to read: more Pratchett-esque fantasy and humor (and small rant)
I just finished Moving Pictures. And that was right after finishing Small Gods. It's almost like this feeling you get when wolves are snapping on your heels and you have this great and reasonable urge to run very, very fast. It's exhilarating. It's addictive. Not the wolves, but the books. Particularly, the humor.
I'm not sure why suddenly my hunger for comedic fantasy (and fantastic comedy, come to think of it) is suddenly so, well, big...although that sounds pathetically inappropriate for a description. But words fail me. I fail me. I'm not doing anything productive except an occasional jog to the convenience store for some bread and instant cocoa mix. I'm just reading. Against better judgment, I'm reading.
My fiction teacher once told me: there are writers, and there are readers. Reading is as much a profession as writing, and it is a seperate school that has its landmarks and pitfalls, its devotees and scorners, its scholars and its prodigees, its madmen (and women) and gods (and goddesses). They are usually quiet, for reading demands silence, attention, nay, full concentration from its disciples. I suppose that is largely why its celebrities and masters are unheard of. (Except for those in the audio book industry, the sell-outs!)
Anyway, on to lighter things...
I've run out of Pratchett books to read. Not that I've read all of them. I just don't have the guts to begin the Death (and family) Arc, and I'm still admittedly a bit ambivalent towards the Feegle books. But practically everything else, I've all but devoured. So, in desperation, I turn to Google to provide me with an adequate excuse to keep the dream-state alive.
Et voila! I found this site.
Whoever created the aforementioned site, thank you so much.
And now I have a few books on my To Read list, which will probably cost me a few more nights resulting in a few less brain cells as the sem finally wraps up and omg I actually have a couple of orals waiting in the wings. I'd cry, right now, but I'm just too excited to start reading...
First stop: Tom Holt
1. A Song for Nero
2. Alexander at World's End
Next, I'll probably try Esther Friesner. I have a feeling that I will need time for her, since she has lots of books, and I don't think I'll be disappointed with any of them...
And then there's Daniel Pinkwater...I'm not sure yet if I'll like his books, but I'll cross that bridge when I get there.
I am still debating whether or not Christopher Moore is worth my time (and death of brain cells). It's a risky business, getting hooked. If you're not prepared for it, if you're not good enough, or if the book has plainly gotten the better of you, then it's downhill from there with no convenient brakes and a sure crash and burn shebang spectacle at the end.
I'm not sure why suddenly my hunger for comedic fantasy (and fantastic comedy, come to think of it) is suddenly so, well, big...although that sounds pathetically inappropriate for a description. But words fail me. I fail me. I'm not doing anything productive except an occasional jog to the convenience store for some bread and instant cocoa mix. I'm just reading. Against better judgment, I'm reading.
My fiction teacher once told me: there are writers, and there are readers. Reading is as much a profession as writing, and it is a seperate school that has its landmarks and pitfalls, its devotees and scorners, its scholars and its prodigees, its madmen (and women) and gods (and goddesses). They are usually quiet, for reading demands silence, attention, nay, full concentration from its disciples. I suppose that is largely why its celebrities and masters are unheard of. (Except for those in the audio book industry, the sell-outs!)
Anyway, on to lighter things...
I've run out of Pratchett books to read. Not that I've read all of them. I just don't have the guts to begin the Death (and family) Arc, and I'm still admittedly a bit ambivalent towards the Feegle books. But practically everything else, I've all but devoured. So, in desperation, I turn to Google to provide me with an adequate excuse to keep the dream-state alive.
Et voila! I found this site.
Whoever created the aforementioned site, thank you so much.
And now I have a few books on my To Read list, which will probably cost me a few more nights resulting in a few less brain cells as the sem finally wraps up and omg I actually have a couple of orals waiting in the wings. I'd cry, right now, but I'm just too excited to start reading...
First stop: Tom Holt
1. A Song for Nero
2. Alexander at World's End
Next, I'll probably try Esther Friesner. I have a feeling that I will need time for her, since she has lots of books, and I don't think I'll be disappointed with any of them...
And then there's Daniel Pinkwater...I'm not sure yet if I'll like his books, but I'll cross that bridge when I get there.
I am still debating whether or not Christopher Moore is worth my time (and death of brain cells). It's a risky business, getting hooked. If you're not prepared for it, if you're not good enough, or if the book has plainly gotten the better of you, then it's downhill from there with no convenient brakes and a sure crash and burn shebang spectacle at the end.