Aw man, I've been WONDERING what the heck ever happened to Paula Volsky!!!

More books! There will be more books!

*happy happy joy joy happy happy joy*
What in the world ever happened to Paula Volsky????
Ten Epic Fantasy Themes We Don't See Enough by new author N.K. Jemsin.

I am quite looking forward to her work! (Especially with the recent loss of Octavia Butler. And other issues in the sci-fi establishment...)

In further news, can I love Lindsay Lohan in public now??? *tousles her little freckled Parent Trap-era head* Can we just attribute it all to her being troubled then and maybe much less troubled now? (I hope she's less troubled. And, you know, sober more often. =/ At least while driving.)

(I continue to have no feelings toward Clay Aiken either way, but I wish him well and hope it's a load off his mind. And that no one gives him shit. I can dream.)
Author Jim Hines speaks out for the Rape, Abuse, and Incest National Network:

It is so cool, so, so frightfully cool, when an author I decide to like on a complete and total whim turns out to be F*CKING AMAZING as a person to boot.
For his birthday, author Jim Hines would like you to give a book, any book, to someone who needs or wants it.

And... I really have no excuse not to go see Neil Gaiman on Friday, do I. *ponders* *has ticket*

AND... as of midnight last night, I am free of Bear Stearns. Ooo-rah!
I don't feel sad, or like something has been taken away from me/us/the world.

I feel like that bit where you have the standing ovation at the end of a magnificent performance.

Arthur C. Clarke lived a good long life and had a positive impact on the world.

I can't think of anything better to have done.

Bon voyage, Mr. Clarke. I'm glad you were here.


Jan. 22nd, 2008 12:56 pm
Oh, the friggin unadulterated joy of discovering Catherynne Valente's LiveJournal!!! Happy surprise...

"I want to touch you again."

(from: [ profile] yuki_onna)

EDIT: Also, she is looking for artists! If any of you might be interested in that...(it's for a webcomic of some kind).
Neil has the right attitude; I have had the wrong one.

Thank you, Neil. Love you, Terry.

EDIT: That is, Neil and [ profile] emilytarot !!!! have had the right attitude. I'll endeavor to emulate.

(I bet you thought I didn't notice you there.) ^__^
Ah, the love for Kit Whitfield is strong.

The woman reads my mind. I actually have an associate who I no longer even really, er, bother to associate with, not only for the detail harping but because I can never tell which random-ass detail is going to set the person off. About fiction/art or about real life, the contempt doth ever spew. The anticipatory exhaustion gets to be way too stressful after a while. Pins and fucking needles and careful-what-you-say all the damn time.

Whoa, tangent. Anyway, point -- a work of literature is to be taken as a whole -- one random annoying detail is not to substitute for the entirety. 'Tis silly to be thus or no? Synecdoche versus... what, metonymy? Not metonymy. Dangit. Anyway, discuss. (Or, you know... not. ~___^)
I never loved Robert Jordan.

There are writers you love, you know?

You don't know then, but you feel like you do, because their work speaks to you on such a deep level you feel that they've revealed something important to you. You feel like you own a part of them -- some people to the point where they forget that the author in question doesn't know you back. But the affection they inspire is a genuine one. You want to know more. Talk to them, dialogue.

I never felt this way towards Robert Jordan. His books were hot stuff for me for a while -- I was nineteen or twenty, I think, when I found him in the library, and wholly into the whole fantasy-with-pointy-ears-and-cool-medieval-outfits shtick.

But I don't recall loving him, ever. There was always distance, be it from his prose or his characters or the calatogish nature of the world he presented -- it was exciting, but I didn't long to live there, I didn't long to know these people, and through that, I never longed to know him.

Then the series began to streeeeeech -- probably what it's most famous for, now -- and I began to get actively mad with the fellow. It reeked of exploitative capitalism, to me, on his part or the part of the pulbishers -- milking an existing title until it was wrung dry of all life and creativity instead of crafting new worlds. Making the product suffer for the cash, selling out like so many have before.

