Create Your Life Book: Mixed-Media Art Projects for Expanding Creativity and Encouraging Personal Growth

Review This is a beautiful book with vibrant color and whimsical projects. The stepped-out photographs make for clear, easy-to-follow instructions. It is equal parts self-help and art book. I applaud Tamara for creating such a wonderful book, through it's absolutely no surprise. This is a must-have for every mixed-media artist's bookshelf.― Somerset Studio About the Author Tamara Laporte is a celebrated mixed-media artist and art teacher who has been running her own creative business, willowing.org, since late 2008. Since then, she has become a creative catalyst for thousands of artists. Her work, which can be described as “mixed-media folk art meets magical realism,” ranges from whimsical children’s illustrations to more stylised fantasy art. Symbolism and layering play a big part in her work, and her paintings often contain healing themes, uplifting messages, and inspirational poetry. Tamara believes that the act of creating art can be a gateway into healing and personal growth. Her art classes often contain an element of self-development along with instruction on art techniques. She is deeply devoted to helping people get in touch with their creative fire, and works tirelessly to bring uplifting, nourishing, creative, and empowering content to her amazing tribe of thousands. The author of the best-selling Create Your Life Book, Tamara's work has been featured in many art magazines, books, and media outlets. She runs a variety of popular art classes on her ning network, which has more than 24,500 members and grows by 150–200 mixed-media enthusiasts each month. She lives in Devon, UK.

Fun Fab Swatch Pad: Fun color swatching templates designed for artists by artists! (Fun Fab Drawing Series)

The Ultimate LEGO Book

Amazon.com Review "This book is not a book about a toy. It is a book about an idea, a set of values, and a long-term commitment to empowering children to use their creativity and build their imagination." So states Lego Group president Kjeld Kirk Kristiansen in his introduction to this fascinating, visually exciting tribute to Lego bricks and the people who play with them. Lego "maniacs" are no mere invention of Lego Group's industrious marketing machine. Enthusiastic fans of the ingeniously designed, colorful plastic building blocks do indeed exist, and in vast numbers--as of 1996, an estimated 300 million children and adults had played with Lego bricks since the first one rolled off the presses in 1949. (How many yellow knob-headed Lego people populate the earth today? A cool 2.3 billion.) The visual wizards at Dorling Kindersley have labored together with the staff at Lego to assemble a hefty, photo-rich book essential to the library of any maniac (or maniac emeritus). The Ultimate Lego Book recounts the company's early history as a one-man operation back in the 1930s and subsequent creation of its first plastic "automatic binding brick," to the contemporary construction of myriad Legoland theme parks. Trivia buffs will appreciate the playful but detailed graphic time line (first Lego window, 1957; first wheel, 1962; first dolphin, 1995). Everyone will love the pages of imagination-stretching constructions, from the small but clever (an unmistakable Elvis, complete with pompadour) to the overwhelmingly detailed (a meticulous model of Grand Central Station) to the downright strange (a life-size space helmet with visor and gas mask). The Lego universe includes a Mona Lisa replica, a 10,500-piece pelican, and even a yellow submarine. Enjoy! (Ages 6 to 106) --Paul Hughes

Middle School, The Worst Years of My Life (Middle School, 1)

Review A #1 New York Times BestsellerA #1 Indiebound BestsellerA 2010 Oregon Children's Choice Award WinnerA 2012 Top Ten Quick Picks for Reluctant Young ReadersA 2013 Hawaii's Children's Choice Award WinnerA 2013 ALSC Summer Reading List BookA 2014 Oregon Reader's Choice Award NomineeA 2014 ALSC Summer Reading List Book* "Patterson artfully weaves a deeper and... thought-provoking tale of childhood coping mechanisms and everyday school and family realities.... Hand this book to misbehaving, socially awkward, or disengaged boys and girls.... It might help them believe that there is a place for them in the world, no matter how dire times may seem in the present."― School Library Journal, starred review "A keen appreciation of kids' insecurities and an even more astute understanding of what might propel boy readers through a book.... a perfectly pitched novel."― Los Angeles Times "The book's... dynamic artwork, and message that 'normal is boring' should go a long way toward assuring kids who don't fit the mold that there's a place for them, too."― Publishers Weekly "Incredibly detailed and imaginative illustrations... add depth and humor.... an enjoyable story that even the most reluctant readers should enjoy."― Library Media Connection About the Author James Patterson is the world’s bestselling author. The creator of Max Einstein and Middle School, he founded JIMMY Patterson to publish books that young readers will love. He lives in Florida with his family. