(I originally posted this to MyMedia, where barely anyone at all admits to reading, let alone liking, romance. After a bit of thinking about it, I decided to share it over here too. No need to thank me 🙂 )
If you read romance–and by this, I mean, you have read at least six to ten romance genre books–and if you like it, you will find this both hilarious to the point of tears, and completely accurate.
If you don’t read romance, you may still find it funny and interesting, but you’ll probably miss a lot of the inside jokes.
A bit of a foreword: Continue reading
The title of this post is a line by Miss Jane Marple, that unforgettable prototype of the intelligent, interested, principled, elderly lady sleuth.
Several months ago, the Complete Miss Marple Collection (digital version) was on sale at amazon for a truly ridiculous price–something like $5.99. Being a fan of Dame Christie, I snapped it up (yes, I have all of them in print, and have for at least forty years, but many are in Spanish, and all of them are falling apart at the seams, from age and use).
With one thing and another, I’ve been reading snippets here and there, until a few weeks ago. Feeling a bit sick, I finally fell into one of the stories.
Not so much.
See, things that I barely noticed before, or that I was able to shrug off when I did notice, now bother me a great deal, making it difficult for me to fully enjoy these stories that, for so long, were among my favorite reading.
Allow me to explain.
In the midst of panic–the TBR Challenge review is due this Wednesday!–I just managed to laugh out loud.
While reading a new-to-me author, to boot.
This truly bodes well.
(and I just realized I need to change the image and link on the sidebar–gah)
(Originally posted in the literature section at MyMedia, here, and here, and here)
A while back I wrote a short post about the crowdfunding of Lightspeed Magazine’s issue on queer writers ‘destroying’ science fiction. I also mentioned that the year before they did the same for women writers. (You can read the thread here.)
Among other reactions, I was told that women have always written science fiction–which is true, though often women writers have to hide their gender behind neutral initials or male pseudonyms.
I mention this discussion as a sort of tangential introduction to the topic of the 2015 Hugo Awards.
Those of you who are avid science fiction readers are probably all up to date on the controversy, and thus need no primer. For the rest, this article on Wired has a pretty decent sum up–though there are a few issues, some of which were corrected and addressed in the end notes.
Here is a link to a series of tweets by an author who happens not to be a straight white male. The link opens a tweet in the middle of the conversation; I suggest scrolling up and then reading the whole thing. Continue reading
Those of you who check this place regularly may have noticed that I have been…well, mostly absent, for the past few weeks.
Without going into detail, life is sucking out loud at the moment.
Among other things, I’m in the midst of the worst reading slump I remember–ever.
I have not read anything new since the last TBR Challenge book I reviewed, Boots & Bagdes, sometime mid-May. As if that wasn’t bad enough, I haven’t been able to read anything–at all–since mid-June.
For someone who usually reads four to five books a week, this has been hell.
In desperation, I looked up audiobooks.
(This was originally posted on June 3rd 2015 to the General Literature Discussion subforum of MyMedia)
In late April, National Geographic posted a photographic essay on the homeless patrons of some of California’s busiest urban libraries. Both the essay and the photographs are wonderful, and illustrative of a truly diverse segment of the population of the United States.
However, it is the comments that really got to me. Well, most of the comments. Such as: