree Houses

As I was cleaning up my store this evening I stumbled upon this amazing book in one of the home sections. It's called Treehouse Living and it brought up emotions in me that I haven't felt since I was a kid!
Naturally I stopped what I was doing and started flipping through it, and guys, this is one of the most gorgeous books I have ever seen! Perhaps it's just me, but I can't think of anything more amazing that being so.. intertwined with nature as a treehouse! Ever since I was a child I've wanted a treehouse, unfortunately living here in New Mexico makes it rather difficult to build one. I have seen a couple pretty neat ones around town, but it's almost impossible to find the proper tree for the designs I have floating in my head, it's just too dry! In any case this book made me think about them again and god damn I swear here and now that when I'm older and richer I will build myself one. I know what you're thinking, "Ryan you're the most not carpentry/building manly man ever" and it's true, but I will do whatever it takes to full fill this dream. I'll even overcome my mild fear of heights and dangle from a tree to build this. I know I'm probably going to need someone there who actually knows what the hell their doing, but I think it would be really gratifying to build my own! I suck at drawing so I haven't tried to draw one in a really long time, but maybe I'll start playing with sketches--hahaha doodles more likely--look at a few books like the one above and try and get an idea of what I want.

Like I said I've always loved the idea of treehouses even now I don't know why exactly. They've always seemed magical to me probably because my favorite mythical creature is the elf and in every amazing fantasy the elves live in forests and have cities in the trees. From Tolkiens Lothlórien to Feists Elvandor, fantasy has always blown my imagination away with it's elven cities.. the peacefulness, the calmness, the pure magic of it all has always captured my heart. Granted realistically I can't really expect to have a treehouse even comparable to those of Lothlórien or Elvandor, I think I can make something really cool!

Lothlórien

So naturally I came home and got online to check out what cool designs I could find and sadly there aren't any very good pictures out there. I did find a few that are really pretty, but I may just have to purchase that book at some point and upload the pics, or maybe I'll take some shots with my phone next time I'm working. For now, here's some cool treehouses I found! If you know of any please link them for me!

This one is the same as on the front of the book, except in winter obviously

This one I absolutely adore!

The same as above, from the front! Tell me that isn't AMAZING! Gah!

This one is kinda rickety, but it's still gorgeous

Another amazing one, I think I want mine higher though!

This is another really cool design!

Another thing I can say without a doubt is that I want it to have a spiral staircase up and around the trunk like the first one! This is more than likely because of the fantasy visuals I have in my head, but I also think it looks so freaking cool! I'll have to see what I can do about finding pics of some of the ones in that book. More than likely I'm already breaking some sort of copyright so whatever ya know? Not like I'm making money off 'em!