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Middle School, The Worst Years of My Life By Patterson, James Little, Brown and Company Copyright © 2011 Patterson, JamesAll right reserved. ISBN: 9780316101875 CHAPTER 1 I’M RAFe KHATCHADORiAN, TRAGiC HeRO It feels as honest as the day is crummy that I begin this tale of total desperation and woe with me, my pukey sister, Georgia, and Leonardo the Silent sitting like rotting sardines in the back of a Hills Village Police Department cruiser. Now, there’s a pathetic family portrait you don’t want to be a part of, believe me. More on the unfortunate Village Police incident later. I need to work myself up to tell you that disaster story. So anyway, ta-da , here it is, book fans, and all of you in need of AR points at school, the true autobio of my life so far. The dreaded middle school years. If you’ve ever been a middle schooler, you understand already. If you’re not in middle school yet, you’ll understand soon enough. But let’s face it: Understanding me —I mean, really understanding me and my nutty life—isn’t so easy. That’s why it’s so hard for me to find people I can trust. The truth is, I don’t know who I can trust. So mostly I don’t trust anybody. Except my mom, Jules. (Most of the time, anyway.) So… let’s see if I can trust you. First, some background. That’s me, by the way, arriving at “prison”—also known as Hills Village Middle School—in Jules’s SUV. The picture credit goes to Leonardo the Silent. Getting back to the story, though, I do trust one other person. That would actually be Leonardo. Leo is capital C Crazy, and capital O Off-the-Wall, but he keeps things real. Here are some other people I don’t trust as far as I can throw a truckload of pianos. There’s Ms. Ruthless Donatello, but you can just call her the Dragon Lady. She teaches English and also handles my favorite subject in sixth grade—after-school detention. Also, Mrs. Ida Stricker, the vice principal. Ida’s pretty much in charge of every breath anybody takes at HVMS. That’s Georgia, my super-nosy, super-obnoxious, super-brat sister, whose only good quality is that she looks like Jules might have looked when she was in fourth grade. There are more on my list, and we’ll get to them eventually. Or maybe not. I’m not exactly sure how this is going to work out. As you can probably tell, this is my first full-length book. But let’s stay on the subject of us for a little bit. I kind of want to, but how do I know I can trust you with all my embarrassing personal stuff—like the police car disaster story? What are you like? Inside , what are you like? Are you basically a pretty good, pretty decent person? Says who? Says you? Says your ’rents? Says your sibs? Okay, in the spirit of a possible friendship between us—and this is a huge big deal for me—here’s another true confession. This is what I actually looked like when I got to school that first morning of sixth grade. We still friends, or are you out of here? Hey— don’t go —all right? I kind of like you. Seriously. You know how to listen, at least. And believe me, I’ve got quite the story to tell you. CHAPTeR 2 THE MIDDLE SCHOOL/MAX SECURITY PRISON Okay, so imagine the day your great-great-grandmother was born. Got it? Now go back another hundred years or so. And then another hundred. That’s about when they built Hills Village Middle School. Of course, I think it was a prison for Pilgrims back then, but not too much has changed. Now it’s a prison for sixth, seventh, and eighth graders. I’ve seen enough movies that I know when you first get to prison, you basically have two choices: (1) pound the living daylights out of someone so that everyone else will think you’re insane and stay out of your way, or (2) keep your head down, try to blend in, and don’t get on anyone’s bad side. You’ve already seen what I look like, so you can probably guess which one I chose. As soon as I got to homeroom, I went straight for the back row and sat as far from the teacher’s desk as possible. There was just one problem with that plan, and his name was Miller. Miller the Killer, to be exact. It’s impossible to stay off this kid’s bad side, because it’s the only one he’s got. But I didn’t know any of that yet. “Sitting in the back, huh?” he said. “Yeah,” I told him. “Are you one of those troublemakers or something?” he said. I just shrugged. “I don’t know. Not really.” “’Cause this is where all the juvies sit,” he said, and took a step closer. “In fact, you’re in my seat.” “I don’t see your name on it,” I told him, and I was just starting to think maybe that was the wrong thing to say when Miller put one of his XXXL paws around my neck and started lifting me like a hundred-pound dumbbell. I usually like to keep my head attached to my body, so I went ahead and stood up like he wanted me to. “Let’s try that again,” he said. “This is my seat. Understand?” I understood, all right. I’d been in sixth grade for about four and a half minutes, and I already had a fluorescent orange target on my back. So much for blending in. And don’t get me wrong. I’m not a total wimp. Give me a few more chapters, and I’ll show you what I’m capable of. In the meantime, though, I decided to move to some other part of the room. Like maybe somewhere a little less hazardous to my health. But then, when I went to sit down again, Miller called over. “Uh-uh,” he said. “That one’s mine too.” Can you see where this is going? By the time our homeroom teacher, Mr. Rourke, rolled in, I was just standing there wondering what it might be like to spend the next nine months without sitting down. Rourke looked over the top of his glasses at me. “Excuse me, Mr.Khatch… Khatch-a… Khatch-a-dor—” “Khatchadorian,” I told him. “Gesundheit!” someone shouted, and the entire class started laughing. “Quiet!” Mr. Rourke snapped as he checked his attendance book for my name. “And how are you today, Rafe?” he said, smiling like there were cookies on the way. “Fine, thanks,” I answered. “Do you find our seating uncomfortable?” he asked me. “Not exactly,” I said, because I couldn’t really go into details. “Then SIT. DOWN. NOW!” Unlike Miller the Killer, Mr. Rourke definitely has two sides, and I’d already met both of them. Since nobody else was stupid enough to sit right in front of Miller, that was the only seat left in the room. And because I’m the world’s biggest idiot sometimes, I didn’t