Since that spill, I’ve borne a grudge against the sinister presence that created “right” ways. That enforced its rules whimsically, letting me do it my way much of the time. Tricking me other times. Sometimes even punishing me with a broken glass or painful scrape.
“There’s been an attack at the 36th street stop.”
“Where Max waits for Andoni.”
I had a post ready to go, a lighthearted look at paying attention to what you’re doing and the right vs. my way of getting things done. And then Russia invaded Ukraine. Suddenly, the world was different. So too will this issue of the newsletter be. Friends and Family I have neither […]
26 books in 10 months. Not shabby.
That stuff, well, once you stop learning about those things, you’re dead—even if your body is still walking about, going through the motions of life. That’s existing, simply not being buried yet.
Scars makes sense for the body—stop bleeding, prevent an infection, protect the break—quickly—to keep us alive and then repair the harm as fast as possible. Gotta keep going after all. But, some scars heal up better than others.
Generally, I avoid books featuring fae, finding them too often derivative or pollyannish. Mississippi Missing, an urban fantasy laced with fae, came as rather a surprise. It neither demanded I know everything about the entire fairy world. Nor assuming I share a fan’s devotion to the intricacies of Welsh, Scottish, and whatever-all-esle mythologies. Sure, a […]
Daemons were not part of Philip Pullman’s original idea for the Golden Compass. And understanding this may have saved the novel I’m working on.
Scary as hell living in Brooklyn, the deadliest place on earth for Covid-19. For a few grim weeks.
My brain is hurt by all the stuff I’ll probably miss.