I quit after book five, hoping to pick up again when everything was done. Then the stretching began and hearing about it, I, miffed, lost all desire to finish at all.

Then I learned of his illness. And now I am beginning to rethink. I'm projecting, I know, all kinds of things I have no way of knowing and no real right to believe.

But I wonder. This was his magnum opus, his Best Work, the thing he will be remembered for more than anything else, perhaps.

I don't know how universal this is, but I've heard other writers confess to this, professional and non, and have actually experienced this myself in my own pipsqueak-pseudowriter way -- a moment where you truly and honestly and fully believe that you are about to die, a euphoria almost, where the first thing you think isn't Oh god, my family, or This hurts! or I've never seen the Alps! or Dammit I am too young!

It's "I can't die, I haven't finished my story yet."

(After which comes either a big "AW, SHIT NO!" or more irrationally, a hubristic "Well, I'll be okay, then!")

Because the story isn't you. It has a life of its own, in your head, in your heart. It's a separate entity almost, and oh god, you are FAILING it. So you can't go, not yet. You owe the story its life.

Mad presumptuous, huh?

No less true, though.

So I found my heart softening towards Robert Jordan. In his wheelchair, body failing, still trying to pump it out, to stuff every last detail in his heart and brain onto the blank pages, to fully birth his world, his creation. The annoying endless description, the tangents, the veerings, the off-topic tl:dr -- just trying to get it out of him and into the world and into the hearts and minds of other people. It would be so heartless of me to begrudge him that. Wouldn't it?

I still wonder if maybe he was stretching the books out as a sort of bargain with fate -- I can't die until I've finished my great work. Give me just a little longer. Just a little longer -- I'm not done.

Robert Jordan -- James Rigney, sir -- I am so, so sorry you didn't get more time.
...looks spookily similar to Jennifer Garner here (it's the upper lip I, think),bpress1,67959,10.html

I like it when awesome things happen to people who so unequivocally deserve them.

It's fun. It makes things really satisfying, that accidental stumble-upon. Possibly even more so than they'd be on their own.

So I'm in the bookshop looking for something to buy because I can't really leave a bookshop without buying something -- I mean really, the idea -- and I stumble upon this. It's a first novel, and I go through periodic bouts of buying first-novels in an odd, somewhat misplaced attempt at solidarity, and the cover is kinda fun, obviously NYC, which appeals to my, what is it, hometown loyalty? Snobbery? Whatever it is, I pick up the book: Nightlife, by Rob Thurman.

Aaand I'm hooked, from the third paragraph. Possibly I'm hooked on the similarity, possibly on the thing itself, but there I am. So much so, in fact, that I am fully prepared to type up an entire excerpt.

Here is an excerpt )
And here is a bit of the first chapter

You see (so far at least), this is what I've been wanting... everything I've been wanting... from Supernatural. So much so, in fact, that I'd think this guy was a bloody plagiarist if the publication date didn't more or less belie this. (If he is, he's a dammed fast typist, and his publishing house is well-nigh magically instantaneous.)

After the utterly abysmal** (in my own personal humble, doesn't-have-to-be-shared-by-anyone-but-me, although I'll go on at LENGTH if asked, opinion) last few episodes of Supernatural, I'm sucking this one up like candy.

So yeah, it's got me. Hopefully it will keep me. I'm fickle. ~__^

**why yes, I do feel slightly bad saying all that after watching Sammy up and die (and so prettily! D:) last night. Doesn't make me any less disappointed in "Heart" or make me despise "Hollywood Babylon" (like bad sex, in a way: 'Well, I'm glad YOU had fun, honey, don't mind me, or if I get it/find it funny/care at all'), "Prison Blues" (which made no sense no matter how you slice it), and quite frankly most of "All Hell Breaks Loose Part 1" a single iota less. Acting great and top-notch as always, though. Script? Not so much. Bah. Bleah. Still reluctant to watch my tape of "...What Should Never Be..." There's a limit to how much disappointment I can take; I'm invested, dammit.


EDIT: Oh wow, sequel!! Moonshine



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