look back when I went to sit in my chair. Which is why I hit the dirt as I went down—all the way down—to the floor. The good news? Given the way things had started off, I figured middle school could only get better from here. The bad news? I was wrong about the good news. CHAPTeR 3 AT LEAST I’VE GOT LEO Do you remember that nursery rhyme about Jack Sprat and his wife? How neither of them ate the same thing, but between the two of them they got the job done? Same deal with me and Leo, except the fat and the lean are words and pictures. Make sense? I do the talking, and Leo takes care of the drawing. Leo speaks to me sometimes, but that’s about it. Conversation just isn’t his thing. If Leo wanted to tell you your house was on fire, he’d probably draw you a picture to let you know. The guy is about as talkative as a giraffe. (Oh, I’ve got a thousand of them, ladies and gentlemen.) Say hi, Leo. See what I mean? Besides, if it’s true that a picture’s worth a thousand words, then my buddy Leo has more to say than anyone I’ve ever met. You just have to know how to listen. Bottom line, Leonardo the Silent is my best friend, at Hills Village or anywhere else. And before his head gets too big to fit through the door, I should say there’s not a whole lot of competition for that title. I’m not exactly what you might see in the dictionary when you look up popular. Which brings me to the next thing that happened that day. CHAPTER 4 RAH, RAH, RAH, YADA, YADA, YADA… After homeroom they’d usually ship us off to first period, but today was “special.” There was going to be a Big! School! Assembly! to kick off the year, and everyone was all excited about it. Of course, by everyone , I mean everyone but me. They herded us all into the gym and sat us down on the bleachers. There was a podium on the floor with a microphone, and a big sign on the wall: WELCOME TO HVMS!!! The principal, Mr. Dwight, got up and spoke first. After a speech that went something like… he brought out the cheerleaders, who brought out the football, soccer, and cross-country teams, who brought everyone to their feet, yelling and screaming. (Of course, by everyone , I mean everyone but me.) The only things missing were the circus tent and a couple of dancing elephants. After that part, Mrs. Stricker announced that anyone who wanted to run for student council representative should come down to the microphone and address the assembly. Five or six kids from every grade stood up, like they’d been expecting this. I guess Mr. Rourke might have said something about it in homeroom, but I’d been too busy waiting for Miller to drive a pencil through the back of my neck. I hadn’t paid attention to too much else. They started with the sixth graders first. We heard from two bozos who I didn’t know, then a guy named Matt Kruschik who ate his own boogers until fourth grade, and then— “Hi, everyone. I’m Jeanne Galletta.” About half of the sixth grade and even some of the seventh and eighth graders started clapping right away. She must have gone to Millbrook Elementary, because I’d never seen her before. I went to Seagrave Elementary, where we chased rats in gym class, and most of the kids got free lunch, including me. “I think I’d be a good class representative because I know how to listen,” Jeanne said. “And there’s nothing more important than that.” I was listening, I was listening. She was pretty, for sure. She had the kind of face that you just want to stare at for as long as possible. But she also seemed kind of cool, like she didn’t think she was better than anyone else. Even if she was. “I have a lot of good ideas for how to make the school a better place,” she goes on. “But first, I want to do one thing.” She leaves the mike and comes over, right in front of where I’m sitting. Then she looks straight at me and says, “Are you Rafe?” Suddenly, I’m feeling about as talkative as Leo, but I manage to spit out an answer. “That’s me,” I say. “Do you want to maybe split a large fries in the cafeteria later?” she asks. “Sure. I’m buying,” I say, because there’s a twenty-dollar bill in my pocket that I just found that morning. “No,” she says. “The fries are on me.” Meanwhile, everyone’s watching. The band starts playing, the cheerleaders start cheering, and Miller the Killer chokes to death on a peanut M&M. Then I win the lottery, world peace breaks out everywhere, and Mrs. Stricker tells me that based on my all-around awesomeness, I can just skip sixth grade and come back next year. “… so I hope you’ll vote for me,” Jeanne was saying, and everyone started clapping like crazy. I never even heard most of her speech. But she definitely had my vote. CHAPTeR 5 THOSE OH-SO-CRUEL RULES The next girl to speak at assembly was Lexi Winchester. I knew Lexi from my old school, and she was a real nice kid. Still, Jeanne Galletta had my vote. Sorry, Lex. Once the speeches were over, I thought the assembly was done too. No such luck. Mrs. Stricker came back to the microphone and held up a little green book so everyone could see it. “Can anyone tell me what this is?” Stricker said. “Yeah,” Miller the Killer mumbled somewhere behind me. “A complete waste of time.” “This,” Mrs. Stricker said, “is the Hills Village Middle School Code of Conduct . Everything you need to know about how to behave at school—and how not to behave—is right here in this book.” A bunch of teachers came around and started handing out a copy to each student in the gym. “When you receive yours, open up to page one and follow along with me,” Stricker said. Then she started reading… really… slowly. “ ‘Section One: Hills Village Middle School Dress Code…’ ” When I got my copy, I flipped all the way to the back of the book. There were sixteen sections and twenty-six pages total. In other words, we were going to be lucky to get out of this assembly by Christmas. “ ‘… All students are expected to dress appropriately for an academic environment. No student shall wear clothing of a size more than two beyond his or her normal size….’ ” HELP! That’s what I was thinking about then. Middle school had just started, and they were already trying to bore us to death. Please, somebody stop Mrs. Stricker before she kills again! Leo took out a pen and started drawing something on the inside of the back cover. Stricker turned to the next page and kept reading. “ ‘Section Two: Prohibited Items. No student shall bring to school any electronic equipment not intended for class purposes. This includes cell phones, iPods, cameras, laptop computers….’ ” The whole thing went on and on. And on. And on. By the time we got to Section 6 (“Grounds for Expulsion”), my brain was turning into guacamole, and I’m pretty sure my ears were bleeding too. People always talk about how great it is to get older. All I saw were more rules and more adults telling me what I could and couldn’t do, in the name of what’s “good for me.” Yeah, well, asparagus is good for me, but it still makes me want to throw up. As far as I could tell, this little green book in my hands was just one long list of all the ways I could—and probably would—get into trouble between now and the end of the school year. Meanwhile, Leo was drawing away like the maniac he is. Every time Stricker mentioned another rule, he scribbled something else on the page in front of him. Finally, he turned it around and showed me what he was working on. All I could think when I saw that picture was—I want to be that kid. He looked like he was having a WAY better day than I was. And that’s when I got my idea. My really stupendous, really, really Big Idea. It came on like a flash flood. This was the best idea anyone had ever had in the whole history of middle school. In the whole history of ideas! Not only was it going to help me get through the year, I thought, it might also just save my life here at Hills Village. That was, if I had the nerve to actually try it. CHAPTeR 6 EUREKA! Did you ever hear the expression “breaking every rule in the book”? That was it. That was my Big Idea. Break every rule in the book. Literally. The way I saw it, the HVMS Code of Conduct could be my worst enemy here at school, or if I played it right, I could turn it into my best friend. Sorry, Leo. I mean my second-best friend. All it would take was a little bit of work… and a ton of guts. Maybe two tons. Leo knew exactly what I was thinking. The idea had come from his picture, after all. “Go for it,” he whispered. “Just pick something out of the book and get started.” “Right now?” I whispered back. “Why not? What are you waiting for?” he said, and I guess the answer was—two tons of guts. I just kind of sat there, frozen, so Leo flipped open the book for me and pointed to something on the page without even looking down. When I saw where his finger landed, I almost started having a heart attack. “I can’t do that!” I told him. “What if someone gets hurt?” “How does this hurt anyone?” Leo said. “Except maybe you.” Somehow that didn’t make me feel any better. “Listen,” Leo told me, “you’re never going to be one of those people”—he pointed at all the student council candidates and jocks and cheerleaders sitting on chairs that had been set up on the gym floor. “But this,” he said, thumping the rule book with his pen, “this is something you can do.” “I don’t know,” I tried lamely. “ Or ,” Leo said, “you can keep going the way you’re going, and every day can be just like this one.” He shrugged. “It might not be so bad. There are only a hundred and eighty school days in a year.” That did it. “Okay, okay,” I said, and even though my heart was pounding out “The Star-Spangled Banner,” I got up and walked over to where one of the prison guards (I mean, teachers) was standing by the gym door. “I need a bathroom pass,” I told her. “You can wait,” she said. “ ‘Section Eight’!” Stricker boomed over the microphone. “We’re halfway there!” “Please?” I said, trying to look as much like a pants-wetter as possible. The teacher gave a big sigh, like she wished she’d been a lawyer instead. “Okay, five minutes,” she said. Five minutes was more than enough. I went out to the hall and into the boys’ bathroom while she was still watching me. Then I counted to ten and stuck my head out again. Nobody was around. As far as I knew, the whole school was inside that gym. It was now or never. I sprinted up the hall, around the long way behind the office, and then cut down another hallway, through the cafeteria, and into an empty stairwell in the back. By the time I found what I was looking for, I’d been gone only a minute or two. I stood there, staring at the little red box on the wall. I could just hear Leo now, like he was right there. Don’t think about it. Just DO it! I flipped the latch, opened the wire cage around the alarm box, and put my finger on the little white handle inside. This was what you call the point of no return. My mission, should I choose to accept it… and all that. Still—was I crazy? Was I completely nuts for thinking I could pull this off? Yes, I told myself. You are. Okay, I thought. Just checking. And I pulled the alarm. CHAPTeR 7 CHAOS I’m not sure what the fire alarm sounded like in the gym, but it was about ten thousand decibels in that stairwell: wah-AH! wah-AH! wah-AH! I covered my ears as I sprinted back to the bathroom. The idea was to make it there before the teachers could get everyone lined up and marching outside. Then I could stroll out like I’d just finished my business and blend into the crowd. Turns out, I didn’t need a plan. By the time I got anywhere near the gym, everyone was already running, walking, and for all I know skipping in every possible direction. I guess Mrs. Stricker hadn’t gotten to the part about what to do if a fire alarm sounds (Section 11). In fact, I could still hear her over the mike in the gym. “Everyone remain calm! Line up with your teachers and proceed in an orderly fashion to the nearest exits.” I’m not sure who she was talking to. It looked like the whole school was already out here in the hall. And in the parking lot. And on the soccer field. And on the basketball courts. I couldn’t believe this was all because of me! I kind of felt guilty about it, but it was kind of… amazing. To be honest, only half of that sentence is true. It was more like I knew I should feel bad, but I didn’t. Meanwhile, the fire alarm was still blaring— But it just sounded to me like— When I found Leo outside, he gave me a big, double high five. “That’s one for execution and one for the idea,” he said. “I can’t take all the credit,” I told him. “The idea was half yours.” “That’s true,” he said, and high-fived himself. Then he showed me his drawing again. “Check it out. I made some improvements.” I opened up my copy of the Code of Conduct and turned to Section 11, Rule 3: “Students shall not tamper with smoke or fire alarms under any circumstances.” Then I took Leo’s pen and drew a line right through it. That felt pretty good too. One rule down and… well, all the rest to go. CHAPTeR 8 MY HOME PAGE On the bus ride home that afternoon, everyone was talking about my little fire drill. It was a rush, sitting there and knowing they were all talking about me. Of course, everything good has to come to an end. Before long, I was getting off the bus and walking through the front door of my house. Meet my future stepfather, also known as the low point of my day. His name is Carl, but we call him Bear. Two years ago, he was just this customer at the diner where my mom works. Now, somehow, Mom has a ring on her finger, and Bear lives here with us. That’s Ditka, Bear’s lame excuse for a guard dog. Ditka knows all about “attack” but not so much about “down” or “stop.” He usually tries to eat my face for an after-school snack. “Ditka, down! Down! ” Bear said, coming out of hibernation as I walked in the door. Bear pulled Ditka off of me and then flopped back into his Bear-shaped place on the couch. “Hey, Squirt. How was the first day?” (He calls me Squirt. Do I even have to point that out?) “School was unbelievable,” I said. “I kind of, well, sort of, met this amazing girl, and then I set off the fire alarm during an assembly—” Okay, that’s not what I really said, but it wouldn’t have mattered if I did. Bear’s not exactly a good listener. “Uh-huh,” he said. He reached up and stretched—his workout for the day. “Did you sign up for football yet?” “Nah,” I said. I took a couple of pudding cups out of the fridge and kept moving toward my room. “Why the heck not?” he yelled after me. “Football’s the one thing you’re actually good at!” “Don’t worry, I didn’t forget I’m a loser, Loser,” I said as I zoomed down the hall. “DID YOU JUST CALL ME A LOSER?” Bear roared back. “No, I called myself a loser,” I said, and slammed my door. “Loser.” Like I said—low point of my day. Bear and Mom had just gotten engaged that summer, over Fourth of July. That’s when Bear moved in. Mom asked Georgia and me what we thought about it before she said yes, but what were we going to tell her? “You’re about to get engaged to the world’s biggest slug”? I don’t think she would have listened, anyway. Now Mom was working double shifts at the diner all the time just to make enough money, and Bear was spending 99 percent of his time on our couch, except maybe to go to the bathroom or to collect his stupid unemployment check. Bottom line? My mom was way too good for this guy, but unfortunately neither of them seemed to know it. Continues... Excerpted from Middle School, The Worst Years of My Life by Patterson, James Copyright © 2011 by Patterson, James. Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site. Read more

Middle School: Get Me Out of Here!

Review Praise for Middle School: Get Me out of Here! A #1 New York Times BestsellerAn Indiebound BestsellerOne of Barnes & Noble's Best Books of 2012"Patterson and Tebbetts have created strong characters and relationships throughout the novel. Rafe has his triumphs and failures, but he's a realistic kid whom readers would want as a friend and coconspirator."― School Library Journal "Will be enjoyed by middle-grade boys, particularly reluctant readers."― VOYA "Short chapters and a partially graphic format are sure to appeal."― Booklist Praise for Middle School, The Worst Years of My Life : A #1 New York Times BestsellerA #1 Indiebound BestsellerA 2012 Top Ten Quick Picks for Reluctant Young Readers* "As Patterson artfully weaves a deeper and more thought-provoking tale of childhood coping mechanisms and everyday school and family realities, readers are drawn into a deeper understanding of and compassion for the main characters."― School Library Journal, starred review "A keen appreciation of kids' insecurities and an even more astute understanding of what might propel boy readers through a book.... a perfectly pitched novel."― Los Angeles Times "Cleverly delves into the events that make middle school so awkward: cranky bus drivers, tardy slips, bathroom passes and lots of rules.... Hopefully, this isn't the last we hear from Rafe Khatchadorian."― The Associated Press "It's a chatty, funny, engaging book.... filled with energetic cartoons... that will appeal to your little rebel, depicting teachers as dungeon-keepers, matadors and flying dragons. Patterson... knows how to structure a plot and builds in some surprising--even touching--twists.... Rafe is the bad boy with a heart of gold."