Read De utvalda: Tankeläsaren by Kristin Cashore Free Online
Book Title: De utvalda: Tankeläsaren|
Date of issue: September 2012
ISBN: No data
ISBN 13: No data
The author of the book: Kristin Cashore
Format files: PDF
The size of the: 15.81 MB
Read full description of the books De utvalda: Tankeläsaren:Deadly Grace
Katsa has been able to kill a man with her bare hands since she was eight--she's a Graceling, one of the rare people in her land born with an extreme skill. As niece of the king, she should be able to live a life of privilege, but Graces as she is with killing, she is forced to work as the king's thug.
When she first meets Prince Po, Graced with combat skills, Katsa has no hint of how her life is about to change.
She never expects to become Po's friend.
She never expects to learn a new truth about her own Grace--or about a terrible secret that lies hidden far away...
Read information about the authorSo, here's the short tale of me: I grew up in the countryside of northeastern Pennsylvania in a village with cows and barns and beautiful views from the top of the hill and all that good stuff. I lived in a rickety old house with my parents, three sisters, and a scattering of cats, and I READ READ READ READ READ. I read while brushing my teeth, I read while chopping parsley, the first thing I reached for when I woke up in the morning was my book; the only two places I didn't read were in the car and in bed. What did I do then? The one thing I liked even more than reading: I daydreamed.
And so, without knowing it, I was planting the seeds. Reading and daydreaming = perfect preparation for writing.
At 18 I went off to college-- thank you, Williams College, for the financial aid that made this possible-- and it almost killed me. College is hard, man, and the Berkshires are cloudy. A (phenomenal) year studying abroad in sunny Sydney revived me. After college I developed a compulsive moving problem: New York City, Boston, Cambridge, Austin, Pennsylvania, Italy, and even a short stint in London, where my showerhead hung from the cutest little stand that was exactly like the cradle of an old-fashioned telephone. The best phone calls are the pretend phone calls made from your telephone tub.
During my stint in Boston, I got an M.A. at the Center for the Study of Children's Literature at Simmons College. (Thank you, Simmons, for the scholarship that made this possible!) Grad school almost killed me, but I felt a lot more alive than when I was almost being killed in college. The Simmons program is stupendous. It got me thinking and breathing YA books. It got me writing.
Am I getting boring?
Since Simmons, I haven't stopped writing, not once. I've developed a compulsive writing problem that makes my moving problem look like a charming personality quirk. I can't stop! But it's okay, because I don't want to stop. I've been writing full-time-- well, more than full-time, really-- for about 4 years now, first doing educational writing for the K-6 market and now working on my novels. It's a dream job, which is another way of saying that when I shop for work clothes, I go straight to the pajamas section.
Should I say a little bit about what I'm like? I'm fiercely independent. I am sometimes a hermit, but never for very long. I am in search of the perfect cat. I'm a recovering Catholic. I meditate, and when I do, Prince Harry appears in my subconscious and meditates with me. It's a little strange but I don't think there's anything I can do about it. Sometimes he's not the only one; the other day it was me, Prince Harry, the Dalai Lama, Mr. Rogers, Coco the gorilla, and George Clooney. We were all floating above the earth looking down at the continents as they passed. George Clooney suggested I visit Providence, Rhode Island. The Dalai Lama sighed deeply and said he'd really like to visit Tibet.
Poor Dalai Lama.
I recently moved from Jacksonville, Florida, to Cambridge, Massachusetts, trading the St. Johns River for the Charles River and pelicans for geese. As a native northerner, it's nice to be back in the land of four seasons. I feel as if I've come home. :o)
And that's my story.
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