Enter! Misc Avatar Contest: Books
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^Saw her on The Daily Show. Nearly wept.
eta: can't decide
or
eta: can't decide
or
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^that's a little too big.
My brain may melt trying to decide on this one....
Thanks for pointing that out. Never trust Gickr to make the "custom size" the largest one.
Resized:
Shakespeare & Company in Paris 
That's why I chose it. I loved it when Jon asked if her father would mind if he adopted her.
OK, I guess I'll go with this one:
Here's mine, one of my favourite recent books.
Also really like the artwork, so here's a bigger version of the image as the avatar is harder to see the detail with.
Also really like the artwork, so here's a bigger version of the image as the avatar is harder to see the detail with.
I'm not sure what the deadline is, but I'll try to get something up when I come home this afternoon.
^^ Thank you. I guess I didn't need to worry. 
But I think I'm all set. I think this will fall under the parameters of the theme; if not, let me know.
The Fogg Library in South Weymouth. A magical place to a nine-year-old who was new in town. From the outside, it looked like a castle. Inside, there were rows of overflowing bookshelves, a study room full of encyclopedias both general and specific, a sitting room with couches and a fireplace, and a wide staircase going up to the mysterious attic. And there was the old copy machine by the door, which chugged like a steam train and gave out warm sheets of white paper accompanied by the sweet smell of black ink. In the Winter, it was an oasis from the cold; in the Summer, the hot air rose to the high ceilings, leaving it cool and pleasant like a cave. And, of course, the endless books, their hard covers wrapped in scuffed plastic, their pulpy pages tinged vaguely yellow and smelling a bit musty, and filled with the infinite wonderment of stories and poems and history and science. In short, the closest thing to heaven yet created.
But I think I'm all set. I think this will fall under the parameters of the theme; if not, let me know.
The Fogg Library in South Weymouth. A magical place to a nine-year-old who was new in town. From the outside, it looked like a castle. Inside, there were rows of overflowing bookshelves, a study room full of encyclopedias both general and specific, a sitting room with couches and a fireplace, and a wide staircase going up to the mysterious attic. And there was the old copy machine by the door, which chugged like a steam train and gave out warm sheets of white paper accompanied by the sweet smell of black ink. In the Winter, it was an oasis from the cold; in the Summer, the hot air rose to the high ceilings, leaving it cool and pleasant like a cave. And, of course, the endless books, their hard covers wrapped in scuffed plastic, their pulpy pages tinged vaguely yellow and smelling a bit musty, and filled with the infinite wonderment of stories and poems and history and science. In short, the closest thing to heaven yet created.