― New York Times "The book's... dynamic artwork and message that 'normal is boring' should go a long way toward assuring kids who don't fit the mold that there's a place for them, too."― Publishers Weekly "Incredibly detailed and imaginative illustrations... add depth and humor.... an enjoyable story that even the most reluctant readers should enjoy."― Library Media Connection "There is substance as well as appeal here.... Patterson deftly manages the pace of revelations that take readers deeper into Rafe's fragile trust.... Readers ready for something else in the same vein but more substantive than Kinney's Diary of a Wimpy Kid or Peirce's Big Nate should be introduced to Rafe."― The Bulletin About the Author James Patterson is the world’s bestselling author. The creator of Max Einstein and Middle School, he founded JIMMY Patterson to publish books that young readers will love. He lives in Florida with his family. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Middle School: Get Me out of Here! By Patterson, James Little, Brown and Company Copyright © 2012 Patterson, JamesAll right reserved. ISBN: 9780316206716 CHAPTeR 1 WHOOM! Well, who’d have thought so much could change in one summer? Not me, that’s for sure. Not my best buddy, Leonardo the Silent. Probably not the folks at Airbrook Arts Community School either. That’s where I was supposed to start seventh grade in the fall. Supposed to. You caught that, right? There’s a reason my last book was called Middle School, The Worst Years of My Life . Sixth grade was only the start. I’ve got a whole lot more to tell you about. But first I should introduce myself. Anyway, I guess I should have seen it coming. It’s like every time things start to look okay in my crazy life, something always comes along to change it. It’s like it just falls out of the sky. And everything changed on the day Swifty’s Diner burned to the ground. Here’s what happened. See, there’s this thing called a grease trap over the grill at the diner, where Swifty (also known as Fred) cooked about fifteen dozen greasy burgers every day. If you don’t clean out the trap once in a while, it turns into a giant fireball, just waiting to go off. And guess what? I didn’t get to see much. I was in the storage room in the back, just passing the time and waiting for Mom to finish her lunch shift. Then all of a sudden, I heard this giant WHOOM! People started yelling, the fire alarm started blaring, and I could smell smoke. A second later, Mom was there. “Come on, Rafe,” she said. “We have to go—right now!” And she hustled me out the back door. Nobody was hurt, but flames were coming through the windows and up through the roof before the Hills Village Fire Department even got there. By the time the firefighters finally put out the fire, Swifty’s Diner looked more like Swifty’s Big Pile of Ashes. Everything was all black and smoking, and the restaurant was just—gone. And that’s not all. No Swifty’s meant no job for Mom. No job meant no money to pay the rent on our house. No house meant we had to pack up all our stuff and get out. (See what I mean about everything changing?) The only place we could go was Grandma Dotty’s. She told Mom we could come stay there as long as we wanted, which was really nice of her and everything, but the problem was, she lived in the city, about eighty miles away. In other words, way too far for me to even think about going to Airbrook anymore. Now I was going to be starting seventh grade at some big-city middle school, where kids like me get turned into chopped meat every single day. So there you have it. Chapter 1 isn’t even over, and I’m already starting a whole new life. Try to keep up if you can. This is only the very beginning, where I say— Good-bye, Hills Village! Good-bye, lucky breaks! And hello, seventh grade! CHAPTeR 2 MOViNG DAY Here’s what it looked like on the day we left Hills Village. Not too shabby, huh? CHAPTeR 3 OR SOMeTHiNG LiKe THAT Yeah, I wish. If you know me, then you know I have what my mom likes to call an “active imagination” and what some of my teachers might call a “tendency to lie.” I like to think of it as putting my own spin on the things that happen to me. But don’t worry—I’ll always steer you straight. In fact, here’s what it really looked like when we left town: Those people waving are Ms. Donatello and Jeanne Galletta, two of the only people who were nice to me at Hills Village Middle School. Ms. Donatello was my sixth-grade English teacher. I used to call her the Dragon Lady, but she turned out to be human after all. She was also the one who got me into Airbrook, before my big plans went down the garbage disposal. As for Jeanne, she was nice to everyone, so I don’t even know if that counts. When I told her I’d try to keep in touch, she said I could leave a message on her HVMS student page. Was that a good sign? You tell me. I don’t exactly have a ton of experience with girls. Or friends. Much less… girlfriends. Still, if there was one person I was going to miss, it was Jeanne. So if you haven’t guessed by now, it’s not like I was leaving behind some kind of perfect track record in Hills Village. Which is maybe the understatement of the year. And if you want to know what I mean, just check out the next chapter. CHAPTeR 4 MY TOP TeN(ACTuALLY ONLY SiX) Rafe Khatchadorian’s Top Ten Six Biggest Accomplishments From Sixth Grade (try not to be too impressed): CHAPTeR 5 WeLCOMe TO THe BiG CiTY! This is going to be great,” Mom kept saying while we drove into the city. “I can’t wait to show you guys around. There’s so much to do here, and you’re going to love the park.” I stopped listening after a while. I think my sister, Georgia, did too. We both just stared out the window, trying to imagine living here. Fill in