On the street, we walk, the survivors. Along side us are the workers of the fish market, in boots, jeans, t-shirts, aprons. I ask where the ferry is.
“Back in hell. Just turn around, and hang a left in the middle of hell.”
Hey Reader,
I worked a few blocks from the towers the morning of 9-11. I felt the towers fall. Became part of “the most photographed day in history.” You might have even seen me on the news. Not that you could have recognized me covered in dust.
I can tell you the day unfolded very differently…
I had a breakthrough. But not until suffering through the terror I might have wasted the past two-plus years.
For kicks and giggles last week, I checked World Catalogue again. The book is now in 11 libraries!
So, I stopped the blind stabs of opening files and hopeful keyword searches and used Scrivener to build an Index
Lots of potential here: the parallels between narcotic use and necromancy are interesting, the language is often Chandler-esque in a good way, and it delves into some interesting psychological territory.
“However….”
On the street, we walk, the survivors. Along side us are the workers of the fish market, in boots, jeans, t-shirts, aprons. I ask where the ferry is.
“Back in hell. Just turn around, and hang a left in the middle of hell.”
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.
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 […]