whatever city you want—New York, Chicago, Boston, South Bend, Boise, Omaha… whatever. Just imagine lots of shiny skyscrapers, perfectly clean sidewalks, and millions of happy people catching money as it rains out of the sky. Now think about the exact opposite of that. Got it? Welcome to Grandma Dotty’s neighborhood. Also known as our new home. “This is where you grew up?” Georgia said, and not in a nice way. “It used to be… different,” Mom said, but you could tell she meant better . Now I knew why Grandma always came to visit us in Hills Village and not the other way around. All the houses on the block were crammed together, one after the other. They didn’t have any side yards or front yards. Just sidewalks. I saw a lot of garbage cans and graffiti too. “I’m never going to make any friends here,” Georgia whined. “Come on, honey. I know it’s a big adjustment, but you’ve got to stay positive,” Mom said. “Okay,” Georgia said. “I’m positive I’m never going to make any friends here.” Mom took a deep breath. “How about you, Rafe? Are you ready to give city life a chance?” “Sure,” I said. “Why not?” The truth was, I felt exactly the same way as Georgia. I didn’t want to live here, and I definitely didn’t want to go to school here. But unlike my little sister, who never knows when to shut her mouth, I knew that Mom was doing the best she could. “Well, here we are,” she said, and stopped in front of the fifth house from the end of the block. “Six twenty-five Killarney Avenue.” Georgia made a sound like she was coughing up a hair ball. “It’s the worst one on the street!” she said. “It just needs some spiffing up,” Mom said. “You’ll see. All it takes is a little imagination. Isn’t that right, Rafe?” “Sure,” I said. “Just a little imagination. That’s all.” CHAPTeR 6 SMALL AND FuLL I always used to hear Mom say Grandma Dotty was a big pack rat. And to be honest, I never really thought about what that meant. I just thought: But as soon as we walked into her house, I knew exactly what it meant. If there were two words to describe Grandma’s place, they would be small and full . “Come in, come in, come in!” she said, hugging us all like crazy. “Do you have much more to bring in from the car?” Grandma asked Mom. “Not much,” Mom said. Most of our stuff was in a big storage locker back in Hills Village. “That’s good. I’m a little short on closet space at the moment,” Grandma said, but it looked to me like she was a little short on Rafe-Mom-and-Georgia space too. “What’s with the long faces, kiddos?” Grandma asked me and Georgia. “You two look like someone’s dog just died.” “They’re just tired,” Mom told her. “It’s been a big day.” “This little one’s ready to drop,” Grandma said, looking at Georgia. “And Ralph, I’ll bet you could eat a horse and a half by now.” “Um…” I said, but I was thinking— All of a sudden, I felt even weirder about being here. “It’s Rafe , Mom,” my mom said. “Not Ralph.” “Well, of course it is,” Grandma said. “I’m sorry, Rafe. Just a slip of the tongue. Now, come on—who’s hungry?” I looked at Mom, and she nodded like everything was going to be fine. And in fact, whatever Grandma was cooking smelled amazing, just like Mom’s lasagna from home. Then, when we came into the kitchen, I saw something else familiar. “Isn’t that one of yours?” I asked Mom. “Sure is,” she said. The last time I’d seen any of her paintings on a wall was at Swifty’s Diner, but those had gone up in smoke, along with everything else. “In this house, your mother is a famous artist,” Grandma said. Then she turned around and bowed right down in front of Mom. Mom laughed. Georgia did too, for the first time in about a week. “That’s the ticket!” Grandma said. “Much better.” She reached over and tickled Georgia under the chin, and pretty soon everyone was laughing. “Now these are the Khatchadorians I remember,” Grandma said, and hugged me all over again. “We’re going to have a great time together. Isn’t that right, Ralph?” CHAPTeR 7 A NiGHT ON THe TOWN It’s two in the morning and I’m wide awake. Mom gave me the choice between sleeping on the couch downstairs and sharing the guest room with Georgia, which of course was no contest. At least down here I have a little privacy. Still, I can’t sleep. I’m too busy trying to figure out how I’m going to get through this year. It hasn’t even started yet, and all I see is rough road ahead. I finally drift off, but it isn’t long before Leonardo the Silent strolls into my dreams. “What are you doing?” he says. “I’m trying to sleep,” I tell him. “No, you’re trying to mope,” Leo tells me. “Come on. There’s a whole big city out there. We’ve got better things to do.” He’s right, of course. I jump out of bed (out of couch?), and we make a fake Rafe under the blankets, including a superrealistic mask of my face, just in case Mom or Grandma comes down in the middle of the night. Then we slip into our stealth gear and out the door. A second later we hit the streets. “Where do you want to go first?” Leo asks. “Somewhere up high,” I say. “Let’s get a look at what we’re dealing with.” “Excellent choice.” He points the way toward the city’s tallest building. “Good thing I brought the climbing gear.” We move like shadows, using back alleys and hidden passages to get there. With all the shortcuts Leo knows, we’re standing at the base of Megamega Towers in no time. “So that’s what three hundred stories looks like,” I say. “Wait till you see it from the top,” Leo tells me. As soon as we’re harnessed up, we step into our suction-cup boots and head toward the sky. “Don’t look down until we get there,” Leo tells me. “It’ll be worth the wait.” He’s right about that too. Once we hit the roof of that skyscraper, I can see for miles and miles in every direction. “Can’t do this in Hills Village,” Leo says. The cars below look like baby ants with tiny headlights, and the whole city is spread out in front of me like the world’s biggest game board. All I have to do now is pick my next move. “Maybe this year isn’t going to be so bad after all,” I say. “Well, if you like this,” Leo says, “you’re going to love the ride down.” As we step into our portable hang glider, the sun just starts to show over the horizon. My first night in the big city has flown by already. Mom will be waking up soon, and I’ve got to head back. But in the meantime—what a view! CHAPTeR 8 TiMe OuT Okay, time out for a second. If you read the last book, then you already know all about Leo. I mean, especially the part about how he’s not really real. But if that’s news to you, then there’s some other stuff you should probably know too. It’s kind of heavy, but let me get it out of the way now. The real Leonardo was my twin brother. He got sick and died when we were both three years old. It was really sad, for sure, but it was also a long time ago. I barely remember any of it. The point is, I’ve always wondered what Leo would be like if he were still around. I guess that’s who I’ve been talking to all this time—like an idea of Leo, also known as Leonardo the Silent. So now, if you’re thinking— —all I can tell you is, I’m not. Seriously. I’m just… well, I don’t really know what I am. Imaginative, I guess. A loner, for sure. But not cuckoo. Mom says Leo’s my muse. That’s someone who helps an artist get ideas and think things through, even though the muse isn’t really there. And, yeah, that pretty much describes him. Leo may not be real, but in some weird way he helps me deal with the things that are. That’s also why he’s my best friend. Hey, I never said it wasn’t complicated. I just said I’m not crazy. CHAPTeR 9 MOM THROWS A CuRVeBALL The next morning, Mom made really good French toast for breakfast. It’s Georgia’s favorite, with bananas and maple syrup. And extra cinnamon on mine. “Rafe, when you’re done, I want you to put on the shirt I left out for you,” Mom said. “And clean pants, please.” That stopped me with a mouthful of everything. Nothing good ever happens in clothes your mom picks out for you. “What’s going on?” I said. She just smiled and slid me some seconds. “It’s a surprise,” she said. “Where’s Rafe going?” Georgia said. “What’s happening? Can I come?” “Everyone’s coming,” Mom said, but that’s all she would tell. A little while later, we were piled into the car and headed up Killarney Avenue. Mom really knew her way around the city. She pointed out the science museum, the IMAX, the ballpark, and a whole bunch of other stuff. I knew she was trying to get us excited about living here. What I didn’t understand was why my shirt had to be tucked in right now. Finally, I said, “Mom—please. Just tell me where we’re going.” “Okay, okay. We’re almost there anyway,” she said. “Now, don’t be nervous—” “What do you mean?” I said. “Why shouldn’t I be nervous?” “Well, I know how disappointed you were about not going to Airbrook,” Mom said. “But this morning, we might be able to do something about that. You’ve got an interview, Rafe. At Cathedral School of the Arts.” Continues... Excerpted from Middle School: Get Me out of Here! by Patterson, James Copyright © 2012 by Patterson, James. Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site. Read more

J.R.R. Tolkien 4-Book Boxed Set: The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings

About the Author John Ronald Reuel Tolkien was born on January 3, 1892, in Bloemfontein, South Africa. After serving in World War I, he embarked upon a distinguished academic career and was recognized as one of the finest philologists in the world. He was a professor of Anglo-Saxon at Oxford, a fellow of Pembroke College, and a fellow of Merton College until his retirement in 1959. He is, however, beloved throughout the world as the creator of Middle-earth and author of such classic works as The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings. He died on September 2, 1973, at the age of eighty-one.

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The Big Book of Silly Jokes for Kids

Review "Amusing and entertaining, The Big Book of Silly Jokes for Kids by Carole P. Roman is a really fun read." - Kristen Van Kampen (Teen Reviewer) for Readers' Favorite - 5-Star Review! "A really fun book, and an excellent way to encourage reading - a winner in my book (no pun intended)." - David Savage, What's Good To Do In The UK? "Every kid and adult love jokes, even the typical "knock-knock" ones or corny puns. I like having books to read for our four young grandchildren when they visit, especially if they are funny or produce laughter." - Conny Withay, Blog "The Big Book of Silly Jokes for Kids: 800+ Jokes!" is "perfectly punny"--a treat for kids of all ages." - Booked Solid with Virginia C "While getting paid to sleep would literally be a dream job, pun intended, we think Roman may have found her waking dream job when she put together this truly joyful book." - Bianca Schulze, The Children's Book Review From the Author The Big Book of Silly Jokes for Kids: 800+ Jokes! Awards: Readers' Favorite 5-Star Review Readers' Favorite 5-Star Review Winner 2020- Book Excellence Award- Humor Winner 2020- Book Excellence Award- Humor 2020 Reader's Favorite Humor 2020 Reader's Favorite Humor Our latest ranking on Amazon: #9 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)#1 in Children's Joke & Riddle Books (Books)#1 in Children's Composition & Creative Writing Books #9 in Books (See Top 100 in Books) #1 in Children's Joke & Riddle Books (Books) #1 in Children's Joke & Riddle Books (Books) #1 in Children's Composition & Creative Writing Books #1 in Children's Composition & Creative Writing Books